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 his 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."

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DISCOURSE VIII.

ON RELIGIOUS SENSIBILITY.*

EZEKIEL 36, 26. AND I WILL GIVE YOU A HEART OF

FLESH.

THE subject to which I wish to invite your thoughts in this discourse, is that religious sensibility, that spiritual fervour, in other words, that "heart of flesh," which is spoken of in the text.

To a sincere, and at the same time, rational cultivator of his religious affections, it seems at first view, a thing almost unaccountable, that Christians, apparently serious and faithful, should every where be found complaining of the want of religious feeling; that the grand, universal, standing complaint of almost the entire body of Christians, should be a complaint of dulness. To one, who has studied the principles of his own nature, or observed its tendencies; who knows that, as visible beauty is made to delight the eye, so moral beauty is made to delight the mind; it seems a tremendous moral solecism, that all the affec

The substance of the two following discourses was addressed to the graduating class, in the Theological Department of Harvard University, in 1834. This circumstance will account for the form that is given to some of the topics and illustrations.

tions of this nature and mind, should become cold and dead, the moment they are directed to the Infinite Beauty and Glory. It will not solve the problem to say that human nature is depraved. If, indeed, the depravity of men were such, that all enthusiasm for excellence had died out in the world, the general reason assigned might satisfy us. But what is the fact? What is the beauty of nature, but a beauty clothed with moral associations? What is the highest beauty of literature, poetry, fiction, and the fine arts, but a moral beauty which genius has bodied forth for the admiration of the world? And what are those qualities of the human character which are treasured up in the memory and heart of nations-the objects of universal reverence and exultation, the themes of celebration, of eloquence, and of festal song, the enshrined idols of human admiration and love? Are they not patriotism, heroism, philanthropy, disinterestedness, magnanimity, martyrdom?

And yet the Being, from whom all earthly beauty and human excellence are emanations, and of whom they are faint resemblances, is the very Being whom men tell us that they cannot heartily and constantly love and the subject which is held most especially to connect us with that Being, is the very subject in which men tell us they cannot be heartily interested. No observing pastor of a religious congregation who has been favoured with the intimacy of one mind awaking to this subject, can fail to know that this is the grand complaint. The difficulty about feeling, is the first great difficulty; and it is one which presses upon every after step of the religious course. Few arrive at that point where they can say with the apos

tle "I know in whom I have believed." The common language and tone in which even religious confidence is expressed, do not go beyond such distrustful and desponding words as these―" I hope that I love God; I hope I have an interest in religion;" alas! how different from the manner in which, friendship, love, domestic affection, breathe themselves into the ear, and thrill through the heart of the world!

It seems especially strange, that this complaint of dulness should be heard in places devoted to the acquisition of religious knowledge, and the cultivation of religious affection; and yet it is, perhaps, no where more common or emphatic. And it is confined to no one species of religious seminaries; it is confined, I mean, to no one sect. I have heard it in tones as emphatic from Catholic and Calvinistic seminaries, as from any other. I have heard it as strongly expressed in other lands, as in our own. But is it not very extraordinary? We hear it not from the studios of artists. We hear it not from the schools of law and medicine. There is no complaint of dulness, there is no want of enthusiasm, about their appropriate objects in any of these. He, whose mind is occupied with the most abstruse questions of science or of the law; he, who gazes upon a painting, or upon a statue-ay, and he who gazes upon a skeleton, does not complain that he cannot be interested in them. I have heard such an one say, "beautiful! beautiful!" in a case where admiration seemed almost absurd; where it provoked a smile from the observer. And yet in schools-in schools of ardent youth-where the subject of attention is the supreme and infinite Beauty, if we may take confession for evidence-I do not say it is yours,

my brethren, but I have often heard it from persons situated as you are—yes, among such persons, if we may take confession for evidence-all is cold and dead.

But I must here, and before I go any further, put forward one qualification. I do not think that con fession is to be taken for evidence, altogether, and without any qualification. One reason, doubtless, why Christians complain so much of the want of feeling, is to be found in the very sense which they entertain of the infinite value and greatness of the objects of their faith. And it is unquestionably true that there is often a great deal of feeling in cases where there are very sad lamentations over the want of it. Lamentation certainly does not prove total

insensibility.

Still, however, there is an acknowledged deficiency; not appertaining to any one class or condition, but to the entire body of Christians. And it is especially a deficiency of natural, hearty, genuine, deep sensibility. And, once more, it is deficiency, sad, strange, and inexcusable, on a subject more than all others claiming our sensibility. And yet again, it is a deficiency which, when existing on the part of the clergy, is most deplorable in its consequences. It is therefore every body's interest, and that for every reason, to consider what are the causes, and what are the remedies of this peculiar, prevailing, religious insensibility.

I have some question, indeed, whether this demand for sensibility-the popular rage that is to say for feeling, feeling alone is not, in some views, mistaken, excessive, and wrong. But let me admit, for I