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love, there are two circumstances which particular: ly enhance the blessedness of that " multitude who stand before the throne;" these are, access to the most exalted society, and renewal of the most len. der connexions. The former is pointed out in the Scripture, by “ joiniog the innumerable company of angels, and the general assembly and church of the first boro; by sitting down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven;" a promise which opens the sublimesi prospects to the human mind. It allows good men to entertain the hope, that separated from all the dregs of the human mass, from that mixed and polluted crowd in the midst of which they dow dwell, they shall be permitted to mingle with prophets, patriarchs, and apostles, with all those great and illustrious spiriis, who have shope in former ages as the servants of God, or the benefactors of med; whose deeds we are accustomed to celebrate; whose steps we now follow at a dis. tance ; and whose names we pronounce with venera. tion,
United to this high assembly, the blessed, at the same time, renew those ancient connexions with virtuous friends, which had been dissolved by death. The prospect of this awakens in the heart, the most pleasing and teoder sentiment that perhaps can fill it, in this mortal state, For of all the sorrows which we are here doomed to endure, none is so bitter as that occasioned by the fatal s troke which separates us,in appearance for ever, from those to whom eie ther nature or friendship had intimately joined our hearts. Memory, from time to time, renews the ad. guish;opens the wounds which seemed once io have been closed ; aod by recalliog joys that are past and gone, touches every spring of paioful sensibili. ty. In these agonizing moments, bow. relieving the thought, that the separation is only temporary, not eternal; that ihere is a time to came of re-union with those with whom our happiest days were spent:
whose jors and sorrows once were ours; whose pi. ery apel pintue cheered and encouraged us, and from whom, alier we shall have laoded on the peaceful shore where they dwell, no revolutions of nature shall ever be able to part us more! Such is the society of the blessed above. Of such are the mulliiude composed, who'stand before the's brode."
The clémency and amiable character of the patriarch
Joseph. No human character exhibited in the records of Scripture, is more remarkable and instructive than that of the patriarch Joseph. He is one whom we behold iried in all the vicisitudes of fortune: from the condition of a slave, rising to be ruler of the land of Egypt; and in every station acquiring, by his virtue and wisdom, favour with God and map, When overseer of Poliphar's house his fidelity was proved by strong tempiations, which he honourably resisted. When thrown into prison by the artifice of a false woman, his integrity and prudence sooo rendered him conspicuous, even in that dark man. sion. When called into the presence of Pharaoh the wise and extensive plan which he formed, for sav. ing the kingdom from the miseries of impending famine, justly raised him to a high station, wherein his abilities were emioeptly displayed in the public service. But in his whole history, there is no cir. cumstance so biriking and interesting, as his behav. jour to his brethren who had sold him into slavery. The moment in which he made himself koown to them, was the most critical one of his life, and the most desicive of his character. It is such as rarely occurs in the course of human events; aad is calcu. lated to draw the highest attention of all who are entvowed with any degree of sensibility of heart.
From the whole tenour of the narration it appears, that thoug Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in . Egypt, made himself strange to them, get from the begioning he intended to discover himself; and studied so to conduct the discovery, as might render the surprise of joy complete. For this end, by affected severits, he took measures for briaging down into Egypt all his father's children. They were now arrived there ; and Benjamin among the rest, who was his younger broth. er by the same mother, and was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threatened to detaip į and seemed willing to allow the rest to depart. This incident re. newed their distress. They all knew their father's extreme anxiety about the safety of Benjamin, and with what difficulty be had yielded to his undertaking this journey. Should he be prevented from returning, they dreaded that grief would overpower the old man's spirits, and prove fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had particularly urged the necessity of Benjamin's accompanying his brothers, and had solemnly pledged himself to their father for his safe return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of the governor ; and gave him a full account of the circumstances of Jacob's farpily.
Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than this discourse of Judah. Little knowing to whom he spoke, he paints in all the colours of simple and natural eloquence, the distressed situation of the aged patriarch, hastening to the close of life; long afficted for the loss of a favourite son, whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces by a beast of prej; labouring now under anxious concern about his youngest son, the child of his old age, who alone was left alive of his mnother, and whom nothing but the calamities of severe famine could have moved a teoder father to send from home, and expose to the dangers of a foreign land. "If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring down the gray hairs of thy servant, our father, with sorrow to the grave. I pray thee therefore let thy gervar:t abide, instead of the young man, a bond. man to our lord. For how shali 1 go up to my fath,
and Benjamia not with me? lest I see the evil that sball come on my father?”
Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain himself. The teoder ideas of his father and his fa. ther's house, of his ancient home, his country, and his kindred, of the distress of his family, and his owo exaltation, all rushed too strongly upon his mind to bear any farther concealment.
"He cried, Cause every man to go out from me; and he wept alound.” The tears which he shed were not the tears of grief. They were the burst of affection. They were the effusion's of a heart overflowing with ali the tender sensibilities of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the same manner, when he first saw his brethren before him. “His bowels yearned upon them; he sought for a place where to weep. He went into his chamber; and then washed his face and returned to them.” At that period, his generous plans were not completed. But now, when there was no farther occasion of constraining himself, he gave free vent to the strong emotions of his heart. The first minister to the king of Egypt was not ashamed to show, that he felt as a man, and a brother. "He wept aloud; and the Egyptians, and the house of Pharaoh, heard him.'
The first words which bis swelling beart allowed him to pronounce, are the most suitable to such an af. fecting situation, that were ever uttered ;-"I am Joseph; doth my father yet live?"-What could he, what ought he, in that impassioned moment, to have said more? This is the voice of nature herself, speaking her own language ; and it penetrates the heart; no pomp of expression; no parade of kindness; but strong affection hastening to utter what it strongly felt. “Ilis brethren could not answer him ; for they were troubled at his presence." Their silence is as expressive of those emotions of repentance and shame, which, on this amazing discovery, filled their breasts and stopped their utteranre, as the few words which Joseph speaks, are expressive of the generous agitations which struggled for veat within him. No painter could seize a more striking moment for displaying the characterstic features of the human heart, than what is here
presented. Never was there a situation of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand; oor, on the other, of more overwhelming confusion and conscious guilt. In the simple narration of the sacred historian, it is set before us with greater energy and higher effect, than if it had been wrought up with all the colouring of the most admired modern eloquence.
The following account of an affecting, mournful exit,
is related by Dr. Young, who was present at the melancholy scene.
THE sad evening before the death of the noble youth, whose last hours suggested the most soleno. and awful reflections, I was with him. was present, but his physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my com ingin, he said, " you and the physician are come to late.
I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles-You would raise the dead!”. Heaven, I said, was merciful_"Or," exclaimed he,-" I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless, and to save me!-I have been to strong for Omnipotence! I have plucked down ruin." I said, the blessed Redeemer, “ Hold ! hold ! you wouod me! That is the rock op which I split :- I denied his game !"
Refusing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing from the physician, he lay silent, as far as sudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock struck: When with vehemence he exclaimed, “Oh! time!-time! it is fit thou shouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart !-How art thou fled for ever ? -A mooth! Oh, for a single week ! I ask pot for years ! though an age were too little for the much I have to do," On my saying, we could