alone. And yet this being-oh! miserable disappointment and failure! -makes himself the slave of circumstances, the slave of outward goods and advantages, the slave of everything that he ought to command.

I know that he must toil and care for these things. But wherefore? Why must he toil and care? For a reason, I answer, which still urges upon him the very point we are considering. It had been as easy for the Almighty to have caused nature spontaneously to bring forth all that man needs, to have built as a part of the frame of the earth, enduring houses for us to dwell in, to have filled them with all requisite comforts, and to have relieved us, in short, from the necessity of labour and business. Why has he not done thus? Still, I answer, for the same cause, with the same moral design, as that with which the world was made. Activity is designed for mental improvement; industry for moral discipline; business for the cultivation of manly, and high, and noble virtues. When, therefore, a man enters into the active pursuits of life, though he pleads the cares of business as an excuse for his neglect, yet it is then especially, and that by the very teaching of Providence, that he should be reminded of his spiritual welfare. He could not with safety to his moral being-this is the theory of his condition, he could not with safety be turned full and free into the domain of nature. He goes forth, therefore, bearing burdens-burdens of care, and wearing the shackles of necessity. The arm that he stretches out to his toil wears a chain, for he must work. And on the tablet where immortal thoughts are to be written, he writes words,-soon to be erased, indeed, but words of worldly care and foresight, for he must provide. And yet how strange and passing strange is it! the occupations and objects that were given for discipline, and the trial of the spirit, and the training of it to virtue, are made the ultimate end and the chief good; yes, these which were designed for humble means of good to the soul, are made the engrossing pursuits, the absorbing pleasures and possessions, in which the soul itself is forgotten and lost!

Thus spiritual in its design is nature. Thus spiritual in its just aspects is the scene of life; no dull scene when rightly regarded; no merely wearisome, uncompensated toil, or perplexing business, but a ministration to purposes of infinite greatness and sublimity.

We are speaking of human interests. God also looks upon the interest of his creatures. But he seeth not as man seeth. Man looketh on the outward appearance, but God looketh on the heart. He sees that all human interests centre there. He sees there the gathering, the embosoming, the garnering up of all that is precious to an immortal creature. Therefore it is, that as the strongest proof of his love to the world, he gave his Son to live for our teaching and guidance, and to die for our redemption from sin, and death, and hell. Every bright example, every pure doctrine, every encouraging promise, every bitter pang endured, points to the soul for its great design and end. And let me say, that if I have seemed to any one to speak in language over refined or spiritual, I can no otherwise understand the teachings of the great Master. His words would often be mystery and extravagance to me if I did not feel that the soul is everything, and that the world is nothing but what it is to the soul. With this perception of the true value of things, I require no transcendental piety; I require nothing

but common sense to understand what he says when he pronounces men to be deaf, and blind, and diseased, and dead in sins; for, to give up the joys of soul for the joys of sense, to neglect the heart for the outward condition, to forego inward good in the eagerness for visible good, to forget and to forsake God amidst his very works and mercies this is, indeed, a mournful blindness, a sad disorder of the rational nature, and when the evil is consummated, it is a moral death! True, there may be no tears for it, save in here and there one who retires from the crowd to think of the strange delusion, and the grievous misfortune, and the degrading unworthiness. There are no tokens of

public mourning for the calamity of the soul. Men weep when the body dies; and when it is borne to its last rest, they follow it with sad and mournful procession. But for the dying soul there is no open lamentation; for the lost soul there are no obsequies. And yet, when the great account of life is made up-though the words we now speak can but approach to the truth, and may leave but slight impressionthe things we may then remember-God forbid that we should have them to remember!-but the things we may then have to rememberlife's misdirected toil, the world's delusions, the thoughts unguarded, the conscience every day violated, the soul for ever neglected-these, oh! these will weigh upon the spirit, like those mountains which men are represented in prophetic vision as vainly calling upon to cover them. III. But I am now verging upon the third and final argument which I proposed to use, for the care of our spiritual interests, and that is to be found in their value.

Men

I have shown that society, in all its pursuits, objects, and scenes, urges this care; that nature, and providence, and revelation, minister to it; and I now say, that the soul is intrinsically and independently worth this care. Put all consequences to social man out of sight, if it be possible; draw a veil over all the bright and glorious ministry of nature; let the teachings of Providence all be silent; let the gospel be a fable; and still the mind of man has a value which nothing else has, it is worth a care which nothing else is worth, and to the single solitary individual it ought to possess an interest which nothing else possesses. Indeed at every step by which we advance in this subject, the contrast between what is and what ought to be, presses upon us. very well understand the word value. They know very well what interests are. Offices, stocks, monopolies, mercantile privileges, are interests. Nay, even the chances of profit are interests so dear, that men contend for them, and about them, almost as if they were striving for life. And value-how carefully, and accurately, and distinctly is that quality stamped upon every object in this world! Currency has value, and bonds have value; and broad lands, and freighted ships, and rich mines, are all marked down in the table of this strict account. Go to the exchange, and you shall know what they are worth; and you shall know what men will give for them. But the stored treasures of the heart, the unsunned, the unfathomable mines that are to be wrought in the soul, the broad and boundless realms of thought, the freighted ocean of man's affections-of his love, his gratitude, his hope-who will regard them?-who seek for them, as if they were brighter than gold, dearer than treasure?

The mind, I repeat-how little is it known or considered! That

all which man permanently is,-the inward being, the divine energy, the immortal thought, the boundless capacity, the infinite aspiration-how few value this, this wonderful mind, for what it is worth! How few see it that brother mind-in others; see it in all the forms of splendour and wretchedness alike-see it, though fenced around with all the artificial distinctions of society-see it, through the rags with which poverty has clothed it, beneath the crushing burthens of life, amidst the close pressure of worldly troubles, wants, and sorrows—see it and acknowledge and cheer it in that humble lot, and feel that the nobility of earth, that the commencing glory of heaven, is there! Nor is this the worst, nor the strongest view of the case. Men do not feel the worth of their own minds. They are very proud, perhaps; they are proud of their possessions, they are proud of their minds, it may be, as distinguishing them; but the intrinsic, the inward, the infinite worth of their own minds they do not perceive. How many a man is there who would feel, if he were introduced into some magnificent palace, and were led through a succession of splendid apartments, filled with rich and gorgeous furniture-would feel, I say, as if he, lofty immortal being as he is, were but an ordinary thing amidst the tinselled show around him; or would feel as if he were a more ordinary being, for the perishing glare of things amidst which he walked! How many a man, who, as he passed along the way-side, saw the chariot of wealth rolling by him, would forget the intrinsic and eternal dignity of his own mind, in a poor degrading envy of that vain pageant-would feel himself to be an humbler creature, because, not in mind, but in mensuration, he was not quite so high! And so long as this is the case, do you believe that men understand their own minds, that they know what they possess within them? How many in fact, feel as if that inward being, that mind, were respectable, chiefly because their bodies lean on silken couches, and are fed with costly luxuries! How many respect themselves, and look for respect from others, in proportion as they grow more rich, and live more splendidly,-not more wisely,-and fare more sumptuously every day. Surely it is not strange, while all this is true, that men should be more attracted by objects of sense and appetite than by miracles of wisdom and love. And it is not strange that the spiritual riches which man is exhorted to seek are represented in scripture as "hid treasures;" for they are indeed hidden in the depths of the soul-hidden, covered up, with worldly gains and pomps and vanities. It is not strange that the kingdom of heaven-that kingdom which is within-is represented as a treasure buried in a field: the flowers bloom and the long grass waves there, and men pass by and say that it is beautiful; but this very beauty, this very luxuriance, conceals the treasure. And so it is in this life, that luxury and show, fashion and outward beauty, worldly pursuits and possessions attract the eyes of men, and they know not the treasure that is hidden in every human soul. Yes, the treasure-and the treasure that is in every soul. The difference that exists among men is not so much in their nature, not so much in their intrinsic power, as in the power of communication. To some it is given to unbosom and embody their thoughts; but all men, more or less, feel those thoughts. The very glory of genius, the very rapture of piety, when rightly revealed, are diffused and spread abroad, and shared among unnumbered minds. When cloquence and poetry

speak,-when the glorious arts, statuary, and painting, and music,-when patriotism, charity, virtue, speak to us with all their thrilling power, do not the hearts of thousands glow with a kindred joy and ecstasy? Who's here so humble, who so poor in thought or in affection, as not to feel this? Who's here so low, so degraded I had almost said, as not sometimes to be touched with the beauty of goodness? Who's here with a heart made of such base materials as not sometimes to respond, through every chord of it, to the call of honour, patriotism, generosity, virtue? What a glorious capacity is this!-a power to commune with God and angels!-a reflection of the brightness of heaven-a mirror that collects and concentrates within itself all the moral splendours of the universe-a light kindled from heaven that is to shine brighter and brighter for ever! For what, then, my friends, shall we care as we ought to care for this? What can man bear about with him-what office, what array, what apparel-that shall beget such reverence as the soul he bears with him? What circumstances of outward splendour can lend such imposing dignity to any being, as the throne of inward light and power, where the spirit reigns for ever? What work of man shall be brought into comparison with this work of God? I will speak of it in its simplest character-I say a thought, a bare thought, and yet I say, what is it-and what is its power and mystery? Breathed from the inspiration of the Almighty; partaking of infinite attributes; comprehending, analyzing, and with its own beauty clothing all things; and bringing all things and all themes-earth, heaven, eternity within the possession of its momentary being; what is there that man can form-what sceptre or throne-what structure of ageswhat empire of wide-spread dominion-can compare with the wonders and the grandeur of a single thought? It is that alone of all things that are made-it is that alone that comprehends the Maker of all. That alone is the key which unlocks all the treasures of the universe. That alone is the power that reigns over space, time, eternity. under God, is the sovereign dispenser to man of all the blessings and glories that lie within the compass of possession, or within the range of possibility. Virtue, piety, heaven, immortality, exist not, and never will exist for us, but as they exist, and will exist in the perception, feeling, thought of the glorious mind.

That,

Indeed, it is the soul alone that gives any value to the things of this world; and it is only by raising the soul to its just elevation above all other things, that we can look rightly upon the purposes of this life. This, to my apprehension, is not only a most important, but a most practical view of the subject.

I have heard men say, that they could not look upon this life as a blessing. I have heard it more than insinuated, I have known it to be actually implied in solemn prayers to God, that it is a happiness to die in infancy. And nothing, you are aware, is more common, than to hear it said, that youth, unreflecting youth, is the happy season of life. And when, by reason of sickness or the infirmities of age, men outlive their activity and their sensitive happiness, nothing is more common than to look upon the continuance of life, in these circumstances, as a misfortune.

Now I do not wonder at these views, so long as men are as worldly as they usually are. I wonder that they do not prevail more.

"Oh!

patient and peaceable men that ye are!"-I have been ready to say to the mere men of this world—“ Peaceable men and patient! what is it that bears you up? What is it but a blind and instinctive love of life that can make you content to live?" But let the soul have its proper ascendency in our judgments, and all the mighty burthen is relieved. Life is then the education of the soul, the discipline of conscience, virtue, piety. All things then, are subordinate to this sublime purpose. Life is then one scene of growing knowledge, improvement, devotion, joy, and triumph. In this view, and in this view only, it is an unspeakable blessing; and those who have not yet taken this view, who have not yet given the soul its just preeminence, who have not yet become spiritually minded, are not yet prepared to live. It is not enough to say, as is commonly said, that they are not prepared to die; they are not prepared to live.

I would not address this matter, my friends, merely to your religious sensibility; I would address it to your common sense. It is a most serious and practical matter. There are many things in this world, as I have more than once said, which are called interests. But he who has not regarded his soul as he ought, who has gained no deep sense of things that are spiritual, has neglected the main interest, the chief use of this life, the grand preparation for living calmly, wisely, happily. It is a thousand times more serious for him, than if he had been negligent about property, about honour, or about worldly connexions and friendships.

With this reasonable subjection of the body to the soul, with this supreme regard to the soul as the guiding light of life, every man would feel that this life is a blessing, and that the continuance of it is a blessing. He would be thankful for its continuance, with a fervour which no mere love of life could inspire; for life to him, and every day of it, would be a glorious progress in things infinitely more precious than life. He would not think the days of unreflecting youth the happiest days. He would not think that the continuance of his being upon earth, even beyond active usefulness to others, was a misfortune or a mystery. He would not be saying, "Why is my life lengthened out?" He would feel that every new day of life spread before him glorious opportunities to be improved, glorious objects to be gained. He would not sink down in miserable ennui or despondency. He would not faint, or despair, or be overwhelmed with doubt, amidst difficulties and afflictions. He would feel that the course of his life, even though it pass on through clouds and storms, is glorious as the path of the

sun.

Thus have I endeavoured to show that the care of the soul is the most essential of all human interests. Let no worldly man think himself wise. He might be a wise animal, but he is not a wise man. Nay, I cannot admit even that. For being what he is-animal or man, call him what you will-it is as truly essential that he should work out the salvation of the soul, as it is that he should work with his hands for his daily bread. How reasonable, then, is our Saviour's exhortation when he says, "Labour, therefore, not for the meat which perisheth, but for that which endureth unto everlasting life."