Christian observer

              NEW SERIES, NO   136.
FOR THE DIFFUSION OF TRUTH AND THE SUPPORT OF THE PRTNPTPiFSnp «T~ 	
,  ^ PRINCIPLES OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES.
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PHILADELPHIA, FRIDAY AUGUST 12, 1842.
Southern Jielfflfous ^elenraph.
VOL. XXI. NO. 32.
POETRY.
«I SING OF CALVARY."
Down- from the willow bough
My slumb'ring harp I'll take,
And hid its silent strings
To heavenly themes awake.
Peaceful let its breathings be,
Soft and soothing harmony.
Love, Love Divine, I sing;
O, for n seraph's lyre,
Bathed in Siloa's stream,
And touched with living fire.
Lofty, pure the strain should be,
When I sing of Calvary.
Love, love on earth appears !
The wretched throng his way ;
He bcareth all their griefs,
And wipes their tears away.
Soft and sweet the strain should he,
Saviour, when I sing of Thee.
He saw mc as he passed,
In hopeless sorrow lie,
Condemned and doomed lo death,
And no salvation nigh.
Loud and long the strain should be,
When I sing his love to mc.
" I die for thee," he said—
Behold the Cross arise !
And lo ! He hows his head—
He bows his bend and dies !
Soft my harp, thy breathings be,
Let mc weep on Calvary.
He lives ! again He lives !
I hear the voice of Love—
He comes to soothe my fears,
And draw my soul above.
Joyful now the strain shall be,
When I sing of Calvary.
RELIGIOUS.
INSPIRATION—THE MINUTE DETAILS OF
THE BIBLE.
Wc so much admire the beauty, the correctness and the
piety of the following thoughts from Gaussen on Inspira¬
tion, that we are induced to transfer them to our columns
for our readers. Seldom, we think, has any writer appre¬
hended, so fully as Gaussen has done, the movements and
impressions of the Spirit on the minds of the inspired pen¬
men of the Bible. And hence he brings beauties and gems
to our view, from ihe hitherto comparatively dry subject of
Inspiration, that arc perfectly captivating ; and gives us ri¬
vers of delight where we formerly had but rills. This our
readers have already realized in the short and eloquent ex¬
tract from this work which we published two weeks since,
on Prophetic Kcscrvc; and this they will also realize in
Gaussen's answer to the following question :
Would the apparent insignificance of certain details
of the Bible justify lis in separating them from
the inspired portion ?
Does it comport with the dignity of inspira¬
tion to accompany the thought of the Apostle
Paul, even into those vulgar details into wliich
we see him descend in some of his letters ?—
Would the Holy Spirit condescend to dictate to
him those public salutations which terminate his
epistles;—or those hygienic counsels to Timothy
concerning his stomach and his often infirmi¬
ties ;—or those commissions with which he
charges him, with regard to his parchments and
a certain cloak which he had left at the house of
Carpus at Troas, when he was leaving Asia?
The reader will suffer us to beseech him to be
cautious of this objection, when, holding the
Bible in his hands, he happens not to recog¬
nize, on the first* perusal, the signs of God's
hand in such or such a passage of the word.—
Let those imprudent bands not cast one verse of
it outof the temple of the Scriptures. They hold
an eternal book, all of whose authors have said
with St. Paul: "And I think that I too have the
Spirit of tho Lord!" If, then, he does not yet see
any thing divine in such or such a passage, the
fault is in him, and not in the passage Let him
rather say with Jacob: "Surely the Lord is in
this place, and I knew it not."* This book can
sustain the light of science ; for it will bear that
of the last day. The heavens and the earth shall
pass; but none of its words shall fail, not even
to the least letter.    God declares to every one
that hcarcth the words of this prophecy, that if I have given encouragement, example, and joy?
any one shall take away from the words of this j We just now remember, in Switzerland, the pas-
book, God will take away his part from the book ; tor Juvet, to whom a coverlet was refused, twen-
of life.f J ty years ago, in the prisons of the Canton de
L-jt us examine more closely the alleged pass- j Vaud.   We remember that Jerome of Prague,
ages.   St. Paul, from the depths of his prison, j shut up for three hundred and forty days in the
the field, was willing to die still poorer, deprived
of all, even to its cloak and under-garments, and
fastened naked to the malefactor's gibbet with
the arms extended and nailed to the wood? Ah!
be not solicitous for the Holy Spirit; he has not
derogated from his own majesty; and so far
from thinking that he was stooping too low, in
announcing these facts to the world, he had hast¬
ened to recount them to it—and that, too, a thou¬
sand years in advance. At the period of the
Trojan war lie already was singing them upon
the harp of David: " They have pierced my
hands and feet," said he, " they look and stare
upon me, they part my garments among them,
and cast lots upon my vesture." (Psalm, xxii:
18,19.   John, xix: 23,24.)
Eut it is the same Spirit who would show us
St. Paul writing to Timothy, and requesting him
to bring his cloak. Hear him ; he too is stripped
of every thing. In his youth, he was already
eminent, a favorite of princes, admired of all;
but now he has left every thing for Christ. It
is now thirty years and more, that he has been
poor, in labors more than the others, in wounds,
more than they, in prison oftcner; five times
he had received of the Jews forty stripes save
one; thrice was he beaten with rods; once he
was stoned; thrice he has suffered shipwreck;
often in journeyings; in perils upon the sea, in
perils in the city, in perils in the desert; in
ivatchings oft, in hunger and in thirst, in cold
and nakedness—(we quote his own words.) Hear
him now; behold him advanced in age; he is in
his last prison ; he is at Rome ; he is expecting
his sentence of death; he has fought the good
fight; he has finished his course, he has kept the
faith; but he is cold, winter is coming on, and he
is poorly clad! Buried in a dungeon of the
Mamertine prisons, he is so much despised, that
all the very Christians of Rome are ashamed
of him ; and that, at his first appearing, no man
was willing to befriend him. Yet, he had receiv¬
ed, ten years before, while a prisoner at Rome,
and loaded with chains, at least some money
from the Philippians; who, knowing his suffer¬
ings, united together; in their indigence, to send
him some succor. But now, behold him for¬
saken ; no one but St. Luke is with him ; all
have abandoned him. Winter is approaching;
he would need a cloak ; he has left his own, two
hundred leagues off, at the house of Carpus, in
Troas, and no one in the cold prisons of Rome
would lend him one. Has he not then left every
thing, with joy, for Christ; has he not esteemed
all the glory of this world as dross that he might
win Christ; and does he not suffer all things
cheerfully for the elect's sake? (Phil, iii: 8. 2
Tim. ii: 10.) We were ourselves at Rome last
year, in a hotel, on a rainy day, in the beginning
of November. Chilled by the piercing dampness
of the cold evening air, we had a vivid concep¬
tion of the holy apostle in the subterranean dun¬
geons of the capitol, dictating the last of his let¬
ters, regretting the absence of his cloak, and en¬
treating Timothy to bring it to him before the
winter!
Who would then take from the inspired Epis¬
tles so striking and pathetic a feature? Does not
the Holy Spirit carry you to the prison of Paul,
to astonish you with this tender self-renunciation
and this sublime poverty ; just, too, as he show¬
ed you, with your own eyes, his charity, some
time before, when he made him write, in his let¬
ter to the Philippians, " I weep in writing to
you, because there are many among you who
mind earthly things, whose end is destruction?"
Do you not seem to see him in his prison, load¬
ed with chains, while he is writing, and tears are
falling upon his parchment? And does it not
seem to you that you behold that poor body, to¬
day miserably clothed, suffering and benumbed;
to-morrow beheaded and dragged to the Tiber,
in expectation of the day when the earth shall
give up her dead, and the scathe dead which are
in it; and when Christ shall transform our vil6
bodies, to make them like unto his own glorious
body? And if these details are beautiful, think
you they are not also useful ? And if they are
already useful to him who reads them as a simple
historical truth, what will they not become to
him who believes in their Theopneusty, and who
says to himself, Oh, my soul, these words are
written by Paul; but it is thy God who addresses
them to thee? Who can tell the force and con¬
solation, which, by their very familiarity and na¬
turalness, they have for eighteen centuries con¬
veyed into dungeons and huts! Who can count
the poor and the martyrs, to whom such passages
sons sometimes show you all their soul by a sin¬
gle look.
AN ARGUMENT FOR THE BIBLE CAUSE.
A lady in Bristol, England, deeply impressed
with the importance of the Bible Society, deter¬
mined to make personal application in its be¬
half to an elderly gentleman of her acquaint¬
ance, who possessed much wealth, but never
contributed to objects of this nature. She was
tol<J by her friends it would be in vain, but this
did not shake her resolution. She called and
presented the case, exhibiting all the documents
calculated to promote her object. They produc¬
ed no impression. She then reasoned with him,
but without effect. At length she asked him the
question, "Have you a Bible, sir?" "Yes."—
"What would induce you to part with it?" "I
would not part with it on any consideration."—
"Sir," said she, "there are thousands in this
land who are destitute of that which you profess
to prize so highly.    A trifling portioH of your
in the mark upon the forehead of Cain. AH na¬
ture as it unveiled its charms to the young eye of
the antediluvian, was as the voice of God speak¬
ing to him in flocks and in harvests, from every
winding river, and from every shady wood.
Then he communed with God by intercourse
still more direct. Though no blazing summitin-
vited him upward to talk with his Maker as a
man talketh with his friend—though no temple
welcomed him with priestly robe within its holy
of holies, he prayed to God in his solitary tent,
in the communion of the patriarchs, at home,
anil abroad; and when he mingled with men,his
face shone like the face of Moses coming down
from the mount, and the answer sent back from
his Almighty friend was richer than that which
descended on the house of Aaron when they
ministered before the altar. Not alone in the
communion of love, in the revelation of outward
nature, but by prayer did Enoch walk with
God.
Secondly. It is implied in Enoch's walk with
property would supply a fellow-creature with ' God, that he studied the divine character,
the book you would not part with on any consid¬
eration." This appeal produced the desired ef¬
fect. The gentleman, however, concealed his
feelings, and simply asked with an air of indif¬
ference, "What do you think I ought to give?"
Supposing that he was balancing between a
small sum and an absolute refusal, she replied,
"We receive any sum, sir, however small."—
He then went to his bureau, took a bag of gui¬
neas,and began very deliberately to count them—
one, two, three, four, and so on. After he had
proceeded some time in this way, the lady pre¬
suming that he had forgotten the subject on
which she came, and was engaged in other bu¬
siness, ventured to interrupt him with the re¬
mark that her time was precious, and that if he
did not intend to give, she begged to be inform¬
ed, that she might solicit elsewhere. " Have
patience for a few minutes," he replied, and
proceeded till he had counted seventy-three
guineas. " There, madam," said he, " there is
one guinea for every year that I have lived;
take that for the Bible Society."
sends for his cloak. He has left it at the house
of Carpus, in Troas, and he entreats Timothy to
hasten before winter, and not forget to bring it to
him. This domestic detail, so many thousand
times objected against the inspiration of the
Scriptures, from the days of the Anomians, of
whom St. Jerome speaks; J this detail seems to
you too trivial for an apostolic book, or at least
too insignificant and too foreign from all prac¬
tical utility for the dignity of inspiration. Un¬
happy, however, is he who does not perceive its
pathetic grandeur.   .
Jesus Christ also, on the day of his death,
spoke of his cloak and of his vesture. Would
you have this passage taken away from the in¬
spired volume? It was after a night of fatigue
and anguish. They had led him about the streets
of Jerusalem for seven successive hours, by the
light of torches, from street to street, from
tribunal to tribunal, buffeting him, covering
him with a veil, striking his head with staves.—
The morrow's sun was not yet risen, before they
had bound his hands with cords, to lead him
again from the high priest's house to Pilate's
Pratorium. There, lacerated with rods, bathed
in his own blood, then delivered for the last pun¬
ishment to ferocious soldiers, he had seen his
dungeons of Constance, at the bottom of a dark
and loathsome tower, and going out only to ap¬
pear before his murderers.
Nor have we forgotten the holy Bishop Hoop¬
er, quitting his dark and dismal dungeon, with
wretched clothes and a borrowed cloak, to go to
the scaffold, supported upon a staff, and bowed
by the sciatica. Venerable brethren, happy mar¬
tyrs ; doubtless you then remembered your bro¬
ther Paul, shut up in the prison of Rome, suffer¬
ing from cold and nakedness, asking for his
cloak! Ah! unfortunate he, who does not see
the sublime humanity, the tender grandeur, the
fore-seeing and divine sympathy, the depth and
the charm of such a mode of teaching! But
still more unfortunate, perhaps, he, who declares
it human, because he does not comprehend it.—
We would here quote the beautiful remarks of
the respectable Haldane on this verse of St.
Paul: " This passage, if you consider the place
it occupies in this Epistle, and in the solemn fare¬
wells of Paul to his disciples, presents this Apostle
to our view in the situation most calculated to af¬
fect us. He has just been before the Emperor;
he is about to finish his days by martyrdom ; his
departure is at hand, the crown of righteousness
is reserved for him ;  behold him on the con¬
ferments all stripped off, that they might clothe ! fines of two worlds; in this which he is about to
"in '" fa scarlct r,jbc, whilst they bowed the j leave, ready to be beheaded, as a malefactor, by
knee before him, placed the reed in his hands, | the orders of Nero ; in that which he is going to
' ' ! '  > ii'sface.   Then, before laying his J enter, crowned as a just man by the Lord of
lords; in this, abandoned of men—in that, wel¬
comed by angels; in this, needing a poor cloak
to cover him—in that, covered with the righteous¬
ness of the saints; clothed upon with his heaven¬
ly tabernacle of light and joy, so that mortality
is swallowed up of life."
Ah, rather than object to such a passage, there¬
by to deprive the Scriptures of their infallibili¬
ty, we should there recognize that wisdom of
God, which, so often by one single touch, has
given us instructions, for which, without that,
many pages would have been necessary. We
should adore that tender condescension, which,
stooping even to our weakness, is pleased, not
only torrSyeal to us the highest thoughts of hea-
tioss upon his bruised frame, they had replaced
r'nlvg,T1C!US Up0n his wounds, to lead him to
caivaiy ; but, when they were about to proceed
third timo0CUli? ■' thCy t0°k Ulem aWay for the
third time -and it is then that, stripped of every
hing, first Ins cloak, then his coat   hen of even
b.s under-dress, he must die naked upon the
malefactor's gibbet, in thr. v-,,,,., „r       •
,    n-,   i      xtr    .u   " ine view of an immense
multitude.   Was there ever seen, under heaven,
man, who has not found these details touching
sublime, inimitable?    And was one ever seen
who, from the account of this death, thought of
retrenching, as useless or too vuigari the h;st
af these garments which they divided among
them,—or of this cloak, for which they cast lotsi
Has not infidelity itself said, in speakin-of it' ! ""^ .lu'T'"' lu,u° 7° '"5"00-- »•»»&"">.«. »«~-
that the majesty of the Scriptures astonished it I"5" J" the simP,cst language of earth, but also
that their simplicity spoke to its heart; that thr- '< °.ffor them t0 U3 Undei* f°TmS S° ,mng' S° dt*'
death of Socrates was that of a sage, but Jesus i m*t,c'so penetrating, often compressing them in
fL... .. _ n  '. ou' i order
Christ's, that of a God!||—and if the divine in- .
spiration'was reserved for a mere portion of the i
holy books, would it not be for these very de-
Would it not be for the history of lhat
tho earth
the foxes of i
Gen. viii. 16.    f RCv~ xxi. 18, 19.
*™ Proemium in Epit. ad Philem.   || J. J. Rousseau.
.. ..u.«   it    nut   ui;   iui    uic   lltsiu
"vc, which, after having lived upon
P,J(Jrer than the birds of the air and th
to render them more intelligible, within
the narrow space of a single verse.
It is then thus that St. Paul, by these words
thrown at hazard even into the last commission
CHARACTER AND REWARD OF ENOCH.
" And Enoch walked wilh God; and he was not, for God
took him."—Gen. v. 24.
This precious relic of antediluvian history oc¬
curs in the midst of one of those genealogical
tables so frequent in Jewish annals, and so use¬
ful in preserving our Saviour's lineage. It is re¬
markable for several reasons. It is the only
record of religious character in the regularsuc-
cession of the patriarchs down to the time of
Noah. Enoch was the seventh from Adam. Of
his great progenitor, subsequently to the fall, our
account is extremely limited, presenting only
the enumeration of his children and his years.
Of the other patriarchs it is simply recorded that
they lived, and they died. Of Enoch, however,
the historian attempts to draw a more full and
accurate portrait. This portrait is interesting,
as it presents the spectacle of a good man, in the
midst of a corrupt and degenerate age. The
sacred history informs us, that the depravity of
man was now fearfully increasing throughout tfie
earth. The prevalent neglect of public worship
among tbe descendants of Cain, the" pride that
was engendered in their hearts by the skill of
such artificers as Jubal and Tubal, and by the
physical strength of the giants in those days, and
more than all tbe great age to which they lived,
putting far off" the thought of death, and giving
to individual sin a gigantic growth, were among
the circumstances which contributed lo this
alarming spread of corruption. But amid them
all, how delightful the thought, that there was
one, who, "faithful found among the faithless,"
maintained a friendship with God, and carried
in his holy life the seeds of the hidden church.
This notice of Enoch is also interesting as it
comprises a precious biography, with sublime
conciseness, in a single sentence, and as it
holds up so simple and so beautifully the pat¬
tern of a perfect life, and a glorious exit. I know
of no name in ancient history more worthy of
Christian emulation than the name of Enoch. It
outshines not only the glitter of earthly conquest
and secular renown, but it has a charm surpass¬
ing that of inspired story, where the venerable,
and the mighty, and the gifted are the theme. It
may be a peculiar fantasy of mine, but for my¬
self, brethren, I would rather be Enoch in the
solitary garden of patriarchal holiness, than Da¬
vid with princely crown, or Elijah with pro¬
phet's sword, or Isaiah with harp of majestic
melody. There could not be a more soothing
unction to my soul, than to have it come down
from that dark, mysterious period, in sweet and
simple record, "He walked with God—he was
not, for God took him."
Our text presents the character of Enoch, and
its recompense, each singular and striking, in
language and in fact. Let us consider the pecu¬
liar superiority of this life, and the nature and
propriety of its reward.
I. We will consider the character of Enoch,
and attenipt to develop the significance of the
description "he walked with God."
First. This language implies that he main¬
tained habitual communion with God.
There is no reason to suppose that his com¬
munion was aided by any visible manifestations
of his Almighty friend. Suchpeculiarintercourse
between God and man was not uncommon at
that early period, but it seems to have been re¬
served for uncommon emergencies, and for the
revelation of important promises or threaten-
ings. It is hardly probably that the piety of the
early saints was dependent for its culture on what
was tangible and palpable, and indeed the pe¬
culiar excellence of Enoch is ascribed by the
apostle to that faith which is " the evidence of
things not seen."
There is an affection which brings near to the
heart the absent one, though long and far re¬
moved from the outward eye. Should the visible
world be completely shut out from view, the
ever-living love would of itself make a spiritual
presence within the soul. And those thoughts
that dwelt only on the distant, would bring the
distant near. Then let the outward eye be open¬
ed, to gaze not on cold and vacant objects, but
upon scenes of nature which were all associated
with the departed; let the green fields be the
same through which he has walked with us, and
the blue heavens the same on which he has gaz¬
ed with us, and from each flour and tree the
voice of the absent will speak to us, and from
each star the face of the absent will look down
on us; then let a real communication be main¬
tained with the departed, by messages of love,
and records of history crossing the land or the
sea, and bringing back tidings and tokens which
the well known hand has sealed, and how per¬
fect may be the communication between human
beings in their hours of separation, how they
may walk together, though invisible, and inau¬
dible, and far asunder. Now here have we a
faint image of Enoch's communion with God.
The pious love which he cherished towards his
Maker made a divine presence within his own
soul, and he could walk with God as the divine
Spirit revealed itself to the eye of that inward
in the phrase, and as the best explanation of his seemed to rejoice in his fate. Poor mortal, he
walk with God, we read in the Septuagint ver- had heaped up riches, and others had seized
sion of our text, that Enoch pleased God. Paul them as their spoil—he had trusted in gold, and
also, in the Epistle to the Hebrews, asserts that I it had proved his curse—he had been an unfaith-
" before his translation he had this testimony, j ful steward, and God has dispossessed him in a
that he pleased God." There was a delightful con- j sudden and alarming manner—he had made his
sciousnessofthe divine approval diffused through j riches a barrier to shut out the light of heaven
his life. Ever he walked under the smile of a ; from his soul, and in a moment his money had
Father with whom he was at peace. His sins perished with him. Many, very many, no
were all forgiven, his sacrifices were all accept- j doubt are at this moment hastening to the same
able, he looked forward with the full assurance I fate, little as they may apprehend the danger,
of hope to his final reward. I
of a familiar letter, casts for us a rapid flood of faith.  When he looked abroad it was upon
light over his ministry, and discovers to us, by a creation every object of which was associated
word, the entire life of an Apostle ; as a single with the same   invisible friend, and he could'
flash of lightning [n the evening, illuminates, in walk with  God as he  revealed himself in the
an instant, all the tops of our Alps—and as per- lives of holy brethren among the patriarchs, or
In our earthly friendships, we am nev*>r satis¬
fied till we are thoroughly acquainted with each
other's souls. There is a jealous curiosity al¬
most always accompanying an ardent attach¬
ment, which is restless to discover each plan
and purpose, and must know the inward feeling
that mantles the face with joy or with gloom.
We never feel that friendship is consummated
till there is that perfect unbosoming of character,
and "as face answereth to face in water, so the
heart of man to man."
Now there is no reason to suppose that Enoch's
piety was of that unintellectual character, that
he could enjoy the society of his heavenly Friend
without the exercise of thought. Indeed he
could walk with one invisible only as he was ac¬
quainted with his attributes, and his increasing
intimacy and affection must have led him to as¬
pire after more extended knowledge, and to
search into the deep things of God. The oppor¬
tunities for theological study at that early pe¬
riod may have been extremely limited, but he
could have prosecuted his researches without the
aid of a prophet's school, ora learned library, or
a systematic creed. His proximity to the period
of the creation made him more intimate with the
great first cause, and he could look back to that
immediate exertion of Almighty power, as an
eventless distant than it is to us. Adam died only
fifty-seven years before Enoch's translation, and
Enoch probably enjoyed the society of that re¬
markable man for more than three centuries.
From Adam's own lips he could learn the story of
the creation, he could become acquainted with
the primeval bliss of Eden, he could ascertain
lhat law of paradise under which our first parents
sinned and fell, he could look with familiar gaze
into the dark problem of the origin of evil. By a
more minute acquaintance with the events of
that mysterious period, he could attain a clear¬
er insight than we into the operations of Provi¬
dence, and the wisdom of those counsels which
were developed in the ruin of the human race.
He had moreover the book of nature ever open
to him, and those works through which he com¬
muned with their divine author were peculiarly
rich in illustration of the divine character. In
bis own sanctified and inspired conciousness he
had another and better source of sacred know¬
ledge, and favored, as he was, by the teachings
of that great Spirit whose society he cultivated,
he was no doubt as highly venerated for the ex¬
tent of his attainments as for the depths of his
devotion. The patriarchs c6nsulted him as their
oracle, the antediluvian scholars treasured up
his sayings. Whatever may be thought of the
oriental traditions, which ascribe to him the in¬
vention of letters and learning, the literal import
of his name implies that he was initiated into
rare mysteries, and one of his predictions, as it
is preserved to us by an inspired apostle, dis¬
closes a reach of vision, which, from that remote
period, the very beginning of the world's histo¬
ry, could look down through all the lapse of
ages to the very last event which is the subject
of prophecy, the final judgment of the ungodly.
Thirdly. It is implied in the description of
Enoch, that he was a co-worker with God.
We always look for some active development
of love in those who profess to be our friends.
What we chiefly demand is a sympathy in our
pursuits, a co-operation in all our plans, a will¬
ingness to aid us by strenuous and even self-de¬
nying exertions for our welfare. We cease to
walk with that man as a friend, who is always
professing his regard, and deriving a kind of en¬
joyment from our society, if he never stir him¬
self to forward our plans, and in the hour of need
remains sluggish and cold. We suspect the mo¬
tives of such a friendship, and we turn away in
disgust from a selfishness that can love us for
its own satisfaction, while it will not lift a finger
to do us good.
Now I see no reason for a common idea of
Enoch's walk with God, that it was a cloistered
and passive piety, into which he retired, to en¬
joy the society of his heavenly friend. I do not
believe that he secluded himself from earthly
duty, and led the life of a hermit. I suspect that
he would have forfeited his claim to that bless¬
ed friendship, if he had shrunk away in coward¬
ice from a wicked world—or that a voice would
have sought him out in his seclusion, like the
voice that reached the hunted prophet of Israel
in his cave—"What dost thou here, Elijah?"
The very import of the phrase in other parts of
the Bible implies an active devotion to service
and to toil, and for our antediluvian priest and
prophet there could have been no hesitating and
reluctant discharge of duty; he must have held
himself ready, waiting for the call of a master;
he must have voluntarily sought out occasions
of advancing those great purposes with which
his intimacy with the divine mind made him fa¬
miliar.
Enoch was faithful in his family, and to the
world. Could we learn the history of Methuse¬
lah, his first born son, we should see how a fa¬
ther's care and counsel had shed their influence
on that life of nearly a thousand years. And we
are assured by inspired tradition, that he rose up
fearlessly to reprove the flagrant sins of the age,
and to vindicate the honor of his God from re¬
proach "Behold!" was his bold and eloquent
language, as he stood forth among the profane
and the vile, the scoffers and the murderers, the
contemners'of God and the corrupters of man-
as he walked among them unharmed, jealously
contending for h«s almighty Friend, "Beholdthe
Lord cometh with ten thousand of his saints, to
execute judgment upon all, and to convince all
that arc ungodly among them, of all their un¬
godly deeds which they have ungodly commit¬
ted and of all their hard speeches which ungod¬
ly sinners have spoken against him."
Fourthly. It is implied in Enoch's walk with
God, that there must have subsisted strong mu¬
tual complacency between him and the Divine
Being.
"How can two walk together except they be
agreed?" The discovery of mutual foibles will
sometimes mar the warmest friendships, and
that attachment is the most intimate and the
most lasting which is grounded on reciprocal
esteem.
Now there was evidently a peculiar love in the
divine mind towards this faithful and devoted
servant. The ancient translators of the Old Tes¬
tament considered this the predominant element
Similar was the satisfaction with which he con¬
templated the divine perfections. He admired
that character the more he gazed and studied,
and where its mystery baffled his search he
bowed in humble adoration. He had stood at tho
grave of Abel, and wept over the early grave of
purity and loveliness, but he never murmured at
the darkness and gloom of death, for it was the'
portion which God assigned to his creatures. It
was not for him to question the propriety of
God's dispensations. He could not blame" the
Creator for not placing him in the garden, in
stead of Adam, and entrusting to his pure and
obedient walk the destinies of the world. He
found no fault that himself and his children
were involved in that fearful downfall, as the
consequence of eating an apple. No, his grow¬
ing complacency towards the divine character
hushed every uprising doubt, and he quieted
himself in the sweet assurance, that the friend
with whom he walked did every thing right.
Such was Enoch's happy walk with God—so
spiritual, so intelligent, so active, so concordant.
Our earthly friendships are short lived. Our de¬
votion to God is fitful and inconstant. But that
delightful walk was continued for more than
three centuries, ever multiplying its blessed re¬
sults upon his character, and making his path
like the shining light which shineth more and
more unto the perfect day. Such an intimate com¬
munion must have deepened his humility, com¬
paring, as he constantly did, his own poor at¬
tainments with the perfection of his almighty
Friend. It must have increased his holiness, ex¬
posing his own character to the searching gaze
of that eye which cannot look upon sin but with
abhorrence. There must have been in his own,
a growing assimilation to the divine life, as the
result of that heavenly communion. So he was
found steadily persevering in that blessed ca¬
reer, when his reward came. He "walked with
God," and lo ! " he was not, for God took him."
[Rev. Wm. Bradford Homer.
For the Christ Inn Observer.
MEETING ON SHIPBOARD.
Messrs. Editors:—During a recent visit to the
Delaware Breakwater, I attended a religious
meeting held there under such interesting cir¬
cumstances, that I have thought it wrong to al¬
low it to pass unnoticed. I was one of a sailing
party which sojourned there for a day or two,
and during our visit we recognized the Rev.
Mr. Douglass, of the Mariner's church in this
city, who, with the Rev. Mr. Howe, of St.
George's, Delaware, was a passenger on board
the Brig Germ, Capt. Limsler, bound for Hali¬
fax. There were about forty vessels of various
si/.cs in the habour, waiting for favorable winds.
This, with the presence «f one so well and fa¬
vorably known among sailors as the Rev. Mr. J
D., and of three other clergymen, (two of whom,
Messrs. Hopkins and Meudell, of Bridgeton,
N. J., were in the party alluded to,) made it |
seem too favorable an opportunity of doing good, j
to allow it to pass unimproved. Accordingly,
it was suggested by some of our party, that a
meeting should be held in the evening: ar¬
rangements to that effect were soon made, and
invitations sent to the different vessels in the
harbour. Some, when the invitation was given,
openly expressed their pleasure, and at the ap¬
pointed time, boats from all points were to be
seen pulling toward the Germ. Addresses were
made by each of the ministers, and familiar
hymns, of that warm and stirring kind so much
in use at seamen's meetings, were sung. The
audience consisted of about two hundred per¬
sons. They listened with close attention, and
apparently with feeling, to the excellent ad¬
dresses of the speakers; and although strangers,
thrown together from so many different parts,
they seemed to separate with great reluctance.
The fact that they were thus thrown together,
soon to sail for various ports, and the certainty,
so strong in such a case, that they would never
all meet again till the final judgment, were pro¬
perly commented on, and added to the solemni¬
ty of the exercises. The meeting was continued
nearly two hours, and when it broke up, I could
not but feel that no person with right feel¬
ings would, when placed in like circumstances,
willingly forego the pleasure of thus fulfilling
the precept, " In the morning sow thy seed, and
in the evening withhold not thy hand: for thou
knowest not whether shall prosper, cither this
or that, or whether they both shall be alike
good." * R-
For the Christian Observer.
PRAYER OF FAITH—PREVAILING PRAYER.
"ASK, AJfD TE SHALL 11ECEITE."
But may we always, in every case, when our
prayer is acceptable, expect the very thing
for which we ask?
The mother of Augustine was a woman of de¬
voted piety, but her son was a youth of wild and
dissipated habits. She prayed earnestly and long
for his conversion, but apparently without suc¬
cess.     At length he rcooivod to visit Rome.  She
supposing that the temptations of that abandonl
ed city would be his ruin, most earnestly begged
of God to thwart his purpose. She felt a quiet
assurance that God had heard her prayer, and
that her desire would be granted—but, to her
amazement, her son went to Rome. There he
fedl in with Christian society, and was convert¬
ed. His mother then acknowledged that, though
the particular thing she asked for was withhold-
en, yet the deep desire of her hoart, the desire
which had prompted all her prayers, was grant¬
ed. What was the fault in the prayers of this
woman? Simply an ignorance of the means
which God would use for her son's conversion,
a thing she could not have known without spe¬
cial revelation. She prayed according to the
knowledge which she had, and God answered
her according to the desire of her heart.
This is a historical fact.    Let us now suppose
| an example.    A pious man in the city of Erfurt,
in  the   reign  of Maximilian,   mourns over the
corruptions of the Church, and most earnestly
longs for a reformation.  He prays day and night
that the emperor may be converted, and feels
that his prayer is accepted, and that his request
will be granted.   A charity student at law in the
University, the son of a poor miner in a neigh¬
boring village, is walking with a friend that even¬
ing, when  a sudden  flash of lightning throws
them both to the ground.   He recovers, but finds
that his friend is. dead.   This awful*visitation is
the means of his conversion to God, and he re¬
solves, on the spot, to devote his whole life to the
service of Christ in the ministry of the gospel.
Is this an answer to the good man's prayers?—
He is praying for the conversion of the emperor
as a means of reforming the Church: but this
young charity student is Martin Luther, a man
whom God has qualified to do more for the re¬
formation of his Church than  twenty such em¬
perors as Maximilian could have done, had they
been converted ever so thoroughly.   We do not
know, and we cannot always know, what are
the best means which God can employ for the
accomplishment of his work, but we do know
the great ends he has to accomplish; and while
we are praying sincerely and acceptably for Him
to set in motion a particular instrumentality, to¬
wards the accomplishment of these purposes, he
may, in answer to our prayers, set in motion an¬
other which is a thousand times more efficient.
But does not the Holy Spirit sometimes excite
in Christians a particular desire for a particular
THE GOLDEN WALL.
I saw—for it_ was not a dream, but a solemn
reality—I saw an individual, whom God had of¬
ten called by his word and providence to accept
an interest in the kingdom of heaven, and who
was so far obedient to these calls as to profess
before the church and the world, that he had
renounced the flesh, and the devil, and as a
pilgrim, was looking anxiously forward towards
an inheritance incorruptible in the.heavens—
and yet the same man I saw occupied, as I shall
now describe. He was intent in gathering round
pieces of silver and gold, and had by his assidu¬
ous diligence accumulated a vast heap on which
his eyes were fixed with an eager, but anxious
expression. I noted that all his actions express¬
ed his deep interest in this one pursuit, and that
every thing else, religion not excepted, was re¬
garded with but little feeling of concern. With
his shining hoards around him, he was occupied
in placing the pieces in regular rows in the form
of a circular wall, in the centre of which he had
placed himself. As the wall gradually increased
in height, I could plainly perceive that it was
shutting him out from all profitable intercourse
with the world, and although the liberal distri¬
bution of the useless coin with which he was
surrounding himself would, have enabled him to
feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and send the
gospel to the poor, yet he would ensconce him¬
self behind his wall, arid listen'to the most pite¬
ous cries for relief with entire unconcern. I ob¬
served too, as the wall rose higher, that it shut
out the light and heat of the sun, so that he was
both chilled and left in gloom—indeed at length
he could not see the light of heaven at all. In¬
stead of taking the alarm at this, and breaking
out of the barrier he had placed around him, he,
infatuated mortal, still went on building until he
had entirely enclosed himself. Then I observed
that the wall began to shake with a rough blast
that struck upon it, and the next moment it fell,
—and never can I forget the unearthly shriek of
the miserable mortal within, as he was crushed
beneath the falling mass. In another moment,
a crowd of people in a tumultuous and noisy
manner, rushed forward and began to gather up
the gold and silver as they lay strewed on the
ground, and although they were the relatives ot
the dead man who had so lately prided himself
in these treasures, yet I observed that they all
object? and incite them to pray for it with a full
belief that this particular object will be gained?
Such cases, unquestionably, may occur; and
if we may trust the experience of Christians,
they have occurred not unfrequently. In such
cases, the desire is undoubtedly excited in order
to lead Christians to pray more, and more earn¬
estly, and thus prepare them for the reception of
the particular blessing implored. The mistake
consists in supposing that all acceptable prayer is
of this distinctive character, and that this is the
only prayer which deserves the name of the
prayer of faith.
Some people talk and reason as if they sup¬
posed two or three Christians might, if they
were only holy enough, go into a particular
town, and there pray that every individual in
that town might be immediately converted, and
fully believe that their prayer would be literally
answered, and that, in consequence of this pray¬
er and this faith, every individual in that town
would be immediately converted, and that the
only reason why the whole world is not thus con¬
verted at the present time, is, that Christians are
not holy enough, or do not pray and believe in
just this manner.
This idea, it appears to me, isunscriptural and
fanatical. If this be the correct idea of prayer,
our Lord Jesus Christ, while he was upon earth,
had holiness enough and faith enough to pray
the whole world into the kingdom of heaven in¬
stantaneously, if it had been the will of God that
the world should be so converted: and surely
he was not wanting in the exercise of prayer,
rising up a great while before day and praying,
and sometimes spending whole nights in prayer
to God: and it is but reasonable to suppose that
he often prayed for those for whom he came to
suffer and die, r.nd for whom he was continually
laboring. And undoubtedly, too, his prayers
were heard; for he said to his Father, " J know
that thou always hearest me."
There are several instances in the Bible, where
acceptable prayer has been offered, and God has
heard and answered it, and yet the particular
thing asked for has not been granted.
Gen. xvii: 18—21: Abraham prays that Ish-
mael may inherit the promises which God had
given him ; God accepts the prayer, and tells him
that it is accepted—and yet adheres to his pre¬
vious determination that Sarah shall have a son
who shall be the heir of the promises; and this,
when it occurred, gave Abraham greater joy
than if he had received the very thing he asked.
Gen. xviii: 16—33: Abraham intercedes for
Lot. Who can read this narrative and not be¬
lieve that Abraham's intercession, though the
thing he asked for was withholden, was both ac¬
ceptable to God and profitable to himself?
2 Cor. xii: 7, 9: Paul prayed that a particular
annoyance might be removed. What it was he
does not inform us, and it is idle for us to con¬
jecture. His prayer was accepted ; the annoy¬
ance was not removed, but he had strength given
him to bear it, and turn it to good account; so
that he gloried in the very infirmity which had
before troubled him, and from which he had
thrice prayed to be delivered. He now feels it
far better to have the infirmity, with the grace of
God in enabling him to bear it, so that the pow¬
er of Christ might be manifested in him.
The case of our Saviour is very remarkable,
and well worthy our attention. Math. 20: 39—42.
Mark 14: 35- Luke 22: 42. It was not the mere
agony of crucifixion that our Saviour so much
dreaded, but the untold, unutterable sorrow, con¬
nected with the hidings of his father's face from
him in that dreadful hour, and the other suffer¬
ings connected with bis death as an atoning sac¬
rifice for our sins. When the hour approached
his human, nature sunk, and he earnestly desired,
if any other way were possible, he might be
spared the agony.
Some have contended that Jesus feared he
should die of his agony in the garden before he