of the ashes of the martyr-fires, arose religious freedom. The flames of outward persecution have well-nigh forgotten to burn. And yet the offence of the cross has not ceased. The profession of the Gospel does not always bring peace, but a sword. Trouble is yet the heritage "of all that will live godly in Christ Jesus," and there is strong need in all of us, for the exhibition of the main element in a confessor's character-nobleness of religious decision. We must have convictions of duty wrought so strongly into our souls, that neither opposition nor difficulty, nor even disaster, shall make us falter in the course which we have intelligently chosen. For lack of these sincere and abiding convictions, many have erred from the faith, and have manifested an instability of character that is truly deplorable. Many young men have run well for a season-have formed large plans of usefulness, and have been full of promise in all that was of good report and lovely; but a fatal indecision has blighted the promise, and rendered the plans abortive; and their course has reminded us of Emerson's ludicrous account of the American roads, starting fair and stately, between avenues of branching pines, but narrowing gradually as they proceed, and at last ending in a squirrel track, and running up a tree. It may be questioned, indeed, whether any of us, in this matter, approximate to the standard. Let us ask ourselves, if we had lived in the days of the Master, should "we have left all and followed Him"? As we looked at Him in the garb of a peasant, and a Nazarene, of ignoble origin and vagrant life, opposed by all recognized authorities, calm in His single-handed strength, alone against the world, shocking every ancient prejudice, and pronouncing the doom of a ritual, gorgeous in its ceremonial, and enfibred, by the ties of ages, round the hearts of men, what should we have thought of such a questionable man? Should we have dared to have come to Him, even by night, while living, much less to have gone boldly and begged His body when dead! Should we have foregone, for His sake, the chief seat of synagogues, and the uppermost rooms at feasts, and for the pleasure of His Divine discourse, and for the hopes immortal but unseen, have cast ourselves on His fidelity, even for daily bread? Let us look into the glass of our own consciousness, that we may be humbled and reproved. And, in the present, with the light of His teaching and of His example, how are we living? Would it please us that the hidden man of the heart should be unveiled to our neighbour's scrutiny? Do we the right always, because it is the right-without thought of profit-and at the sure risk of ill? Do we rejoice to be brought in contact with a man, that we may put our own manhood to the proof? Can we resolve to work ever for the good of this bad world, not bating from weariness, nor deterred by ingratitude, nor palsied with fear? Dare we speak honestly and act bravely, though loss and shame should follow speech and deed? Is there in us no division of activity against itself; are our thought and action mutually representative of each other? In one word, are we sincere? Do we serve one Master? with no reserve of our endowments? with every fragment of our influence; at every moment of our time ? Oh let us search our hearts on this matter. There is a great deal more of this sincere and decisive godliness wanted in the world, and you are to furnish it. I assume, of course, that you are decided for God; that the great change has taken place in you, and that you are walking in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy Ghost. If it be not so with you, seek first, for yourselves, the kingdom of God. It will be a terrible thing if the "Perdidi diem" of the regretful Roman should deepen into a "Perdidi vitam" for you; if your life be but an accumulation of remorseful memories; or if there be one torturing thought of unforgiven sin, which, like Poe's raven, "Never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above your chamber door, But I rejoice to know that many of you are already the Lord's, living in the conscious enjoyment of religion, and anxious to make the world the better for your presence. To you we make our appeal. Of you-the Christian young men of London-of the United Kingdom, rather—it is asked that you cast out of yourselves the false, and the selfish, and the defiling, and that you be sincere workers for the glory of God and for the benefit of men. We ask it in the name of Truth, that you may man her bulwarks and tell her to the generation following. We ask it in the name of Christianity, that you may join her in her brave battle with world, and flesh, and devil. We ask it in the name of Society, that she may not be convulsed by the crimes of the lawless, nor by the frenzy of the despairing. We ask it in the name of our common Country, bewildered as she is by the burdens which oppress her, and distracted as she is by the contentions of her children. We ask it in the name of Humanity, struggling to deliver herself from a thousand wrongs. We ask it in the name of multitudes, sharing your own manhood, who are passing down to darkness, wailing as they go—“No man hath cared for my soul." We ask it in the name of the Redeemer, who has shed for you His own most precious blood, and who waits, expecting, to see of the travail of His soul. Delay not, I charge you, to obey the summons. Never heed the opposition with which you may have to contend. The joy of conquest is richer than the joy of heritage. Remember that every promise to the Apocalyptic churches is "To him that overcometh." If at any time your purpose falter or your courage fail, hie you to the Interpreter's house for comfort. Gaze again upon that sight inspiring, which made Christian eager for his perilous journey. Look at that "stately palace, beautiful to behold." See the men in golden garments on the top. Mark the cravens crouching at the gate below. See the scribe at the table, with the book and the ink-horn before him. Take the measure of the men in armour who keep the doorway from the enterers in. Watch the man of stout countenance, girt with sword and helmet for the battle see him as he maintains the fearful strife, and wounded, but unyielding, cuts his way to victory : listen to the pleasant voice which heartens the champion into hope and valour "Come in! come in! Eternal glory thou shalt win." That vision is for you. Your names are in the muster-roll. Your path to the house of many mansions is beset by strong men armed. Quit yourselves like men. Take to yourselves the whole armour of God, and then press forward manfully for ever. Every conflict brings you nearer to the recompence. Already the harp-songs of the cloud of witnesses encourage you. A soft accompaniment floats down to each of you, for your own ear and heart alone the gentle cheering, wafted from on high, of the mother who nursed your infancy, or the father "whose knee you clomb, the envied kiss to share.” Above all, His voice whose will is duty, and whose smile is Heaven, speaks to you from His highest throne-Fight, I'll help thee; Conquer, I'll crown thee. I cannot bid you farewell without expressing my gratification in being permitted, however imperfectly, to address you, and my best wishes for the Association to which most of you belong. I rejoice to hail this and kindred Societies as Ε preparing us for that diviner future which shall yet burst on this ransomed world. Wearily have the years passed, I know: wearily to the pale watcher on the hill who has been so long gazing for the day-break: wearily to the anxious multitudes who have been waiting for His tidings below. Often has the cry gone up through the darkness, "Watcher, what of the night ?" and often has the disappointing answer come, "It is night still; here the stars are clear above me, but they shine afar, and yonder the clouds lower heavily, and the sad night-winds blow." But the time shall come, and perhaps sooner than we look for it, when the countenance of that pale watcher shall gather into intenser expectancy, and when the challenge shall be given, with the hopefulness of a nearer vision, “Watcher, what of the night ?" and the answer comes, "The darkness is not so dense as it was; there are faint streaks on the horizon's verge; mist is in the valleys, but there is a radiance on the distant hill. It comes nearer that promise of the day. The clouds roll rapidly away, and they are fringed with amber and gold. It is, it is the blest sunlight that I feel around me-MORNING!" IT IS MORNING! And, in the light of that morning, thousands of earnest eyes flash with renewed brightness, for they have longed for the coming of the day. And, in the light of that morning, things that nestle in dust and darkness cower and flee away. Morning for the toil-worn artisan! for oppression and avarice, and gaunt famine, and poverty are gone, and there is social night no more. Morning for the meek-eyed student! for scowling doubt has fled, and sophistry is silenced, and the clouds of error are lifted from the fair face of Truth for aye, and there is intellectual night no more. Morning for the lover of man! for wrongs are redressed, and contradictions |