Huntingdon Journal

              0ntM
BY J. A. HALL.
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1852.
VOL. 17, NO. 47.
A SERinO\
luggested by tlie Death of Webster,
DELIVERED  BT  THE
REV. CIIARI.es WADSWORTII,
ia the Arch Street Presbytefian
(Church,
ON   BU.NDAY   EVENLNO,  OCT.   31ST.
[Published By Request.]
''Ther¥ fs'a'&Ve TtTBiE."—
ECCLESIASTES,   HI.   12.
Feu will have already anlieipated our l-ensons for the seleclion of our text. He thtit would "rightly divide the Word of Truth," will seek in the volume of Reve¬ lations parallelisms to thc present peculiar Utterances of creation and providence.— Indeed, God's wriltcu und unwritten llev- elations are never to bo read seperately, neither can be underslood rifrhtly alone— mutually they eoniiriu and illustrate one anolher. Ncw, tho utterance ofour text isju.'t now as well the peculiar utteranco of God's special providence.
Sinee I last stood in this sanctuary that providence has rendered us a nation of mourners—a great light has been extin¬ guished—a uiighty uiind has been ealled away'. The great statesman and orator of our land and generation has passed in sol¬ emn glory to his grave—and thc nation mourns as iu saokeluth over the noblest and lirst borr. of her sons. And it were a mutilalion of God's solemn oracles wore we to pass such a proviileiiee by without sol¬ emn consideration. Do not mistake us though—it is with the simpler and more personal, and not tho wider and sublimer lessons of thia death we are just now to concern ourselves. We are not here in this holy place to uttof word.s of praise of Lim whose eloquent tongue has failed— whose mighty inlellcct has passed away forever. Indeed, Eulogy has uiislakcu her proviucc and her powers when she lakes for her theme the name of tho departed, llis loftiest eulogy is in that profound regrot ¦whioli the sad tidings of his dealh have eausod throughout tho length and breadth of tho land. JS'or are we here the more to advert to this death in its aspect ou the political prospects and interests of our country. Such discussion were unsuited alike to our province and our powers. Po¬ liticians eome not to the pulpit for instruc¬ tion in slatosman.ship—and the religious teacher has a nobler occupation than any lectureship on the jirinciples of governuionts and eonslitutimis. AVe are hero to coii- teinplate death in its loiiehiiigs to ourselves. For us, higher than all political hearings, has this provideneo a personal and pressing eignificauce. God hath stricken him iu all thc glory of his eloniieneo and iiitcllect,-- liot merely that his grave should ho to us a nation's Mecca shrine—docked with our garlands and wet w-ith our tears—but lhat a voice of earnest exiiiirtatiiui should cmiu up from ils depths iu the mighly and re¬ sistless eloquence of death. Ilo died to warn us—he diud lo jireach solemnly unto us of the mortal, and iuiiuortality. lie died to make pi-oelaiuatioii for our God of the insignificance of the glories of lime, and the boundless .splendors of elerniiy. Ile died to sond unto every soul, more miglili-
die!    Of man primitive and unfallen  our | ^hat  creeps  through  that  gloomy  cell—      Ay, it is well that the funeral train of a  shop—an honest counting-room—a  social
text had not been true. Death is not the natural issue of life's long proee.sses—il is their interruption I Death is an appoint¬ ment ! a dread infliction ! a tremendous curse! The body, wilh its bright eye and noble brow, was not made to lie down with the feeding worm in the unpitying grave. The soul, with ils strong clingings lo life's cherished things, was not tnade to be driven forlh from ils shattered tenement a disro¬ bed and disembodied wanderer to eternity I Death is not the natural transilion of a soul in its ascent to immortality. It is tho dread result of sin—it is the direful curse of God—it is the fruit of lhat forbidden tree which m.in dared to touch. "Jl time to die !" Aud what is death I I said it w-as not the natural issue of life's long processes; and liereiu lies its tcrribleness. The prophet's exodus to glory wilh whirl¬ wind ami fire was not lerrible; but death is terrible—God meant it to be terrible. It is the severance of tender ties—it is the hu.shingof beloved accents—it is the migh¬ ly stop on all life's big and busy energies —it is the awful shadow on the bright eye —it is the wild farewell on the beloved lip —it is the appalling loneliness in the de- sorted home and the broken heart—it is the iminenso pang wherowiih the heartstrings break—it is the earlhquuko shakhig wild¬ ly to the dust the clay dwelling—it is the giant spring of the immortal guest from ils shattered house thc unlravelled realms that spread through eternity. Death! Deathi Alas, great monster 1 It breaks tho heart —it desolates tho home—it makes the child motherless—it makos the pai ent childless—it hushes forever the eloquent longue, and q lenelies tho earthly light of the mighty inlellecl. Yea, it tears the world away—it ends proteclion—it casts the beloved form lu the unpitying grave— it .summons the undying soul to the pomps of the judgement. And il is unnatural it -(4- terrible—to die I
II. ".d time to die !—A set liuie~An appointetl tiiiie~to every one of us aj poiii- teil—we do not know it—but God knows it, 111 his awful book is it wriiten that in suel a ye-ir, in sueh a month, on such a d.ay, in an hour—JOU—you—that ninn—that maiden --that child—yuu—you—sA«W die! And escape is impossible. As well might you stop yonder sun, or roll back the lidos of a resistless ocean. Wc are prisoners awai¬ ting the order for execuiion. Since we came to this house an hour of the reprieve is w-aslod. Sinco llic sun arose a day near¬ er hath come the last agony. Vou may be nn the very vergo of death, A thousand lumian boings are dying this momont.— Every breath you breathe is a human death knoll.    This sky is the cniiiipy of a great
seems tbe footfall, the whisper, the shad¬ ow 01 that dre.ad thing. Death ! And yet is ho nearer to death surely than 'we? AVhy where is Death—away yonder? Nay, sirs, he is here—here—sitting in these seals— walking through these aisles—his shadow falls between speaker and haarer.-Death is here ! Where is eternil3-~ycars away ?— Naj', here-just bohind the curtain. Hark ! this little knock sounds through—death and in eternity are here. AVe sometimes picture life as a great path, loading to a precipice. Dut this is not true; it is a nar¬ row path, right along a precipice. ! The verge crumblos now.' I.'ho awful abyss yawns at your feot just now-! Oh my God ! write it on our hearts— send from the grave of the glorious dead a voice to bring the mighty trulh in thunder on our slumber¬ ing souls*--T/ieri; is a time to die I 'There is a time lo die !
IX. "A time to die!"—A filling time —An appropriate time. And hero let me turn a moment from these simplo and personal moralities to consider lliis truth in regard to tho departed great man whom our land mourns. At first thought it may be we quosiion the wi.sdom of this dispen¬ sation. Adniilting that as an evolution of Divino providenco every man .dies attho very time when, all things considered, it is best that ho .should die—yct here, at least, we feel the heart rising up tho cry—that surely this was no fitting timo for the buri¬ al of our great state.siuan.
AVe havo seen one mighly man, and an¬ othor mighty man taken from us; iind now the very last of our mighty men, and the noblest and iniglitiost of them all, lia^ fal¬ len aw-ay from the midst of us. And who is lo fill their places—where find wo cham¬ pions of liko girth and stature to stand fortli for our land in tho hours of of her sure coming trials. Alas, alasl the pro- jihot's mantel falls on no follow of pro¬ phecy—and our cry in despondency and fear is—"My Father, my Father—the chariot of Israel and the liorsenion there¬ of." Xor is this an unfounded desponden¬ cy. Great stalosiiien are the bulwarks of free nations; and a nation that knows as lilllc as we how lo value and to repay the gifls and the consecration of preat stales- nianship, deserves nevor again from our God sueli gifls and such consecration.— Nay more than this—it has been observed, in all time that when Providence is about to work vengeance on any people, the in¬ fliction is b 'gun in taking aw.ay from hcr places of rule hor ablest men: and then, of wiso counsels, public afiairs fnll into confusiin and result in disaster. Noris this the rosult of observation only—it is the express oraulo of Revelation as well
.  - . . r. -
giant ia borne through a weeping land, circle not gathered in a dancing parlor with its colossal shadow and its overwliel- The brother of the great slalesnian we ming eloquenco, in an hour like this.— iiuourn foil dead in a crowded court-room, Rut be this aa it may, sure we aro that in , in thc midst of an iuiportant trial which ho regard to tho great statesman himself— ! stood up to advocate. And yct, written, so fnr as tho full measure of his earthly '¦ in the inidst of a scone so exciting, they glory was concerned—the hour of his sum- found on the desk he had just quilted a mons to the immortal was—"'The time to pr.iyer, w-ritten in a spirit of humility, and die "
If such a matt must die at all, let liitn dio as he did. AVo thank God on his be¬ half, that the tumult of thc coming conflict will fall only on his grave. Had he pass¬ ed through that election a living man, yet
fervent picty, and devotion to his God, p haps never excelled. And sneh a death was as glorious as Moses' on the heights of Pisgiih, in thc great presenco of God.— Oh go uo whero unprejiared lo die! Oh, go no   -whore, where   death would   appal
a defeated man,   then upon thc   depths of j you!    This, this is the law of true wisdom, lhat mighty   heart the   bitter sense   of a 1 God, seud the lesson into every heart froi;
for preparation. Tho impenitent death bed is a good plaee for sorruw—it will convict, it will arouse, it will alarm: it will fill th» eyes with tears, the lips with prayer, th» heart with torible agony; but terror is not love; terror is not trust in fiod; terror if not saving faith in Christ! Oh, believo llic, bolievo nio, yo w-ill want an attained religion in the dying hour. The chamber will be dark; yo will want tho burning i'glit—the lip will bo ]iarcl.cd; ye ¦will want the living w-ator—the tempest in the se» will bo dashing the poor bark inlo ship¬ wreck: yo will want tho Almighty Masler to '.vnlk tho billows and to still the storms. Oh, ,'pcak to us, our Father ia heaven, in thc la^t utterance of the   dying; te
laud's ungratefulness would havo fallen as : the voiceless tongue of oue once so match-  how- "That Rod, Th:;t Rod,"—"That Staff,
a great ,sliadow. Had he passed through it in triunqih to the high placo of tho na¬ tion, it could havo added uothing to his honor; nnd his tomb will bo more glorious in all future time, that oflScial distinction dared not mar with its tinsel tho cverjast- ing sculptures of his own great fame. Ah, the only fitting proce-ision of such a man, through these paltry feuds of partizanship, was the bier borno so gloriously to his ma¬ jestic grave, llo diod, moreover, as ho wished to die—gazing on a .scene his own devotion had helped to rcaKzo, and his elo¬ quence to paint.
"Gazing not on the brokan and dishon¬ ored fragments of a once glorious Union— on States dissevered, discordant, belliicr-
Icssly eloquent—"There is a time lo die!" A'I. "'There is a lime to die!" ".? time," i. e. "one time," i. e. "only oue limc." AVo cm die but once, and wc ought to die well—noblj-—gloriously. It is the end of all life's great entorprizes and activities, and they ought to end majesti¬ cally. In all other matters mistakes may bc rectified—an unsuccessful experiment may be repeated —a mal-adjusted enter¬ prise remedied; but hero mistakes are re¬ mediless. Thc w-holo of time! tho w-liule of eternity! heaven! hell! the soul! all! all staked upon one single chance of the ter¬ rific game! If wc could dio twice, mis¬ takes might bc reclified. Tho unbeliever, the   sceiitic, tho   seolfor,   niight  test his
ent—ou a land renl wilh   civil lends,   aud i principles   in a dying   strife,   and if  they drenched, it may be, in fraternal   blood—'  failed him, como back and chango lliem
bnt beholding with llieir last fceblo .and lingering gUinco, rather lhe gorgeous en¬ sign of a republic known and honored throughout the earth—still full high ad¬ vanced—its anus and trophies streaming in all their original lustre—not a singlo slar ob.sourod—bearing as its motto  every
Rut with only one time lo dio, wo ought to die well—nobly—gloriously. And who dies well! Rrethroii, learn we here a lo.s- son from the deathbed of tho departed. I am not hero to eulogize the charaeter of the dead. To say that he had not great faults, were to  .say   that ho   was not   liii-
wliero, .spread all over in characters of liv- j man.    Rut to say  that the blessed   Ribi
death chamber. This earth is a cavernous, fur thus saith .Jehovah, "Roliold the Ijord, and mighty sepulchre. And our times aro I the Ijord of Hosts dolh lako away the appointed I—our days are numbered ! For I mighly men, and tho menof wnr, the a set time and an appoinlel, is—"'/'/iC| judge, and tiiu prophet and the'prudent, time to die !" and the ancient,   tho captain of   fifty, and
III. "Thereis a time to die!" For the honorable man, and the coiinsollor, whom? Oh, for all of us—for you lo die,I and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent and for me. Dillieult I know il is to real-I oraior. And following fast on this rcmo- ize this—most dilficult lo impress it on the val of hor bulwarks comes the curse iiiipo- livhig conscience. 1 can believe that olh- tent governors and foolish counsellois, and ers are mortal.    I can beiiove that you are  ruthless anarchy."    For tho oracle   adds
mortal.    I   can believe   that llio   dearest
ly than in allthc   iiuiiip of his   miitchlcss  ones ou cartli will   lio cold, and shrouded,
living eloquenco, ii doiuonstiatiou of th vanity of the ihings that arc around us, ond the iiiagnifieence of the realitius lluit rise just before us. Ho died to cry starl¬ lingly iu our every car wurds a thousand times uttered, but never motliiiiks before more eloquent in there touching and im¬ pressive sadnc-JS —"'There is a time to die" —"There is a lime to die !"
I. This simjily isour lext then. Lotus ponder it—desultorily and briclly—"'There is a time to die!" If you will examine the context carefully, wo think you will ex¬ perience great wonder. Thc royal preach¬ er is  discoursing on the fitness if specini
—"I will givo children to bo thoir jirin- cos, and babos shall rule over them; and the i)CO|ile shall bo Oppressed every ono by another, and every one by his neigh¬ bor, the child shall behave liimself proud-
1 coffined in tho grave. Rul, aias, I can scarcely bring il home to my own heart that death will como lo me.—that, this hand
will   soon bc pulscles.-i—this voice soon boi ly agaii.st the ancient, andthe base against hushed furever—this heart boat no more—I the honorable."
this forehead be pressed down by the cof- Alas, alas! my hearers, when wc look fiu lid and tho cold, dark earth. Rut yot | forth on tho stormy seas, over which in suro as God liveth, it comes—death comes j tremendous nalional progro.ss wo are rusli- —to ns all! Vouth, beloved j-tiuth, you ing with such startling and terrible veloci- will die ere tho Sjiring brighlens. Aged} ty, and know what seamanship is needed, man—you whoso hoary head is a crown ofj wo look up from this great shadow of death, glory in our midst—a fow more dnys, and j with hands clasped in despondency, crying those gray loeks will bc put away form that ^ in the track of the ascending chariut— forehead fur the mournors to luok upon.— j "-Aly Father—my Father." .A,nd yet, ^ Dear  cliild, you will  lie in a little colfio,  inourning as we do for our great    loss, wc
times for .special transactions; and the won- i cold, sensuless, silent as the dead lio.— I moiu-ii not as thoso wilhout hope. Though derful thing about it is, that, of^ll thn il- Man--maiiiii your noble stature and unbent the .Moses whoso rod was for iho divi-liiig lustrations lie adduc'js. our text should bo strength—thai flashinn-eye will fade—that of the sea hath gone npto Pisgali, yot ut once the most ajiparently truthful, and mighty heart will break. Oh, I seo il!— blessed bo God, His ark is yet in our luiJst the leasl considered. Who questions ei-| A darkened chambor—frieuds gathering si- for thc rolling back of tbe Jordan. Our ther in his credenda or in his practice that - lently and sadly—beloved forms pressing to  trust in    the J.ord who made heaven   and
'there is  a timo to speak 1' —"and a time the bedsAlc—a pale faco—a convulsed frame
to build !"—"a timo to laugh !"—and "a work.    Oh,   1 hoar  it—the wild  farewell
timo to daneo!"    All this we believo—all --the breath drawn gaspingly—the broken-
this we act as if we liolievcd—and yot who hearled sobbing ofthe mother, of husband,
of us  all acta   asif  ho believed the truth of wife,  of child.     Oh,   I   seo  it!—the
of tho more ajiparcnt and apjialliug utter- shroud—tho  cofliu—the    bici—the   funeral
ence—"'There is a time to die !"    I  say train—thc opeu grave !  Rut whose ? do you
the  uiost apparently   truthful.    0,  what luJi—whoso! alas, yours!—and  yours!—and
need of preaching on  such a  point ?     It | yours.    Oh, my God !   what, wha', is life ?
seems tho one great ulterencc of universal A cloud, a vapor, a dreain that  vanishelh
naturo.    Tho lulling leaf—the fading flow- —a tale lhat is lold—a walk blindfold amid
or—the setting suu—the revolving year— opeu graves and on the brink of groat pro tho  tolling bell—Iho upen grave;—these.
cipioes. Think of it—oh, think ot it—".'¦/« thcu, aro tho syllables wherein God utters j appointed time to die!" Iu yonder pris- hia great orac.es. And it ia as if the great i on thero lies a man appointed lo execution, anthcui of nalure wcrc attuned inlo rquiciu. All appeals for exoculive clemeney have and the entire' universe took up the wild | been vain. On such a day, in such a month, utterance and criod in tho hea;ing of tho Mio dies. Oh, if he could como and stand great  hum.iii audienco—over  aud only— , iu this place, how he ivould preach to you.
•vphere is aiime to die !' And thc sccrot .How think ye timo seems to him. How j tion will ri.se us in its strength, and triim- of our slraui'o insensibility to a truth so ! terrible iheae morning and evening bells j plo into dust that foul and frenzied faiia- loudly utiercd, lies, perhaps even deeper j that nieasure his being ! Uow aivful tho ticism that would sever a.:ain with its rcji- than our unwillingness lo dwell upon it. it slow movemont uf sunbeams aloug the dun- ; tile toolh a cord strengthened by the very arises tromthe iii.siinctivo feeling of the geou walls! How wild each hourly stroke hejirt strings of those mighty men, who, humau heart, that death unto our race is : on the great time keeper. Uow every j together, that it might be iniinortal, havo ¦ '   ¦ .    .      I •   •      A A',.-.A
arlh, that as an eaglo bcarteli hcr young, we shall bo borne still upward and onward on the wings of Uis all-sustaining provi¬ dence. And with this hope cvor in regnrd of our laud, w-c can see how, for her no¬ blest chanijiion, the present was—"'The time to die." Hc died as a candidato for our great national office, ih tho honr of our great national election—and methinks the glorious shadow of his death falling on the nation that is mingling in tho strife—and the smaller mon that await ils great issue —will bo subduing and sanctifying, lie died, too, when his geatost work was ac¬ complished, and the fretted chord of our nalional brotherhood had grown strong agaiii by the twining ofhis self-sacrificing aud heroic conseorution. And surely, in the shadow of such a death, this saved na¬
ing light—blazing on ailils amplo folds, thoy float over the soa and over tho land, Jllld un overy wind uuder the whole heav¬ ens—that sentiment dear unlo every A- nicricau heart— Liberty and Union—now and forever—oue and inseparable."'
All me, what hath earthly lifo to offer for a dentil like this! What are the poor lustres that brighten for a ,vliort time the abodes of offioial placemen—to the great light that shall abide serene and forever on his glorious grave! A^crily, our heavenly Father dealt tenderly with his miglhty man-child—for, it was—" Ms time to die!"
X. Rut let u8 pass from all this again to tho plying our siiiijile and jiersonal mor¬ alities. Unto us all, w-oll the fitting time, to dio, is, when God's great pur¬ poses .".hull be the answered by our jiulling olf the mortal: and this ouly known to Gud —we know it nut, nur cnn knuw it. AVhal can hajipou to us at any limo, may haji- pcn to us now. Death may come to us in maiihuud—it m.ay como to us in childhood —it mny come to uh in bright and happy youth; and as we kuow not what is the aj - jiuintod time, thl^ appropriate time should be ahsolulcly nlwnyti.
Oh for wisdom on this point liko child¬ ren of this world! Vou depart on a jour¬ ney. Vou say lo your servant, ou such a we"ek I shall return. And how that ser¬ vant watches—to every bellring, and eve¬ ry roll of wheels. Vour Iiouse is kept ready—all your usual comfoi ts prepared —your servant expects yuu! So shall it ho with Death! AVatch! for you know not its hour. A constant expectancy is the only projior state—
¦¦l.cave.s have llioir liiuc to fill,"
And llowors to wither at the iiorlh wind's hrealli.
And stars  to .sot—lint all,
'riiou hnst all sen.smn for tliiiic mvii, oh Dcntli! Death's, time—"'The time to die"—is —when! Nowl And wo should never bo found in piaccs unsuited lo his coming. And, alas! tell mo how Dealh would look ill all his skeleton and ghastly terrors sit¬ ling in tho dross circle of a theatre!—min¬ gling with the gay drcsaod dancers of a ball-room!
Two professing Christians stood by tho door of a fashionable theatre, whou one of them proposed td go in and wilness tho ap-^ pearance of a celebrated actor. Theotli¬ er refused. Tho friend urged; bul his re¬ solute refusal was in these reasonablo word.s: "Suppose I should go in there, be called away lo eternity, and coming up to the gale of Heaven, il should be asked, 'whence come you, my brother,' oh, I should be ashamed to answer." I Go no where were you wuuld not dare to die! That is the rule. It is well enough to die in life's common business. In the d.ii-k day of (,'onneclicut, iu 1780, tho peo¬ ple all thought the day of judgment had iconic. The House of Reproscntativo in I Hartford adjourned. The Oouncil propo- i sod to adjourn also, but (Jol. Davenport t objected.    Said   he—".Air.  Speaker,   the
was the most familiar book of his schohir .sliip, and that the breath of prayer was bis daily sacrifice—and that his last word were uf a trust in a crucified ilcdocmer— lo say this, if wc could s.iy no more, were to fling a moral glory round this great man's death, in the light of which the luin- ced and jiaraded scopliciam cf thc jiigmy and omasculatod statesmanship ho has left behind, seems as a reptile in the golden flush of thc day-.spring.
Rut be uur opinion of his religious char¬ acter what it may, wo would have you re¬ mark here a great   fact—that of  cuijuirios
That Staff," arc tho only support of th« death struck—"That is what they w.iut— that is what they want."
Oh tell us, hy all tho wandering thought! ar.d wild agonies of tho dying strife; tell us if, whon death struck, man can prepara woll for death; tcll ns if the last sicknosi be not over and only "a time to die!"
'There is a lime t,i die." Oh that God would givo 1110 powor to plead with you all earneslly in behalf of a truth liko this. If there bc a time to "speak," w* got ready for it; if there bo a limo to "build," we get ready for it; if there bo a time evon to "dance," alas, somo of us get ready for it. And why, oh why, in re¬ spect of the iiiightiest only of all these in¬ terests, should wc bc so legardlcss?—Bo- loved Christian disciples let uie plead with you. AVo,oven we. nro uot rcidy to dia —God kuows wc aro not. There aic beau¬ tiful and blessed things in heaven—ero\VM, that we are scarcely fitted lo wear; throA, that we are scarcely fitcod to ascend; ao¬ cial circles, that we are scarcely fitted to enter; hallclujnhs, that w-c nre scarcely fit¬ ted to sing-. Are we doing our duty to oursclvers? A\ hat say our family altai-.v- our closets—our sueial prayer circles?— What record is there w-rilton in Iho great buok of God! Oh, God halh placed us ia this world to win great spoil for eternity, From the sands by the stream of lime y» can gather brighter treasure than they dig from the golden streams of the south. Oh foolish heart! To slumber thus when the treasure is w.ished away and the dark night cometh! Ves, and more. Aro w« doing our dnty to olhcrs? Fathers, moth¬ ers, Sunday school tpaehers, Chrisliac men, in tho inidst of a dying world, is your
ahout his dying moments, this has beon on I great work accomplished! Are ye roadr all hands the most earnest—men making nu i to part with all below and go home to n-lo- jirctouee lo religion, enquiring first of all ry! Aud yot thoso beloved ones aro dy- if ho died as a christian. Publio journals, ing creatures. They may dio suddenly- filled daily with stale ribaldry upon reli- they must die soon. Live with Ihem then gion, par-ule it—in italics and eajiitals—ai3 as with tho dying. Go get some grea*. ar¬ the most important point in the sad record: i tist to paint tluis3 dear forms stretched —That his last words to his last breath waa ' ution a dealh bed—thoso beloved fcaturoi ,-p.,-lit in j.r.iyer fur fiirgivpncss through > cunvnlsoJ in thc death agony; an'.l Laiig Christ Jesus, and in the utlerance of an the jiiclurc in your homo circle, and right ass-.irod reliance on the slalf and rod of tho ' above your class in the Sunday school, and Great Shojiherd! And what learn you from , it shall bo unto you as a preaching spirit all this? Why, that, sjiite of the world's in all the resistless eloquence of luvo and neglect of religion—yen, sjiito oflhe world's , death, crying earnestly aud cvor, "There it
scorn of religion—there yet exists iu every man's heart a conscionsnoss that true ic¬ iigion can alone dispel tho gloom of the grave, und jirepare the soul for its iip- .sjiring tu iiumurtalily.
Ah, no mau dies well, save overshadow¬ ed by tho Divine wings and resting on llio gloat sacrifice of tho Redeemer. And if our groat statesman diod well, it wus n^t becanse ho reposed amid his beauiiful home, watched by trustful eyes and loving hearts. It was not that be died iu thc full jiiisscssion of the powers of his mighly in¬ telloct, and tho glory of his groat, majes¬ tic patience. It w-.is not that he died in the loftiest height of his great fame, amid the roused pulses in the heart of a great nation beating as the heart of one man, hi prayer for his deliverance. No, sirs—no, sirs. It was only because hc walked thi-ough the valley of deeji shadows lean¬ ing on tho Sheplierd,"lhat rod—that stall" —they coiiiforliiig him. Oh, that God would send it back eloquently from those sealed lipa—.,'i time—one limc—only onc tine to did
Xll. ".1 time to die!" i. c. .1 time on¬ ly tu die—to do nothing elso bnt to die!— A time not to make jn-cjiaratiiin for the luonsler, but to meet him! When tho summons comes, thero is iiO advantage  fo
u time to die"—"'There is a time to cic!'
iL'Therc is a time to die .'" Oh, my iui- penitont liearer, whore, where is your heart, your conscience—the wisdom and warines* of yonr iiniLOrtal mind—that yo will not be roused to the cousideratinn of a truth ao terrible. That dying hour will como.— Vuu haVO no lime, you say, to boeome re¬ ligious: "have mo excused," yon say, "go thy way for this time: oh do not t.ilk ahout death: do not uncover the grave; let ma eiijuy life while it lasts; I cannut attend to yuur call now." Rut, beloved, death will be attendod lo—ho will not huvo j-ou ex¬ cused. The mighty and thc nuble dio. Oh, sjioak frum the dust, thou dojiartcd, and tell lis if there bo any power in earthly love, in earthly glory, in the tearful w-iloh- ings of prufessiunal sagacity, in thc miifhfy cryings of a whole land, pleading earnestly lo save thcc—if there bo any pjwcr in Ihcm all lo lurn back death from his awfnl path¬ way. Nay, liis, death will not havo you excused—you cannot jiut him oft'—he come* buf oncc—ho never calls again. Vcs, and he is coming; his hour is near; thc fever which heralds him may be already flashing in the eye, bounding in the bosom. "'Tfie time la die" is near. You will soon make your last bargain, finish your laat earthly business, jnin in yuur last party of pleas-
preparation.    Alns!  if  there bc unc   mad-  ure;   you will part with every friend; -/'OU ...,..., ..,:„i..: .1    .1, :.   :..i,,, _     ..n ,:i     i--,   .    ,.i, ,."..,   ,.      -*    .
noss mightier than nnolher, it   is tho pro- ! will bid adieu to bibles, and Sabbaths, crastination to a dying hour of the   soul's | snncluarics.    Oh,  it is coming—the
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life work. Thu gathering unlo the sad'sickness; the sad farewell of wife, and hours of a sick chamber, nnd the jircssiug child, and parent, and young coinpnhion.— upon a jiour, cnnvulsed fiaiiiework, and a | It is coining—the glazing eye, tho wHil' spirit weakened and tomj-est tust, all the spasm of agony, the gravo, the judgiuont, momenlous interests that tako hold on | the long, lung etornitv—coming—coining I otornity. Alas, religion is not a spasm of J,uy yoTip hand upon your heart—mark iti excited feclhig-a tear in a dying eye; a |bouiidiiig pulse woll. Each one is buta ju-ayer ou a dying lip. No sirs, no sirs. ; stroke on the great bell of your juison- lleligion is a journuy!-who ever hcurd of a house—a footfall, .sad nhd sure, of death, uiuu starting forth on a journey when death- ' tfie great inonsier, dayof judgment is cilher coming or it is ! struck! Religion is a warfare!—who ever' '¦^'There is a time to die." And wohld not. If it bc nol, then thereis no neod of j road of a ilyirtg warrior bracing on mail to (Jod this wero all of it; but, nlas, alas ! our being alarmed. If it bo coming, 1 for ! over a winding sheet in a nation's ohainpion- ] have yo not read, have ye not heard, hath j one choose tu bc found doing my duty." I ahiji? Religion is a race courae!—who it not" been lull you, liuw a'^iiiiior's liupe- I Ue was a wise old Puritan. I had-as ' ever heard q^' a dying man loajiing from ' less detith bed is a dcatltundyini'? Think I lief die in a workshop or counting-room,' his death chamber to compelc with strong ¦ of it, oh think of it; dyinif agunies prolonc- ; or a social circle, as in a prayer-room or a ' men for a glorious chajilel? No, no, cd for ever' Rody, andT sjniit, and sonl iniilriit.    Rut thon itmust beauodJv work-I beJieva   nie, "/A<   timt fo die''  is no tini» , [('oneluded'on fotVth ptjra.j *