our connection with the body, and the commencement of our separate existence; the end of time, and the opening of eternity has ever been a duty solemnly urged by divines and moralists, and is plainly and powerfully commanded in the Scriptures. The indefiniteness of the subject, as thus enjoined, is, probably, one great reason, why the injunction has so little influence. Death is, undoubtedly, and is acknowledged to be, near; and we as well as others must unquestionably die. But our death may be postponed to a comparatively late period; and ten, twenty, or fifty years, may intervene. Of all these we feel in the main seWith this stock before hand, we feel rich, and strong; consider ourselves as having much time laid up in store; and conclude, that we may safely, if not lawfully "take our ease, eat, drink, and be merry." Hence the solemn warning, which, like a knell, tolls the signal of our departure, is lost in deaf ears; and the pungent reproof loses its point against hearts, shielded with this adamantine defence.

cure.

But were the divine able to come to us in the name of the Lord; and to tell us, with the dictates of Omniscience, that this year we should die; his messages,would undoubtedly assume a new and impressive character, and claim a regard hitherto unknown. What he cannot thus do, we clearly may in some measure do for ourselves. We cannot determine, indeed, that this year will end our present life, and consign us to the tomb; that it will finish our probation, and bring us to the judgment; but we can, with no uncommon effort of thought, suppose these events certainly to happen, during this period. We can behold ourselves laid on the bed of sickness, within the next twelve months; closing our eyes in death; separated from the body; ascending to the bar of God; giving our final account; and entering upon the "recompense of reward." We can suppose ourselves solemnly warned by a prophet of GOD, as was Hananiah, that within the year, which is begun, we shall die.

Were some one of this assembly thus certainly to be informed by an undoubted message from heaven, that this was his own future lot; what would be his views, his emotions, his pursuits, du

ring the little period before him? Such, I presume, generally, as the following observations describe.

1st. Worldly objects would then assume a totally new character. The pleasures of the world, particularly, would lose all their charms.

In our usual circumstances the pleasures of this world engross a large share of our attention. To almost all men they are of much importance; to multitudes they are the only important pleasures. To dress, to dance, to ride, to eat, to drink, to sport, to indulge themselves in gaming, lewdness, sloth, splendour, and gaiety; is all for which multitudes live, and all which they esteem worth pursuing. Mere grasshoppers, they sing and sport away the summer of life in gay and jovial amusement; and when the melancholy and fatal winter arrives, have provided no safe retreat, no means of comfort or subsistence. The unheeded, unexpected frost descends in a moment; and they perish forever.

But on the arrival of this awful message, how changed would be the feelings of him, to whom it was addressed! Could he be engaged by the idle ornaments of dress, who within a few days was to be wrapped in a winding sheet? Could he dance, who was walking to the grave? Could he pamper his body, who needed every moment to feed his famishing soul with "the bread of life?" Could he sport, who was speedily to give his final account "of all the deeds, done in the body," before "the Judge of the quick and the dead?" Could he game, who beheld the judgment set, and heard the dreadful sentence, "Take ye the unprofitable servant, and cast him into outer darkness, where shall be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth," sounding in his ears? Could he be lewd, who, in full prospect, saw "the whore-mongers, and fornicators, of this world" all condemned to suffer, and actually suffering, the endless wrath of God, and the burnings of devouring fire?

Over all these objects would in his eye be cast a drear and funereal aspect, which would render them merely sources of pain and disgust. They would appear, not only as trifles lighter than air, about which a rational and immortal being cannot, without VOL. II.

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gross impropriety and perversion, be seriously occupied; but as snares, by which he would be entangled before he was aware as enchantments, by which, if he yielded to them, he would be, charmed, benumbed, and destroyed. With the thought of yield ing to them he could not fail to associate the death of the soul, and the miseries of damnation. Of course, he would regard them only with astonishment and horror.

Nor would the Business of this world be much less changed to

his eye.

To him, who, as he "brought nothing into this world, can carry nothing out of it," who was about to be laid in the solitary grave, who now found himself to be in real good, "poor, and miserable, and blind, and naked, and literally in want of all things;" it could certainly be no favourite employment to watch, and care, and toil, that he might lay up an additional heap of dust, however shining, and however coveted by others. Should he enlarge his breadth of land, so as to comprise an additional farm, or manor; he could not fail to remember how soon six feet of earth would be all which he could occupy.

Nor could he be engaged by the pursuits of ambition. The breath of popularity, could have no fragrance to him; the trumpet of fame, no melody; the splendour of office, no charms; the possession of power, no allurement; when he found himself the speedy victim of death, the prey of worms, and the feast of corruption. He might labour to provide; but it would be the means of supporting, and adorning his soul. He might be ambitious, but he would aim at "the honour, which cometh from GOD only." He might covet dominion; but it would be the dominion over his own lusts, temptations, and spiritual enemies. All his ardent pursuit of worldly good would be cold and icy; his pride would sink into the dust; his rivalry expire; and the stormy passions, which made his mind a troubled ocean, would have spent their force, and settle into a calm, sluggish and dead.

A stranger; alone; directing his course onward to the invisible. world; he would find no interest in the bustle of this: and, regardless of the turmoil around him, or regarding it only with

amazement and terror, he would keep his own eye fixed steadily on the solemn scenes before him, and "turn not aside to the right hand, nor to the left."

2dly. Moral and Religious subjects would, also, in the eye of such a man be invested with a new character.

Among the things, which would peculiarly change their aspect in his view, the Scriptures would hold a prominent place. To men on a dying bed the Scriptures often assume a new character. Probably in the eye of most men, in this country, they appear to be the Word of God. Few at least discover any disposition to deny their divine origin. Still they regard them much as Epicurus regarded his gods; as objects, with which they have little or no concern; good enough indeed in themselves, but of very little consequence to them. Accordingly they are laid up on a shelf, or secreted in a book-case; and are brought out to view only on rare and peculiar occasions. When they are read, the solemn and alarming, the bright and glorious truths, which they contain, are read as idle tales; which are faintly believed, and scarcely regarded.

But in the eye of this candidate for eternity, the Scriptures would become, as to men on a dying bed, the real Word of God; containing his holy will concerning our duty and worship, and the news and the means of everlasting life. In them he could not fail to discern, that God spoke, and spoke to him. His voice would be invested with a majesty, awfulness, and authority, resembling that with which he spoke from Mount Sinai; and that, with which he will speak at the final day. Every thing, which is said in them, would be regarded as real, and certain; would be felt as addressed to himself; as describing his own case; as unfolding his own guilt, dangers and necessities; and as pointing out hope, relief, and safety, indispensable to him. Every doctrine would be acknowledged to enlighten; every ordinance to direct; and every precept to bind, with a sanction infinite. Every threatening, seen to convey the certain, future destiny of all those who came within its reach; would alarm, and arouse. Every promise, seen, with the like certainty, to assure to all, who

embraced it, peace, and light, and hope, the favour of God, and the inheritance of immortal life; would invite, encourage and strengthen. In a word, while searching the sacred volume he would seem to stand before the Shechinah; to present his enquiries in the holy place, and to hear from behind the cloud of glory the answer of JEHOVAH, concerning sin and holiness, life and death, judgment and eternity, heaven and hell.

Among the themes, which would most affect his soul in this interesting condition, his own guilt and ruin, as disclosed in the Scriptures, would hold an eminent place. There, as in a clear, undeceiving mirror, he would see himself a sinner, originally depraved; daily corrupted by the indulgence of passion and appetite, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life," obedience to temptation, and the imitation of pernicious example; possessing a "heart, deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked;" reproved, warned, allured, and entreated, day by day; yet day by day “hardening his neck," and thus deserving to "be suddenly destroyed, and that without remedy." There he would discover, with a clearness next to intuitive, that in himself, his labours, his prayers, his efforts, considered by themselves, there was neither recovery, nor hope; that, however sedulously, or confidently, he "kindled the fire" of self-righteousness, "and compassed himself with its sparks ;" and however comfortably he "walked in the light of" that fire, still "his por tion" from the hand "of GOD" must be "to lie down in sorrow."

From this melancholy and benumbing prospect would he not instinctively turn his eye, to find relief from his distresses? On the same sacred page he would find a Saviour, portrayed by an Infinite hand, in colours of immortal beauty and splendour: a Saviour of his own lineage and kindred; "meek and lowly of heart; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; despised and rejected of men;" living in poverty, and persecution; and dying with disgrace and agony: yet a Saviour divinely wise, and great, and good: in the one character proving himself capable of condescending to his own lowly state, pitying his distresses, and expiating his guilt; in the other, of forgiving his sins,