covenant then made. We grant that the rainbow is a phenomenon necessarily resulting from the nature of light, and the form and situation of falling rain: yet this objection may be answered two ways;

1. Some have supposed that the earth, like the garden of Eden, was watered before the Deluge, not by rain, but by mist; in which case, no rainbow could exist.

2. The account of Moses does not directly assert, that the rainbow was then first formed; but merely that God appealed to it as a seal to his covenant, “I do set my bow in the clouds; and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth."* The language may, without constraint, be understood to imply, that the rainbow did exist before: but that now, for the first time, it is appealed to, and appointed, as the seal of a covenant.

We shall detain your attention farther, only while we attempt,

IV. TO IMPROVE THE SUBJECT.

How can we better succeed in this great object, than by pressing upon your consideration, the solemn event which the apostle, in the words read at the commence ment of this Lecture, has connected with it? "The heavens and the earth which are now, by the same word, are kept in store, reserved unto fire, against the day of judgment, and perdition of ungodly men."

Carry forwards, therefore, your attention, and your thoughts, to this "great and terrible day of the Lord.” You are interested in it; and it is inseparable from the subject which you have been contemplating. Are men insensible of its approach? So were they of the threatening destruction hovering over the days of No

Genesis ix, 13.

ah; till one boundless scene of ruin opened upon their distracted sight, and swept them at once from life and hope for ever! Are those derided, who patiently wait. the accomplishment of the divine promise, and expect the revelation of the Lord from heaven? It is no new thing. The world have ever been blind to their best interests; have ever sported with their own ruin. When Noah laid the first beams of his ark across each other, it is probable he did it amid the insulting shouts of an hardened multitude. The building advanced. Some admired the structure: some derided his plan: some charged him with enthusiasm, or with insanity: more were lost in sensuality; and all united in the desperate resolution, to bury his admonitions in the grave of oblivion. Still he entreated: still they spurned his instructions: still the edifice rose day after day: still the voice of gaiety was echoed on every side. With strange infatuation, they stopped their ears; and refused to "listen to the voice of the charmer," who solicited them with unwearied perseverance, and reasoned "so wisely." The roof is at length covered in. The danger becomes every hour more imminent. He presses his warnings upon them with increased energy? but, pointing to the unclouded sky, they laugh him to scorn, and load his ministration with contempt. It is closed! The last exhortation has been given; and he has wiped the last tear of insulted tenderness from his cheek. Ye blind, insensible mortals! what charm has "holden your eyes," that ye cannot see? Discern ye not the cloud that gathers over yonder mountain? The brute creation see it; and hasten for shelter to the ark. The family of Noah close the procession; they have entered their refuge; and even now "the door is shut!"-Oh! it is too late! Fraught with heavy indig

hation, the tempest lowers fearfully. Every "face gathers blackness." Yet scarcely is it perceived, before a new scene of ruin presents itself. Ah! there is no escaping the hand of God! The skies pour an unabating torrent. An hollow groan is heard through universal nature, deploring the impending destruction. The birds and beasts which remain, excluded from the ark, scream and howl in the woods, whither they had fled for shelter. The sea assaults the shore: the restriction of heaven is removed: it passes its ancient boundaries: its triumphs already over the plains, and gains upon the hills. The ark floats upon its bosom. The despairing multitude fasten upon it an eye of distraction: they implore in vain the assistance of the prophet whom they had despised, and whose pitying eyes are again suffused with unavailing tears. He can bear it no longer. He retires to the innermost recesses of his vessel. In the phrenzy of despair, parents clasp their children to their cold bosoms, and flee to the highest mountains. Where else could they resort for shelter? for the boundless sea saps the foundation of the firmest edifices. What is their desperation as the waves approach the summit! It is equally impossible to descend, to rise higher, or to escape. They have prolonged a miserable existence, a few hours, only to sink at last!It is all in vain! "The waters prevail exceedingly: every high hill is covered; and fifteen cubits" over their loftiest summits, the flood rises in haughty triumph!

Do you turn pale at this sad relation? Ah! weep not for these, "but weep for yourselves!" Do you blame their blindness and infatuation? Behold, the finger of conscience points to you; and its voice pronounces of you individually, "Thou art the man

Are there not "scoffers in these last days, walking after their lusts and saying, Where is the promise of his coming? for since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation." Oh! this is wilful ignorance-this is incorrigible obstinacy! The great event, discussed this night, stands upon firm evidence; and it is the pledge of that second desolation to which we ought to be looking forwards. Are there not triflers with the long suffering of God; who presume upon his patience, and his mercy; and slumber in the arms of thoughtless sensuality? Let these remember, that judgment procrastina ted, is not indignation removed: that the storm, rising slowly, accumulates more strength and fury than a sudden, transient blast. "The day of the Lord will come"-will come "as a thief in the night!" Man, retiring weary from the labors of the day, and slumbering under the mantle of darkness, shall be scared from his sleep, "to sleep no more," by the roar of a thousand thunders, and the crash of dissolving worlds! Darkness shall reign at intervals, for the last time: and death shall lay down his sceptre for ever! Shaking off the fetters of sleep and of mortality, the man looks around him with an inquiring, distracted eye. Great God! what scenes of despair, and of ruin, present themselves! What language shall describe the horror of that day, in the contemplation of which, imagination fails? Kings, starting from their couch of down, or bursting from their tombs of marble, shall reluctantly resign the sceptres of their burning empires! With what unutterable dismay will they gaze upon the globe itself, as it rolls along infinite space, blasted, and consuming by the lightenings of heaven!

Oh! it is no fable! we urge upon you no idle imagination! Already the day approaches-it is even "nigh at hand"—"the judge standeth at the door!" The archangel is preparing to blow that blast, which shall "shake terribly" not only the earth, "but also heaven!" The glorified saints are looking forwards with "earnest expectation" to that day; and the spirits of the slaughtered redeemed cry, from under the altar, "How long, O Lord, how long!" All things are hastening to be placed under the feet of the Savior. "And then cometh the end"—the last, great day-the day that shall disclose

"A God in grandeur-and a world on fire!"