ARGUMENTS FOR

RENEWED DILIGENCE IN RELIGION.
(PREACHED ON THE LAST SABBATh of the year.)

ROMANS xiii. 11: "And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep."

SIN is here compared to a sleep. It is the sleep of the soul; the sleep not of the senses, for they are often in these circumstances intensely alive and awake to their objects-but the sleep of the soul. It is the insensibility, the lethargy, the death-like stupor of the higher, the moral, the immortal nature. In this sleep of the soul there is the same insensibility to spiritual things as in natural sleep there is to natural things. To the natural sleeper all the objects around him, be they ever so interesting, and splendid, and wonderful; all that would otherwise occupy his hands, or engage his thoughts, or delight his vision; all the voices of active and stirring life around him; all the ministrations of nature; all the magnificence of heaven; to him are no more than if they were blotted out of existence. He sees not, he hears not, he feels nothing, he pursues nothing; he has no desires, nor fears, nor hopes; though the crowded world of objects, and interests, and changes, and operations, is all about him, and heaven, thronged with all its glorious spheres, is stretched over him, yet they are no more to him than to the insensible clod. So it is with the moral sleeper. There is a world of moral realities, interesting, glorious, and wonderful; there is a world of spiritual visions and voices all around him; but to his ear, and his eye, and his heart, and his consciousness, they are nothing. Though these realities of spiritual life and beauty, these glories of the spiritual nature and of the everlasting gospel, are fairer and richer than all the treasures of earth, and brighter than all the splendours of heaven, yet he sees not this, and he believes it not.

Are not many thus asleep? Are they not all around us, reposing in bowers of worldly ease, stretched on couches of worldly indulgence, lulled by the viol of pleasure, fanned by breezes of prosperity, bewildered by phantoms of ambition, or darkly and blindly struggling with evils, with trials, and with sorrows, yet all sunk more or less deeply in this death-like slumber of the soul? Let us pursue the inquiry and the comparison.

The moral, like the natural sleeper, has dreams. And he dreams of realities. Yes, the great realities-heaven and hell, the soul's worth, and treasure, and destiny, and danger, to many a man are nothing but dreams. They pass before him, like the visions of the night; but they engage no waking energy, nor earnest or constant pursuit. The vision

of religious truths and objects is sometimes, perhaps, awful and alarming; but still, though disturbed and partially awakened, he is asleep; his mind is aroused only to momentary consciousness; only enough aroused to say, and to feel relieved by saying, "it is a dream." He is glad that the impression does not last with him. He shakes from him the transient sense of these realities, as if they were the merest delusions. Yes, to the moral sleeper, the connexion of the future with the present, the tissue of these daily thoughts and feelings, that is binding him to future welfare or woe-the web of destiny-is but "such stuff as dreams are made of."

The moral sleeper, too, like the natural, is not only disturbed, or perchance delighted, with the visions of his sleep, but he is sometimes more fully awakened. The strong hand of affliction is laid upon him, or the rough hand of danger shakes him from his deep slumbers; or his fellow-sleeper, perhaps, begins to awake, and to arouse himself, and he is partially awakened: but he dislikes the interruption; he is angry and peevish at the disturbance, or he feebly promises, saying,-in the words which an ancient prophet, as if he were, indeed, a prophet for all future time, hath put into the mouth of just such a sleeper-saying, “a little more sleep, a little more slumber; I will awake soon;" and then he sinks into a still deeper repose, from which, it may be, nothing but the shock of death will ever arouse him!

For, is not the sleep of sin-notwithstanding these interruptions and these dreams-is not the sleep of sin still heavy upon him, who is, after all, insensible to truth, insensible to spiritual objects and affections, insensible to sin itself? There is that in every man's heart which should make him sigh, and weep, and tremble; and is he not morally asleep if he is insensible to it?-if he does not arouse himself to contend against his spiritual foes, to watch over his moral maladies, to keep his too much and too long neglected heart with all diligence? There is that, also, within every man which should make him rejoice and glory-the power and privilege which God gives him of recovery to virtue, and piety, and heaven-the traces of a divine original-the spark which, kindled, may glow and brighten for ever;-yes, it is that which should make him rejoice, and hope, and aspire; which should bow him to awe, and melt him to thanksgiving; which should make him feel that he has within him a trust and a treasure more honourable and precious than all the goods and distinctions of the world. And if he is insensible to all this; if he does nothing for his inward welfare; if he does not watch nor strive; if he does not even fear or pray; is he not, in regard to that precious, that better nature, asleep? Does not the soul sleep when its truest and noblest interests are the interests most of all left out of sight and neglected? Is not the eye of the soul closed, and its ear heavy with slumber, when it sees and hears nothing of all that which should most of all arouse, and awe, and gladden, and transport it?

Perhaps some may think that the picture is overdrawn; and, for the spiritual condition of many, we may hope that it is. And we do not say, you will observe, that in any the sleep is profound and undisturbed; but, nevertheless, how deep it is, we may not properly apprehend, because we do not consider what it is to be properly awake to the soul.

What is it to be awake to the soul?-Let us see what it is to be awake in worldly things. How clear is the vision of men when directed to

their outward interests! How keenly do they discriminate-how accurately do they judge-how eagerly do they pursue! It needs no Sabbaths, no set times, to meditate on stocks, and bargains, and speculations. It needs no sermons to remind men of these things. Every sense, and member, and faculty is awake, and alive, and intensely employed, in the earnest toil and competition of life. Here are no faint

impressions, no dim perceptions, no doubts, no objections, no evasions. To the worldly, it may be said-to those of the worldly who now hear me, I may say you are all inquiring how you shall do more, and gain more; not excusing yourselves, and striving to do the least that will satisfy your own minds; not excusing yourselves, and putting off business, as you put off duty, upon your neighbour; and saying it may be proper for this, and that, and the other man, to go forward, and do business, and get gain. No, you grasp at the bare chance of worldly profit. You step manfully forward, not waiting for others, not walking timidly and doubtfully, and straining your eyes to detect, on every side, shapes of evil and danger, as men who are half-asleep. No; you are not irresolute, nor doubtful, nor cowardly about these things. You have no fear of pledges and promises, and forms of promise in business; no fear of bonds, and notes, and covenants, in transactions where the whole heart is interested. Many have not half enough fear of these things.

But, alas! how different from all this wakeful zeal and activity, and readiness, and forwardness, and courage, and manly decision, is the ordinary pursuit of religious things! Here, alas! men have doubts. They do not see things clearly; they are afraid of some evil lying in wait; they are afraid of forms, and covenants, and sacramental vows; they doubt about prayer; they doubt about public worship; they question whether they shall not get just as much good at home; above all, they doubt about religious undertakings, and efforts, and charities. It is quite a matter of speculation, they think, whether any good will be done. The case is completely reversed from what it is in worldly things. A speculation, there, is a grand chance for the acquisition of goods; but, in religious things, the noblest chance for infinite good to ourselves and others is but a doubtful speculation. If there is adventure, or experiment, or speculation here, a thousand voices are raised against it; while the whole business of life is more or less a business of adventure and risk. If it is proposed to send the gospel to China or Hindoostan, why it is a great way off, and the people are a strange people, and the success is doubtful; but there is no great difficulty in fitting out ships to send merchandise to China or Hindoostan. If it is proposed to form an association to relieve and instruct the poor at home, the subject is environed with difficulties and doubts; but a company for speculation in golden mines or golden visions can be formed without difficulty and without prudence.

"They that sleep," says the apostle, speaking literally, "sleep in the night." And is there not a spiritual night brooding over the minds of thousands? There is nothing in the world so glorious as the perfection of God; there is nothing so near as his presence; and yet how many habitually walk in the sense and presence of everything but the ever-manifested and omnipresent Divinity! Eyes have they, but they see not; and ears have they, but they hear not. They see all objects,

but see them not as the tokens of his power. They hear, but they hear not the voice of God. They hear everything but those calls that are made upon the soul-the calls of blessing, and trial, and temptation, and warning, and encouragement, that are all around them. They mark everything in the paths of life but those directions, and commands, and exhortations, that constantly address themselves to the spiritual nature. They see not, at every step, duties, mercies, privileges, means of virtuous improvement, opportunities of usefulness, cares of the soul to be taken, cares of other men's good and true welfare, dangers admonishing them, blessed hopes beckoning them onward, heaven opening to them. They do not walk in the abiding and the living sense of these things.

This it would be, in some measure, to be awake to the soul. But what would it be altogether, our perceptions of the soul and its interests are, perhaps, too dull for us to tell, or to comprehend. Well may we suspect that our standard of religious wakefulness and diligence is far too low. Well may we suspect that we do not yet know what it is to be awake to all the glorious and affecting concerns of our moral and immortal welfare; and that, if we were once thus awakened, everything in this world would appear in a new light; we should see with new eyes, we should apprehend with new senses, we should be aroused to an impression more profound and overwhelming than ever this outward world has made upon us. If, indeed, we can so strongly grasp this world; if we can so strongly apprehend, and so eagerly pursue the mere forms of things, the vanities that perish in the using, the trifles of a day; with what ardour and intensity would the soul put forth its powers, when it once laid hold on realities! If the charms of pleasure can so fascinate men, how would the beauties of virtue enrapture them! If glittering gold can so dazzle them, how would they gaze, if they saw them, upon the riches of holy truth, and life, and immortality! If the most ordinary good news can so delight them, what would the gospel do! If earth can win and bind all their warm affections and sympathies, how would heaven bear away their thoughts to more delightful meditations, to more holy friendships, to more blessed hopes, to more ineffable visions of beauty and beatitude, than all that this world ever unfolded, or offered, to its most ardent votaries! Then would worldly desire, and love, and zeal, be more than transformed; they would be regenerated to new life and power. He upon whom this happy renewal of the soul should pass, would find that nobler energies had slept within him than he had before imagined to be a part of himself. He would come to feel that he had undervalued the gift of being. He would thank God, as he never before thanked him, for the blessing of existence, and the promise of immortality.

But I must check myself in the course of these reflections, to consider how urgent is the call for this awakening from the sleep of spiritual negligence, and stupidity, and death.

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"Knowing the time," says the apostle, that it is now high time to awake out of sleep.'

In the first place, then, if we intend ever to do more for our spiritual welfare, it is time that we were doing it; it is now time that we were doing it; and it may be the only time. If we entertain the purpose of being more diligent in devotion, private or public; of keeping a stricter watch

over our consciences; of more effectually controlling sinful passions, and correcting sinful habits; of taking a more decided stand in conversation, and avowal, and practice, as Christians; it is high time that the purpose was accomplished, and the work done. If we ever make amends for wrong, or recompense for injury, or restitution of dishonest gains; or would tender forgiveness to our enemy, or heal the breaches of confidence, or the wounds that unkindness has given; or would comfort the distressed and suffering; or would send alms to the destitute, to kindle the fire on the cold hearth, or to spread with our abundance the table of penury: if we would do anything of this, or aught else, that our conscience dictates, or our hand finds to do, let us remember, that there is no time to be lost, and that what we do we must do quickly.

In the next place, it is time, and it is high time that we do our duty, whatever it is, inasmuch as it is a matter of the most pressing concern. Our soul's welfare is to be secured, and it brooks not delay. The very errand of life is to be done, and it must not be put off. Happiness and misery, heaven and hell, wait upon our decision; and happiness and misery, heaven and hell, are not things to be trifled with! The messengers of Providence are around us; blessings, afflictions, dangers, invite, admonish, threaten us; God calls, good men entreat, Jesus hath lifted up to all ages the cry of wisdom, and warning, and agony; and these are arguments and appeals that endure not resistance nor insensibility. Everything is at stake; the trial of the soul is passing; diligence only can safely abide it: watchfulness only can bring it to a happy issue; and we must not sleep in fatal security!

This is not merely solemn, and, at the same time, unmeaning language. Look within, and see if a trial is not there actually and hourly passing between the right and the wrong; between the happy affections and the miserable; between the spiritual and the sensual, the heavenly and the worldly. What consequences are depending, future years, future ages, death, judgment, eternity, only can tell. Oh! that some other language than mortals use for mortal purposes might aid us to speak forth the might, the magnificence, the immensity of these themes! "Awake"-it is reason that calls, it is the better nature that pleads, it is a voice as awful as the trump of the angel of judgment, that cries-" awake, O thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead!"

It is high time, in the third place, because too much time is already lost. With some, twenty years; with some thirty; with some, forty, fifty years, have passed; and they have done nothing effectually for the soul's welfare. So many years of promises, and excuses, and evasions, but not one year, not one month, of habitual prayers, and daily resistance of evil, and wakeful discharge of the great spiritual trust! They were lengthened out for this very end; and this, amidst all the activity of life, has been the only object habitually neglected. How blessed would have been the remembrance of these years, if they had all been devoted to virtue, to purity, and heaven; if their whole course had been a course of kind words, and good deeds, and holy prayers; if their brightening progress had gladdened the sorrowful, and inspired the languid in virtue, and led and helped on "the sacramental part of God's elect;" if every step of them had brought the pilgrim of virtue and faith nearer to the company of the faithful and blessed in heaven! -the toil, and business, and pleasure of life need not have paused; but