generally take the greatest delight, sometimes depress us into the most intolerable languor. It is frequently sufficient for exciting distaste in us to an object, that we once doated on it: to such a degree is the will of man capricious, fluctuating, and inconstant. Parties of pleasure are sometimes proposed and formed; the place, the time, the company, every thing is settled with the most solicitous anxiety; the hour is looked to with eager impatience. The day arrives at last, the golden moment of bliss, and nothing more is found than what the fond imagination had promised to itself. It is a mere phantom, which had an appearance of solidity, when viewed at a distance: we approach, we embrace it, and lo, it melts away into air, " thin air." The believer whose taste is purified, is undoubtedly better acquainted with this languor, when, amidst the pleasures of this world, there occurs to his mind one or another of the reflections which have been suggested, respecting the vanity of all human things when he says to himself, " Not one in this social circle, among whom I am partaking of so many delights, but would basely abandon me, if I stood in need of his assistance, did the happiness of my life 'impose on him the sacrifice of one of the dishes of his table, of one of the horses of his equipage, of one of the trees of his gardens." When stating a comparison between the tide of pleasure into which he was going to plunge, and those which religion has procured him, he thus reflects: "This is not the joy which I taste when, alone with my God, I pour out before him a soul inflamed to rapture with his love, and when I recollect in rich profusion, the tokens of his grace." When coming to perceive that he has indulged rather too far in social mirth, which is lawful only when restrained within certain bounds, he says within himself, "Are such objects worthy of the regard of an immortal soul? are these my divinities?" Then it is he feels himself oppressed with languor and disgust; then it is that objects once so eagerly desired, are regarded with coldness or aversion. Hence that seriousness which overspreads his countenance, hence that pensive silence into which he falls, in spite of every effort to the contrary, hence certain gloomy reflections which involuntarily arise in his soul. But this langour is not peculiar to those whose taste piety has refined. There is a remarkable difference, however, in this respect, between the men of the world, and believers; namely, that the disgust which these last feel in the pleasures of life, engages them in the pursuit of purer joys, in exercises of devotion: whereas the others give up the pursuit of one worldly delight, only to hunt after a new one, equally empty and unsatisfying with that which they had renounced. From that scanty portion of life, in which we enjoy prosperity, we must go on to subtract that other portion, in which prosperity is insipid to us. Calculate, if you can, the poor amount of what remains after this subtraction. 4. Let us reckon the days which we have devoted to the world, and compare them with those which we have devoted to religion. Humiliating computation! But I take it for granted, that in your present circumstances, it has been rendered familiar to your thoughts. Christians who have been just concluding the year with a participation of the holy ordinance of the Lord's supper, could hardly fail to have put this question to their consciences, when employed in self-examination, preparatory to that solemn service: What proportion of my time has been given to God? What proportion of it has been given to the world? And it is sufficient barely to propose the discussion of these questions, to come to this melancholy conclusion: That the portion of our life, which alone deserves to be considered as containing something solid and substantial, I mean the portion which has been given to God, is of a duration so short as to be almost imperceptible, when compared with the years which the world has engrossed. 5. I proceed to the last computation proposed. What is the amount of this total of human life which we have thus arranged in different columns? What is the sum of this compound account of days of nothingness and days of reality; of days of prosperity and days of affliction; of days of langour and days of delight; of days devoted to the world, and days devoted to religion? My brethren, it is God, it is God alone, who holds our time in his hand, to adopt the idea of the prophet, Psal. xxxi. 15. he alone can make an accurate calculation of them. And as he alone has fixed the term of our life, he only is likewise capable of knowing it. It is not absolutely impossible, however, to ascertain what shall be, in respect of time, the temporal destination of those who hear me this day. Let me suppose that the present solemnity has drawn together an assembly of eighteen hundred persons. I subdivide these 1800 into six different classes. of The 1st consisting of persons from 10 to 20 years age, amounting to. 2d from 20 to 30 amounting to....440 ... .530 .345 .255 ..160 70 1800 According to the most exact calculations, of those who have made such kind of researches their study, each of these classes must, in the course of this year, present to death, a tribute of ten persons. On this computation, sixty of my present hearers must, before the beginning of another year, be numbered with the dead. Conformably to the same rate of computation, in 10 years, of the 1800 now present there will remain ... ...1270 830 480 230 In 50 years, no more will be left than 70 Thus you see, my brethren, in what a perpetual flux the human race is. The world is a vast theatre, in which every one appears his moment upon the stage, and in a moment disappears. Every successive instant presents different scenery, a new decoration. I represent these vicissitudes to myself, under the emblem of what is felt by a man who is em41 VOL. VI. |