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YOUNG MAN APPLYING HIS POWER OF THINKING TO A SUBJECT WHICH IS TO HIM OF STUPENDOUS INTEREST.

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He " comes to himself" not only as a mental, but as a moral being. He unbars every gate, he removes every impediment,-he rends every veil, until his thoughts are in the presence-chamber of "the hidden man of the heart." At proper seasons he thinks of his health, his reputation, his means of subsistence; but at this solemn hour he thinks "on his ways.' A man's ways are found in the tenor of his life. Thus we read that the wicked "setteth himself in a way that is not good," and "the way of the wicked God turneth upside down." He desires, as he thinks on his "ways," that the light of the Bible,-of the Law,-of the Cross,of the Throne,-shall fall upon them; and under this revelation the discovery is made, that his ways have been opposed to God's way. He thinks, and, as he thinks, he asks, "WHAT am I?" A dependent being. Thus I was created, thus I continue. However frequently I have said, "My lips are mine own, who is Lord over me?" I dare not repeat the question. Though my existence has so "kept the even tenor of its way," that I have occasionally all but exclaimed, "There is no God!" now I am convinced that that existence, mental and physical, is every day, every hour, every moment, sustained by an invisible power. "In his hand my breath- is.' He has only to lay his hand, by certain mysterious or well known influences, upon me, and I should become either a mass of disease, or a victim of insanity, or both. Every beat of my pulse,-every throb of my heart,-every blood-drop that bounds through my veins,—says, "Think." "I am an immortal being." There never will come a period when it can be said, "He is not." Ten thousand arguments in my own breast declare this, while their commingling voices, blending with the utterances of inspiration, reverberate around me, "ETERNITY!-that is to be thy dwelling place." I must strive to grasp the immensity of the idea involved in that one word, "Eternity." The effort may overwhelm me. Be it so. I must make it. "It is for my life," and the unbounded prospect that sheds its deathless grandeur on my spirit, says, "Think." "I am a sinful being." While my Bible unfolds the purity of the divine law, and speaks of its transgressor as having waged war with his Maker, my conscience, as with a voice of thunder, says, "Thou art the man.' I must no longer allow the phrase, "sinful world," to blind my eye to my sinful self. The truth that God is holy, and the fact that the past years of my life are peering in as so many spectres on my consciousness, to prove me "laden with iniquity," alike bid me "think" on my ways.—The young man thinks, and as he thinks, he asks, "WHERE am I?" In a world where God has borne long with me. He has with "much longsuffering endured" "endured" me. me,-yes, That is scripture language, and impressively suggests the repeated, and the aggravated, provocations with which I have assailed him-provocations that might have exhausted the patience even of the Infinite. Did He not often warn me in my childhood? Has He not frequently prostrated me by sickness? Has He not more than once compelled me, while I listened to the funeral knell that was rung for others, to muse on my own shroud, my own coffin, my own grave? He has, and the possibility, the probability, that his next visit will be vocal with the command, "Cut him down, why cumbereth he the ground ?" constrains me to "think." I am in a world where my example as a thoughtless young man has done mischief. I find I must go out of the world, ere I cease to have influence in it, and the example I set will not be buried then. "The ill men do lives after them;" and even when the ill-doer is in his tomb will the truth of scripture be apparent: "One sinner destroyeth much good." Through human eyes, souls have looked on me that are to

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live for ever, and, since they have seen me, immortal as themselves, treating sin as a trifle, they may, after I have ceased to tread the earth, quote my example as a warrant for sinning more and more. The impossibility of flinging away all influence, coupled with the declaration, "A man perisheth not alone in his iniquity," commands me to "think." I am in a world where alone I can prepare for the world of spirits. Without preparation I dare not enter it. "It were better" for me "not to have been born," than to step into its dread solemnities an enemy to Him who made me. Why should I continue an enemy? Though I have been thoughtless, God has had "thoughts of good, and not of evil, towards" me, else he would not still be inviting me to accept of the righteousness his own Son has provided,-the righteousness without which I must perish, the righteousness which, while it robes the believer for eternity, must be procured on this side the grave-on that, it is never offered. Have I got it? Now is the accepted time,-am I improving it?—The young man thinks, and as he thinks, he asks, "WHERE shall I soon be?" In a world where all are constrained to think. All levity of spirit, all thoughtlessness, dies the moment a man feels that with him "time is no longer." Every object that would hide him from himself is removed, and he can find there no stupifying draught to benumb his thinking faculty. To that world of keenest activity of intellect I am advancing. Every breath brings me nearer to it. With an eternity of thought before me, ought I not now to "think on my ways"? I shall soon be in a world where the thoughtful and the thoughtless now, will be separated. Here they are apparently mingled. They live on the same earth,-are supported by the same means,-have in the business of time mutual transactions; but when the business of eternity commences, 66 a great gulf" will be seen rolling between them. Those who "thought on their ways," will, in the light of God's smile, be asked to "Rejoice;" and those who "would not consider," will, trembling under his frown, be commanded to Remember." In which company shall I be? Had I not better "think"?

ADDRESS YOURSELF, O YOUNG MAN, TO SERIOUS AND PROFITABLE THINKING. Such thinking has much to do with the formation of character. Thought kindles emotions,-emotions stimulate to actions,-actions grow into habits,-habits stamp the man. Therefore thus is it true, "As a

man thinketh in his heart so is he." Remember the evils from which such thinking saves, and the pleasures to which it conducts. We have already hinted that the mind cannot be unemployed, and we now affirm that, such is the depravity of our nature, and such the vigilance of our spiritual foe, that mind will be crowded with all-debasing, ruining themes, unless previously occupied, and constantly disciplined. Is there no moral in the confession of him who said,

"One while I think, and then I am in pain

To think how to unthink that thought again"?

But if the intellect be profitably engaged, how high, how pure, the joys it realizes, for

"A correspondence fixed with heaven

Is sure the soul's best anchor."

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Without such thoughtfulness religion is impossible. The nature of mind, and the nature of religion, and the book of God, proclaim it to be so. Never until you "think on your ways," will you turn your feet unto the divine testimonies." These ". testimonies can alone direct, ennoble, save you; but opposed, or even slighted, they will be "swift witnesses " against you. Therefore, I implore you, "think." An affectionate father was greatly distressed by the conduct of an undutiful son. One evening, the latter was long in returning home. Eleven o'clock struck-he had

not appeared; twelve o'clock-but still he was absent. A little before one, the parent imagined he heard footsteps on the stairs. He went to the door. He listened. He believed his boy was ascending. Still anxiously he waited, with candle in hand; at last a knock was given. He opened the door; and as soon as the son's eye lighted on the clock (which was immediately opposite the threshold), he said, "Father, I didn't think it was so late." "Think!" exclaimed the weeping parent, "think!-my son begun to THINK? Oh, now there is hope!"

CHRISTIAN SYMPATHY.

BY THE REV. JAMES SMITH.

"Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people."-Jer. ix. 1.

Jeremiah has been called the weeping prophet. He was unquestionably a man of deep feeling. He was a thorough Jew. He was as thorough a christian, believing in Messiah to come, as we believe in Jesus who has appeared. He loved his nation; he pitied his people. Though he sympathised with God who punished them, he sympathised with them, also, under all their privations and calamities. Who ever wrote such bitter words, from such a sorrowful heart, as Jeremiah! How deep are his feelings, and how touching his exclamation, now before us! "Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people." Here is,First, an affecting sight. The Jews slain by Nebuchadnezzar and others. The destruction was merciless, the massacre was dreadful, the sight was calculated to produce the greatest sorrow and grief. No respect was paid to age or station; the sword devoured one as well as another. Jerusalem was turned into an Aceldama, a field of blood. God's wrath was poured out; his long-suffering was exhausted; and now his awful threatenings were fulfilled. It was a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." The prophet heard the sound of the trumpet, the cries of the wounded, and the groans of the dying. He saw desolation ride in triumph through the land, and the slain lay everywhere in heaps : his heart was almost broken, and with deep emotion he cried out, 66 Oh, that my head were waters! Brethren, is there any similarity between his circumstances and ours? Not literally, but spiritually there is. If the eye of the mind were as quick to discern as the eye of the body is, what should we see? See ourselves surrounded by the slain of the daughter of our people. Even literally, we are almost surrounded by the graves of those who have been cut down by the relentless hand of death; and spiritually, look which way we will, there are the slain. We are surrounded on every hand by those who are dead in sin. Every city, town, village, and hamlet, is full of the dead. Every street, lane, and alley, contains the dead. Scarcely can we find "a house in which there is not one dead." Oh, the number of our fellow-countrymen who are in one sense dead, and in another, under sentence of death! Dead in sin, and sentenced to endless suffering and separation from God! Oh, how strange that there should be such indifference,-indifference in them as to their docm,-indifference in us as to their everlasting destiny! How great must be the hardening power of sin! One would think that our hearts were petrified, and literally turned into stone. What a strange infatuation they are under, to feel at ease under such circumstances. Nor are we much less infatuated not to feel for them more than we do. They are "the slain of the daughter of our people," flesh of our flesh,

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bone of our bone. Our brothers and sisters in nature, as well as our fellow-citizens and fellow-countrymen. What slew them? Sin. Who slew them? The offspring of sin, Death. Who delivered them up to such a fearful doom? The justice of God. Who is the Nebuchadnezzar that rejoices and triumphs in their destruction? Satan, the cruel serpent, the merciless old lion, who "goeth about seeking whom he may devour." What an affecting sight, to see thousands, tens of thousands, millions, of our brothers and sisters, all around us, slain by sin, and doomed to endless woe. One would think that we should daily feel like the noble-minded Esther, when she exclaimed, "How can I endure to see the evil that shall come unto my people? or, how can I endure to see the destruction of my kindred? But, alas, such feelings seldom fill our breasts, or influence our conduct; we are rather like the ostrich in the wilderness, destitute of feeling or concern. But here is,

Secondly, an affected heart. "Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people." He saw the state of his countrymen already slain; he realised the danger of those who were left; he pitied their sad condition; he sighed over their sorrows; he desired their escape; and he prayed for their salvation. Brethren, is this our case? Are our hearts affected? What numbers have died in sin all around us during the last year; what hosts have gone down into hell from our country, from our own towns, from our very doors. At the beginning of the year, we saw them, perhaps, as healthy and as likely to live as ourselves; but death came and cut them down. They were in the land of hope, but they are now in the regions of despair. Do we ever think of them? Do we ever feel for them? Do you say, "It is of no use"? true, we can do them no good now; but look all around us. By whom are we surrounded? Is not every unconverted sinner under sentence of eternal death, and every moment in danger of dropping into hell? We know their danger; we see their state; but do we sympathise with them? Oh, the misery of their condition as the enemies of God, as led captive by the devil at his will! But are we affected by their miserable state as we ought to be? Suppose some modern Nebuchadnezzar were to take the town, and collecting together all the unconverted inhabitants were to chain them together with heavy chains, and lead them by your doors in gloomy procession, to inflict upon them dreadful and long-continued torments, could you witness the sight and not feel? Among them you see the old inhabitant you have known from your childhood with his silvery locks; the young men and women of your acquaintance; and multitudes of boys and girls. Some of the company your near neighbours, some of them your servants or fellow-workmen, and some of them your own children or other relatives. Supposing this to be the case, what kind of a heart must you have not to feel? But is it not worse, infinitely worse, to see multitudes of all grades, and all classes, passing before your eyes to hell? What are the sufferings of earth to the horrors of hell? What the torments of time to the perpetual agonies of eternity? What the anguish of the body to the unutterable sorrows of a lost soul? And yet we do not sigh over those sorrows. We do not appear to desire their escape. If we did really sympathise with them, if we realised the tremendous character of their destiny, if we desired their escape, should we, could we, be so indifferent, so careless, about them? Could we live with them, and never warn them? Could we live by them, and make no effort for their rescue? Are our feelings like those of Jeremiah? Do we weep like him? Do we sigh like him? Do we pray like him? Yet have we not cause, yea, greater cause than he had? Must we not say with the sons of Jacob, "We are, verily, guilty concerning our brethren "? But we have,

Thirdly, an affecting desire. "Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people." He would encourage deep feeling, give way to incessant weeping, and thus manifest his patriotism, pity, and anxiety for their welfare. Oh, brethren, does this at all represent the state of our hearts in reference to perishing sinners around us? Must it not rather be said of many, as in the days of Job, "They perish for ever without any regarding it"? Souls are daily, hourly, perishing; but who regards it? Hell is filling; but who regards it? Satan is reaping a tremendous harvest; but who regards it? Every hour, every minute, every second, souls are sinking into hell; but who regards it? Where is our deep feeling? Where are our tears for the lost? For those who are now perishing? Where is our patriotism, when Englishmen are sinking by thousands into perdition? Where is our pity, when the human family are passing away from us in every direction to the regions of black despair? Where is our anxiety, even for our own flesh and blood? Wife, is thy husband unconverted? How dost thou feel? Husband, is thy wife unconverted? How dost thou feel? Child, is thy brother, thy sister, thy father, thy mother, unconverted? How dost thou feel? How many tears have we shed for the thousands who have perished during the year 1853 ? Friends, do you ever weep over perishing sinners? Is it not wonderful that we can walk the streets or sit in our houses without weeping? Is it not more wonderful that we can go to the house of God and pass the Sabbath breakers, profane swearers, harlots, and the multitudes of careless creatures that throng our streets, and never shed a tear? Is it not more wonderful still, that we can preach on the torments of the lost, and the joys of the saved; publish the glorious gospel of Christ, knowing that there is no salvation without receiving it, and see the great mass of the people around us rejecting it, yea, refusing to listen to it, and not weep bitter, bitter tears? Would it be surprising if our places of worship were often turned into Bochims, places of weeping over impenitent sinners? Surely not. But we do not half believe what we preach or what we hear. We do not half believe the statements of Holy Scripture in reference to the awful realities of eternity and another world, or we must feel deeply, and weep frequently too. But do we now wish that our heads were waters, and our eyes fountains of tears, that we may weep for those perishing around us? Or, would we rather go on in the same callous, unfeeling way that we have? God forbid it. If we never shed tears over sinners perishing in their sins, we are not like Jeremiah, for he did. We are not like the blessed Apostle Paul, for he did. Hence, speaking of his labours at Ephesus, he says, "Remember, that by the space of three years I ceused not to warn every one day and night with tears" (Acts xx. 31). We are not like our adorable Lord and Saviour, for when he came near to Jerusalem just before his death, passing over the mount of Olives, where it came full in view, we read, "He beheld the city, and wept over it, saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things that belong to thy peace; but now they are hid from thine eyes." Oh, to feel as Paul felt! As Jesus felt! If we realised the danger of sinners, and the terrors of hell as they did, we should weep as they wept. But weeping is not enough. Feel we ought; but feeling should lead us to prayer. We should pray for sinners as if we saw them suspended over the burning lake, and one after another falling in, as if we could hear the awful plash, as the lost soul takes its terrific plunge into the liquid, flaming brimstone. Feel we ought; but feeling should lead us to effort. Personal effort. Frequent effort. Hearty, soul affecting effort. should lead us to plead with them, as well as plead with God for them.

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