from the mixture of any baser passion, he is perfect in holiness."

It may probably occur to some readers, that this reasoning will not accord with the accounts given by many moderns of the nature and foundation of virtue. Some found it upon the present prevailing tendency of our own dispositions, and make it point directly and immediately at our own happiness; others found it upon our connections with our fellow-creatures in this state, and make it consist in benevolence of heart, and beneficence of action; others again, who approach nearer the truth, but without precision, style it an acting towards every object, according to reason and the nature of things. Upon any of these schemes, the connection, or rather coincidence, above alleged between the love of God and virtue, or moral excellence, does not so clearly appear. This indeed seems to me the great defect of these accounts of the nature and foundation of virtue, that they keep our relation and obligations to God at a distance at least, and much out of view. But as this is the first commandment of the law which God hath revealed to man for his obedience, "Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy heart, with all thy strength, and with all thy mind." So upon a fair and just examination, the supreme love of God will be found the most consistent and rational account of the nature of virtue, and the true source from which all other virtues, that are not spurious, must take their rise, and from which they derive their force and obligation: it is founded not only upon the relation of creatures to their Creator, but on the inherent excellence of the Divine Nature. For supposing (what will scarcely be denied) that God may be at all the object of our esteem and love, it is plain, that we ought to have the highest esteem for the highest excellence, a supreme love for what

is infinitely amiable; and if our affections do in any measure prefer what is less to what is more worthy, they must be, in that proportion, wrong and misplaced.

As to some of the phrases (for they are no more) which come into repute together, or in succession one after another, to express the rise and foundation of virtue, such as a sense of beauty, of harmony, of order and proportion: this is no explication of the matter at all; it is only transferring the language used with respect to sensible objects, to ethics or morality, in which it must be understood figuratively. That there is some analogy between those subjects and morality, may be easily confessed; but there are few different subjects in nature, between which as strong or a stronger analogy may not be traced. For example, how easy would it be to reduce all notions of morality, nay, indeed, all notions of beauty in painting, or harmony in music, to truth and reality, in opposition to falsehood? Wollaston's Religion of Nature Delineated, is an example of this, in which he resolves the morality, or immorality, of every action, into the truth or falsehood of a proposition. And, whoever reads the book will, I dare say, be sensible, that it is just as natural and proper, as a certain noble author's rhapsodies upon beauty and harmony. In short, it were easy to show, that none of the accounts given of the nature of virtue, have any meaning, truth or force in them, but so far as they are founded upon, or coincident with, that which I have above given from the word of God.*

Esq. who, it must be confessed, hath ex

There is one late writer, David Hume,

celled all that went before him in an extra

ordinary account of the nature of virtue. I have taken no notice above of his principles, if they may be called so, because I think both him and them worthy of the highest contempt; and would have disdained to have made mention of his name,

Thus I have shown, that those who believe the doctrine of imputed righteousness must be most holy in their lives; that the obligations to obedience are not weakened, but strengthened and confirmed by it. This any impartial person may be convinced of, who will reflect, that it is hardly possible to conceive an obligation to duty, of any kind, which may not be reduced to one or other of those above-named: and if I am not mistaken, none of them can operate so

but that it affords me an opportunity of expressing my sense of the wrong measures taken by many worthy and able men, who, in sermons and other discourses, give grave and serious answers to his writings. As to himself, that man must be beyond the reach of conviction by reasoning, who is capable of such an insult upon

reason itself, and human nature, as to rank all natural advantages, mental and corporeal, among the virtues, and their contraries among the vices. Thus he hath expressly named wit, genius, health, cleanliness, taper legs, and broad shoulders, among his virtues; diseases he also makes vices; and consistently enough, indeed, takes notice of the infectious nature of

some diseases, which, I suppose, he reckons an aggravation of the crime. And, as to mankind in general, if they were at that pass as to need a refutation of such nonsense, as well as impiety, it would be

in vain to reason with them at all. If I

were to contrive an answer to this writer, it would be a visible, instead of a legible answer: it would be to employ a painter to make a portrait of him from the life; to encompass him with a few hieroglyphics, which it would not be difficult to devise; to inscribe upon his breast these words, HEALTH, CLEANLINESS, and BROAD SHOUL DERS; and put the following sentence in his mouth, which he hath adopted from a French author," FEMALE INFIDELITY When it is known is a small matter, and when it is not known, is nothing" This would be very proper when applied to his writings, who, as well as his friend and coadjutor without a name, makes "our most impor: tant reasonings upon many subjects to rest ultimately upon sense and feeling." It is probable some over delicate persons will think this is not treating him with sufficient decency; but till there be a plan agreed upon, of the measures of decency due from infidels to Christians, and from Christians to infidels, whether he does not deserve far worse treatment from any who believes the gospel, I leave to the judgment of those who will read his writings.

strongly upon any other scheme, as that which is here espoused, and which is so evidently founded on the Scriptures of truth.

There is, however, one general consideration, which it would be wrong to omit, in showing the friendly influence of this doctrine upon holiness of life, although it doth not so properly fall under the notion of a direct obligation; that is, the great encouragement given in it to the study of purity and holiness by the prospect of success. Despair of success cuts the sinews of diligence in every enterprise. And particularly upon the subject of religion, nothing more effectually enervates our resolutions, and leads to a sullen, despondent neglect of duty, than an opinion that we shall not succeed in attempting it, or shall not be accepted in our endeavours after it, or our imperfect attainments in it. But the doctrine of justification by the free grace of God, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus," gives the greatest encouragement to all who will return to their duty. This encouragement naturally divides itself into two branches: 1st, The sure hope of acceptance through Christ. 2dly, The powerful and effectual aid provided for them in the Holy Spirit, which he hath purchased, and bestows for their sanctification.

1st, The sure hope of acceptance through Christ Jesus. Although sin hath greatly blinded the minds of men, there is still so much of "the work of the law written in their hearts," as must make them sensible that in many things they offend, and must give them ground of solicitude and fear, while they expect to be justified by their own merits. Accordingly we find, that except the grossest and boldest infidels, of which sort this age has furnished some examples,* all class

* Vide Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion. These essays conclude with an address to the Supreme

es of men confess themselves guilty of many sins, faults, or failings; some expressing themselves in a stronger, and some in a softer style, according to the greater or lesser degree of the depravation of natural conscience. If there is any meaning then in these words, they must be liable to the displeasure of God in some respects, for which they cannot themselves atone; and must therefore labour under, at least, much uncertainty, as to their acceptance. This must weaken their hands, and slacken their diligence, in an attempt so precarious in its issue.

Perhaps some may say, that this is only levelled against those who deny all satisfaction, or all use of the merit of Christ, but not against those who expect to be justified by their own merit so far as it goes, and trust in their Saviour for making up what is wanting in themselves. But of such I would ask, how they shall be satisfied, that they have gone as far with their own merit as is requisite, if there is any stress to be laid upon it at all? Will they say, as some foolishly do, that they do all in their power, and trust in Christ for supplying what may be still deficient? If they dare resolutely stand to this plea at the last day, when God shall judge the secrets of all hearts, that they have done all in their power, there is really nothing wanting to them; they need no Saviour, they need no pardon. But this is what no mere man that ever lived can say with truth. So that upon any scheme, but an entire reliance on the merits of Christ for justification before God, there must still be a dreadful uncertainty, inconsistent with that liberal and ingenuous freedom with which the children of God love and serve

Being which contains the following words: "What mortals term sin, thou pronouncest to be only error; for moral evil vanishes, in some measure, from before thy more perfect sight."

Ch. Adv.-VOL. X.

him. These, strongly penetrated with a sense of duty and obligation, deeply humbled under a sense of sin, and resting on the perfect atonement made by their Saviour and substitute, serve him with alacrity and pleasure, wearing the bonds of love. And knowing the weakness of their best services while here, they long for that blessed time when they shall be made perfectly holy, and yet shall forever acknowledge themselves indebted, for their place in heaven, and their continuance there, to the grace of God, and the love of their Redeemer.

The other branch of the encouragement which believers in Christ have to diligence in duty, is the promise of the Holy Spirit to lead them into all truth, and guide them to all duty. This promise is expressly made to believers, and their seed after them, in every age of the church, to the end of the world. Thus says the apostle Peter, "And ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost; for the promise is to you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call."* And it is to this plentiful effusion of the Spirit, that the prophets ascribe the purity and prosperity of the church in the latter days. "For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground: I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring, and they shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the watercourses."t

I am sensible, that the nature and form of the argument doth not permit me at once to suppose the truth of this, and to make use of the direct agency and effectual operation of the Spirit of God to prove the holiness of saints. But it may be easily made appear, that the belief and persuasion of this

must have the strongest influence in animating their own endeavours. What more proper for such a purpose than the belief of an almighty aid, certainly to be exerted in their behalf? Must not this invigorate their powers, and preserve them from sinking through fear of the number and strength of their adversaries? Nothing but ignorance of themselves can make them boast of their own strength. The result of experience in the study of holiness, must be a humbling conviction of the force of temptation, and strength of passion on the one hand, and the weakness and feebleness of human reason and resolution on the other. Must it not then be of the greatest advantage to believers, to be under an habitual persuasion of the presence and operation of the Spirit of God, to sanctify them wholly? Without this the attempt would be altogether vain; but this makes the exhortation come with peculiar force and energy, "Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God that worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure."*

(To be continued.)

TRANSLATION OF THE LATIN ODE IN

OUR NOVEMBER NUMBER.

This Ode, which we extracted from the Christian Observer, is translated into English verse, in the September Number of that distinguished periodical. The Editor intimates that no less than six translations had been sent him. Of these he doubtless selected that which, taken altogether, he thought the best; and for a time we expected to transfer it to our pages. But we have recently been favoured with the following translation made in this city; which, on a careful comparison, we are grati

* Phil. ii. 12, 13.

fied to say, we think quite as good as that in the Observer.-There are a few imperfect rhymes in both translations. It would seem that the Ode was designed as a Christian's address to his Saviour, in reference first to death, then to the conflicts of life, and finally to the hope of heaven.

home,

He rises as in second birth

Though borne from out his once dear
And festering in the loathsome tomb,
Bound by the shroud that wraps the dead,
The grave-stone pressing on his head;
Yet, if to wake him thou appear,
Thy mandate, he, though dead, will hear.
But speak the word, the massy stone
Is rolled away, the bandage gone.
He coming forth, knows no delay,
But starting from his bed of clay,
At thy resistless word "Come forth!"'
O'er this wide ocean, in full view,
Fell pirates do my bark pursue;
on this side an assault is made,
On that, the boisterous waves invade;
And all around, and every where,
Grim death and sorrow pale appear.
Come, goodly pilot, come to me,
Suppress the winds, and calm the sea;
Nor let me be the pirate's sport,
But safe conduct me to the port.
My barren fig-tree destitute
(Though clothed with leaves) of pleasant
fruit,

Will be cut down, fit food for fire,
If what is due, thou should'st require.
O may'st thou for another year,
This fruitless tree in mercy spare;
And dig around it, and manure,
If haply this will fruit procure.
But if nor yet it make return,
With tears I say it-it shall burn.
Man's ancient foe, without control,
Now rages in my inmost soul.
Plunges in floods, in flames he burns.
His helpless victim he by turns
Afflicted then, on thee alone,
Am I with all my sorrows thrown.
That far from me this foe be driven,
That strength may to the weak be given,
Of abstinence, a goodly share.
O grant the power of humble prayer,
For by these two, O Christ, through thes
I from mine enemy am free.
Let not my soul be thus enchained,
But give me penitence unfeigned.
Give holy fear, which sent before
I'll think on danger now no more.
Give faith, give hope, give charity,
Give singleness of heart to me.
Rank weeds that in corruption grow.
Give me to spurn things here below,
O give desire for things above,
On Heaven alone to fix my love.

In thee my hope I solely place,
Thou author of unbounded grace.
When numerous cares this heart would
rend,

To thee alone I suppliant bend.
Thou art my praise, my chiefest good,
My all thy gift, most gracious God!
Solace in toil thou dost afford,
A healing med'cine is thy word.
My cheering lyre in grief art thou,
In wrath, the smoother of my brow.
My feet from straits thou dost recall,
And kindly raisest when I fall.
A sober awe thou dost impart
To my too much elated heart.
And when life's ills bedim the day,
Thou giv'st to hope a livelier ray.
For wrongs thy justice makes amends,
And from the threatening foe defends.
What doubtful is, thou dost reveal,
And coverest what I should conceal.
O never suffer me to go

To the accurs'd abodes of woe,
Where sorrow dwells with shuddering fear,
Where loathsomeness and tears appear;
Where deeds of vice are open laid,
And wrath falls on the guilty head.
Where none the torturer can avoid,
And where the worm is never cloyed.
Where countless woes are ever found,
And hell is an eternal round.
May Sion's hill receive my soul,
Sion of joy and comfort full.
City of David, peaceful, bright,
Whose founder is the source of light.

Whose portals with the cross are hung, Whose keys are holy Peter's tongue. Whose happy citizens enjoy

The bliss of heaven without alloy.
Whose walls are of the living stone,
Whose guardian is the mighty One.
There light ineffable doth shine,
There's spring unfading, peace benign;
There breathing odours heaven fill,
There rolls the festive musick still.
There foul corruption cannot dwell,
Nor sorrow's voice is heard to swell:
Where none are sick, none are deformed,
But all are unto Christ conformed.
A heavenly city, bless'd abode,
Rock-founded by Almighty God.
Fair city, which can never fail,
I bid thee, though at distance, hail!
Yes! thee I hail, for thee I sigh,
O could I to thy walls draw nigh!
There bliss doth God his people give,
Wrapt in what ecstasy they live!"
What rapture of the soul is there,
What gems upon thy walls appear,
What jacinth and chalcedon too,
What sapphire of the purest blue,—
"Tis theirs alone with joy to see
Who, ever blest, still dwell in thee.
O there may I, joined hand in hand,
With God's elect, his chosen band,
With Moses and Elias sing
The praises of the eternal King.
Philada. Jan. 10.

J. H.

SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF REV. JACOB

GREEN, A. M.

(Continued from page 13.)

In June, 1747, I was married to Miss Anna Strong, of Brookhaven, on Long Island. With her I lived above nine years, and had four children. She died of a consumption, in November, 1756. In October, 1757, I was married to Miss Elizabeth Pierson, my present wife.

When I came to have a family, I found the cares of the world get greater hold of me than was agrecable. I was always, in principle, opposed to ministers of the gospel involving themselves with the world, and hoped to shun it myself -but I was brought into difficulties. I had but little in the world,

the congregation I served was then small, and had not been used to give much salary; and the wants of a family called for some supply, beyond my means to furnish it. In these circumstances I was obliged to take more worldly cares and business on me than I would have chosen; and I was encouraged to do so by the most religious and intelligent people of my congregation. They told me that country congregations could not have ministers, unless ministers would take some care to provide for, and help to support, their own families. Still I attended but little to worldly concerns for the first twelve years of my ministry. I know indeed that I was too much encumbered with the world, and