lowed feeling, had won it to piety; if the train of social life, with every attractive charm of goodness, had led it in the consecrated way, we had ere this known, what now, alas! we so poorly know-we had known what it is to be children of God, and heirs of heaven.

My friends, let religion speak to us in its own true character, with all its mighty power, and winning candour and tenderness. It is the principle of infinite wisdom that speaks. From that unknown period before the world was created-so saith the holy record; from the depth of eternity, from the centre of infinity, from the heart of the universe, from "the bosom of God;" its voice has come forth, and spoken to us, to us, men, in our lowly habitations. What a ministration is it! It is the infinite communing with the finite; it is might communing with frailty; it is mercy stretching out its arms to the guilty. It is goodness taking part with all that is good in us, against all that is evil. So full, so overflowing, so all-pervading is it, that all things give it utterance. It speaks to us in every thing lowly, and in every thing lofty. It speaks to us in every whispered accent of human affection; and in every revelation that is sounded out from the spread ing heavens. It speaks to us from this lowly seat at which we bow down in prayer; from this humble shrine veiled with the shadows of mortal infirmity; and it speaks to us alike, from those altar-fires, that blaze in the heights of the firmament. It speaks where the seven thunders utter their voices; and it sends forth its voice of pity more than human, of agony more than mortal-from the silent summit of Calvary.

Can a principle so sublime and so benignant as religion, speak to us but for our good? Can infinity, can omnipotence, can boundless love, speak to us, but in the spirit of infinite generosity, and candour, and ten

derness? No; it may be the infirmity of man to use a harsh tone, and to heap upon us bitter and cruel upbraidings; but so speaks not religion. It says and I trace an accent of tenderness and entreaty in every word "Unto you, O men, I call; and my voice-my voice is to the children of men."

O man! whosoever thou art, hear that voice of wisdom. Hear it, thou sacred conscience! and give not way to evil; touch no bribe; touch not dishonest gain; touch not the sparkling cup of unlawful pleasure. Hear it, ye better affections! dear and holy! and turn not your purity to pollution, and your sweetness to bitterness, and your hope to shame. Hear it, poor, wearied, broken, prostrate, human nature! and rise to penitence, to sanctity, to glory, to heaven. Rise now; lest soon, it be for ever too late. Rise, at this entreaty of wisdom, for wisdom can utter no more. Rise,— arise at this voice; for the universe is exhausted of all its revelations-infinity, omnipotence, boundless love have lavished their uttermost resources in this one provision, this one call, this one Gospel, of mercy!

VI.

THE CALL OF HUMANITY AND THE ANSWER TO IT.

OH! THAT I KNEW WHERE I MIGHT FIND HIM; THAT I MIGHT COME EVEN TO HIS SEAT! I WOULD ORDER MY CAUSE BEFORE HIM, AND FILL MY MOUTH WITH ARGUMENTS. I WOULD KNOW THE WORDS WHICH HE WOULD ANSWER

ME, AND UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WOULD SAY TO ME.-Job xxiii. 3, 4 and 5 vs.

It is striking to observe, how large a part of the book of Job, and especially of Job's own meditation, is occupied with a consideration of the nature and character of the Supreme being. The subject-matter of the book, is human calamity. The point proposed for solution, is the interpretation of that calamity. The immediate question-of very little interest now, perhaps, but one of urgent difficulty in a darker age-is, whether calamity is retributive; whether, in proportion as a man is afflicted, he is to be accounted a bad man. Job contends against this principle, and the controversy with his friends turns upon this point. But as I have already remarked, it is striking to observe how often his mind rises apparently quite above the controversy, to a sublime meditation on God. As if feeling, that provided he could fix his trust there, he should be strong and triumphant, thither he continually resorts. With these loftier soarings, are mingled, it is true, passionate complaint and sad despondency and bitter reproaches against his friends, and painful questionings about the whole order of providence. It is indeed a touching picture of a mind in distress; with its sad

fluctuations; its words of grief and haste bursting into the midst of its words of prayer; its soarings and sinkings; its passionate and familiar adjurations of heaven and earth to help it; and with the world of dark and undefined thoughts, which roll through it like waves of chaos: in short, it is a picture, whose truth can be realized only by experience.

But I was about to observe that this tendency of Job's mind in the Supreme, though it may seem to carry him, at times, up quite out of sight of the question in hand, is really a natural tendency, and that it naturally sprung from the circumstances in which he was placed. The human condition is throughout, allied to a divine power; and the strong feeling of what this condition is, always leads us to that Power. The positive good and evil of this condition, therefore, have especially this tendency. This is implied in the proem or preface of the book of Job; which gives an account after the dramatic manner which characterizes the whole book, of the circumstances that lead to Job's trial. After a brief prefatory statement informing the reader who Job was, and what were his possessions, the scene is represented as opening in heaven. Among the sons of God, Satan presents himself, the Accuser, the Adversary. And when Job's virtue is the theme of commendation, the Accuser says, "Doth Job fear God for naught? A grand Emir of the East; cradled in luxury; loaded with the benefits of heaven: doth he fear God for naught? Put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face!" It is done; and Job is stripped of his possessions, servants, children-all. And Job falls down upon the ground and worships; and says, "The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

But again the Accuser says; thou hast not laid thine hand yet upon his person. Come yet nearer; “put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone, and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face." Again it is done; and Job is smitten and overwhelmed with disease; and he sits down in ashes and scrapes himself with a potsherd; a pitiable and loathsome object. The faith of his wife too, gives way, of her who, above all, should have supported him then; but who, from the reverence and love which she felt for her husband, is least able to bear the sight of his misery. She cannot bear it and partaking of the prevalent feelings of the age about outward prosperity, as the very measure and test of the Divine favour, she says, "dost thou still retain thine integrity? Curse God and die!" "Give up the strife; you have been a good man; you have helped and comforted many; and now you are reduced to this. Give up the strife; curse God and die!" And Job answered, "thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh!" What nature! We seem to hear that fireside conversation. What nature! and what delicacy, mingled with reproof! "Thou speakest not as my wife, but as one of the foolish, prating women speaketh. What! shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil? In all this did not Job sin with his lips."

Then the three friends of Job came to him; and it is a beautiful trait of delicacy for those ancient times, that these friends, according to the representation, "sat down upon the ground with him seven days and seven nights, and spake not a word unto him; for they saw that his grief was great." When we recollect that all over the East, loud wailings and lamentations were the usual modes of testifying sympathy, we are led to ask, whence came-whence, but from inspiration,