crown. Jesus thy Saviour hath experienced incomparably more bitter sufferings than these in thy behalf; and surely thou wilt not think it a hardship, especially in view of the glory that shall follow, that the disciple should be as his Lord.' I ask no more. My troubled spirit revives and the current of my grief is arrested. I look up to God my Father and say, "Thy will be done." I look up to Jesus my Redeemer and say, "The cup which thou hast given me,'-far less bitter than that which thou hast received in my behalf,-'shall I not drink it ?” I am tranquil now, for my confidence is in Jehovah my Strength. I hear the clods rattle upon the coffin of my friend, and still I can lift the eye of faith to Heaven and say, "Father, not as I will, but as thou wilt."

I have spoken of an event which may well enough represent the ordinary afflictions of life; and of the impotence of Deism on the one hand, and the power of Christianity on the other, to yield adequate consolation. But I should not do justice to this branch of my subject, if I were not distinctly to present the contrast between the Deist's and the Christian's dying scene; and show you how the one is left alone in nature's greatest exigency,-how the other triumphs in the strength of an almighty arm. And here I am, by no means, disposed to deny that there have been instances in which Deists have persevered in the belief of their system to the last, and have passed through the dark valley as indifferent to the future as if they were brutes. And these instances are easily enough accounted for, not only from the laws that regulate the formation of a sinful habit, but from the fact that beyond a certain point in transgression, God gives up the sinner judicially to be the victim of his own voluntary infatuation. But I maintain that, in far the greater number of cases, in which Deism would seem to

rise above fear in the near prospect of death, her triumph is nothing better than miserable affectation; and not unfrequently the effort at disguise betrays itself, and the secrets of the heart work their way out through the expression of the countenance, or even the undesigned confession of the lips. I know how frequently and how triumphantly the case of Hume has been quoted as evincing the calmness with which a Deist can die; but if you examine carefully that case, I strongly suspect you will come to the conclusion that Hume was only an actor, a hypocrite, on his death bed; and that the gay and sportive manner which he assumed, was but the covering which pride threw over the workings of his terrified spirit. Paine too, in one of the last hours of his life, could revile the adorable name of Jesus, and, in the spirit of fiendlike malignity, bid one of the ministers of Jesus depart from his presence; and yet to those who watched him narrowly, there were indications not to be misunderstood, that he had already fallen into the hands of his own conscience, and that he needed no one to tell him that he was soon to fall into the hands of the living God. And well do I remember the case of another individual, scarcely less gifted in his intellect, or less degraded in his life, or less bold in his blasphemy, than Paine, who, when he saw that the hand of death was upon him, showed clearly enough, with all his efforts at concealment, that he regarded it a horrible thing to die. But there are cases innumerable in which conscience so far gets the better of pride, that there is not even an attempt to conceal the inward agony; and that system which had even been gloried in in health, is pronounced worthless in death; and the soul eagerly and tremblingly asks the way to the cross, if, by any means, it may feel the efficacy of atoning blood, before it shall have

passed out of the dark valley. Tell me not then of the fearlessness of the Deist in respect to the future, till you have seen how he can die; for however much he may, in the season of health, vaunt his unconcern about dying, it is more than probable that he will show himself a coward, when he sees that the conflict is no longer to be put off; and you need not wonder if black despair should seize upon him, and he should turn away from the offers of mercy, not because he any longer doubts their reality, but because his struggling spirit will have it that it has already received the impress of reprobation. I appeal to instances which have fallen under my own observation,--I appeal with equal confidence to the experience of almost every minister of Christ,-for evidence of the fact that the hour which closes the infidel's life is, frequently to say the least, an hour of unutterable anguish; and that comparatively few of this class leave the world, without, in some way or other, rendering a distinct homage to the truth and value of the gospel.

From these scenes of agony and horrour which the infidel's death bed so often presents, turn your eye for a moment upon what is passing in the chamber of the dying Christian. I do not assert that the death bed of every Christian presents a scene of triumph; for well do I know that there are instances in which the Christian in his last hour is oppressed with doubt and anxiety; but then he is doubtful and anxious, not in respect to the truth of the gospel, but in respect to the reality of his own experience of its regenerating power. I assert, without the fear of contradiction, that an instance never occurred, in which an individual, who had been accustomed even to yield a speculative assent to the truths of Christianity, was harrassed with doubts in respect to the safety of resting his hope upon them when he came to

die,-much as he may have shuddered from an apprehension that he was passing into eternity under the weight of the unbeliever's condemnation. But while it is conceded that even the true Christian does not always die in triumph, the infidel himself will scarcely deny that such events are of very frequent occurrence; that in every age the great mass of the sincere and humble followers of Christ have shown themselves courageous at the last, and many of them have left the world with the language of triumph on their lips. I point you to the naturally timid and sensitive female, struggling in her dying agony; and ask you to observe how even she, unsustained as she is by natural fortitude, can meet the king of terrors with a smile. Notice how her eye kindles with animation, how her heart beats with transport, how her almost stiffened tongue utters forth her Redeemer's praise, while her faith contemplates the "swelling floods" as almost past, and lingers joyfully upon the "sweet fields" that bloom and smile beyond them. I see at her bed-side a husband and children, whom she has tenderly loved, and whom she still loves as tenderly as ever, whose tears are streaming, and whose hearts are bursting, at the thought of the approaching separation; but she calmly and sweetly blesses them in death, and bids them prepare to follow in the upward track of her triumphant spirit. She dies with "Victory" upon her lips; with "Victory" in her soul; and the moment of her departure is a moment of so much ecstacy that one might easily enough imagine that a tide of thrilling melody flowed down to earth from the harps of the ransomed, as the everlasting gates were lifted up to receive the glorified spirit. And if this does not suffice to illustrate the triumphs of Christianity in death, let me conduct you to the martyr's stake; where all the gloomy

preparation has been made for subjecting not only the believer's faith, but his very body, to a fiery trial. You see there a man of the same flesh and blood, the same nerves and sinews, the same susceptibilities of bodily suffering, with yourself, standing still and praising Jesus in the fire; from the flames that encircle him he testifies with an unearthly eloquence to the power of his Redeemer's love and grace; and this is the enrapturing theme upon which his spirit lingers, while its earthly tenement is gradually burning down, and the angels are waiting to bear it off to Heaven. Here is the horrour, and here the glory, of martyrdom. It is Christianity that triumphs amidst this scene of torture. She nerves the martyr's arm that he can hold it steadily in the fire. She puts courage into the martyr's bosom that he can look calmly on the burning fagots which are to eat up his flesh. She inspires the martyr's tongue, that he can speak forth his Redeemer's praises, till his tongue has faltered in the flames. Deism-I say it with confidence has no such triumphs to boast: these are the legitimate, the peculiar, triumphs of Christianity.

In the review of our subject we may remark,

1. What unspeakable folly do they evince who wish that Christianity may not be true!

And wherefore is it that any indulge such a wish? It is because they have internal admonitions which they cannot resist, that disaster and ruin wait upon a life of sin; and they foolishly imagine that Christianity is the author of the terrors which they experience; and that, if they could only be satisfied that her claims were unfounded, they might give their apprehensions to the winds, and sin without remorse and without restraint. But never was there a madder delusion. These inward reproaches and gloomy forebodings which so often wound