Слике страница
PDF
ePub

ficial wants, with ill-regulated desires, with selfish and sensitive feelings of its own cherishing, the mind must be miserable. And what then is its misery? Hath it not planted in its own path the thorns that annoy it? And doth not the hand that planted, grasp them? Is not the very loudness of the complaint, but the louder confession, on the part of him who makes it?

[ocr errors]

The complaint nevertheless with some is very loud. "It is not a happy world," a man says, but a very miserable world; those who consider themselves saints may talk about a kind providence; he cannot see much of it: those who have all their wish s gratified may think it is very well; but he never had his wishes gratified; and nobody cares whether he is gratified or not; everybody is proud and selfish," be says; "if there is so much goodness in the world, he wishes he could see some of it. This beautiful world! as some people call it—for his part he never saw anything very beautiful in it; but he has seen troubles and vexations, clouds and storms enough; and he has had long, tedious, weary days, and dark and dull nights; if he could sleep through his whole life, and never want anything, it would be a comfort." Mistaken man! doubly mistaken-mistaken about the world-mistaken in thyself; the world thou complainest of is not God's world, but thy world; it is not the world which God made, but it is the world which thou hast made for thyself. The fatal blight, the dreary dulness, the scene so distasteful and dismal, is all in thyself. The void, the blank, amidst the whole rich and full universe, is in thy heart. Fill thy heart with goodness, and thou wilt find that the world is full of good. Kindle a light within, and then the world will shine brightly around thee. But till then, though all the luminaries of heaven shed down their entire and concentrated radiance upon this world, it would be dark to thee. The light that should be in thee is darkness, and how great is that darkness!"

[ocr errors]

But I must turn in close, to address myself for a moment to a very different state of mind, and that is discouragement. Complaint is to be blamed; but there is a heavy and uncomplaining discouragement, pressing upon many minds, which demands a kinder consideration. They have tried and not succeeded; they have tried again, and failed of the ends, the objects, which they sought; and they say, at length, We give over; we can never do anything in this world; ill fortune has taken the field against us, and we will battle with it no longer." Yet more to be pitied are those who have never had even the courage to strive; who, from their very cradle, have felt themselves depressed by untoward circumstances, by humble state or humble talents. Oftentimes the mind in such a case is, in culture and power, far beyond its own estimate; but it has no aptitude for worldly success; it has no power to cause itself to be appreciated by others; it has no charm of person or speech; it is neglected by society, where almost every one is too much occupied with his own advancement to think of pining merit; it is left to silent and solitary hours of discouragement and despondency. And in such hours-perhaps there are some here present who can bear me witness the thoughts that sink deeply into the heart, though never, it may be, breathed in words, are such as these:-" My chance in this world is a poor one; I have neither wealth, nor talents, nor family—I have nothing to give me importance; I have no friends to help me

forward, or to introduce me favourably to the world; I have no path open to me; my success is poor, even my expectation is poor. Let the fortunate be thankful; but I am not fortunate; the great prizes are not for me; despond I needs must, for hope I have none; I will sit down in silence, and eat the bread of a neglected lot; I will weep-but even that is useless; away then, hope! away, tears!-I will bear my heart calmly, though sadly, in its way through a cold, ungenial, unkind world."

And yet above this man is spread the sublimity of heaven, around him the beauty of earth; to this man is unfolded the vision of God; for this man Christ hath died, and to him heaven is unveiled; before this man lies the page of wisdom and inspiration; and wisdom and sanctity it is still given him to learn and gain-wisdom and sanctity, inward, all-sufficing and eternal. The universe is full and rich for him. The heaven of heavens invites him to its abode.

Oh! the intolerable worldliness of the world!-the worldliness of fashion and fashionable opinion! the worldliness of our eager throngs and our gay watering-places, and our crowded cities, and our aspiring literature, and our busy commerce! Distinction! to be raised a little above the rest-to be talked of and pointed at more than others-this hath blinded us to the infinite good that is offered to all men. And this distinction-what is it after all? Suppose that you were the greatest of the great; one raised above kings; one to whom courts and powers and principalities paid homage, and around whom admiring crowds gathered at every step. I tell you that I would rather have arrived at one profound conclusion of the sage's meditation in his dim study, than to win that gaze of the multitude. I tell you that I had rather gain the friendship and love of one pure and lofty mind, than to gain that empty applause of a court or a kingdom. What then must it be to gain the approval, the friendship, the love of that ONE, infinitely great-infinitely dear to the whole pure and happy creation? Before these awful and sublime realities of truth and sanctity, sink all worldly distinction and worldly imaginations! Discouragement and despondency!-for a creature to whom God hath offered the loftiest opportunity and hope in the universe? An humble, depressed, unfortunate lot!-for him, before whom are spread the boundless regions of truth, and wisdom, and joy? A poor chance!-for him who may gain heaven? Ah! sir, thy poverty, thy misfortune, is all in thyself. In the realm of God's beneficence is an infinite fulness, and it all may be yours. Even to the despised and persecuted Christians of old the Apostle said this; and it is still and for ever true, to all who can receive it. "Therefore," says he, in his lofty reasoning, "let no man glory in men; for all things are yours; whether the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's!"

ON INEQUALITY IN THE LOT OF LIFE.

PSALM CXlV. 9: "The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works."

WHAT I wish to suggest for your consideration from these words, is not the goodness of God only, but his goodness to all. I wish, in other words, to examine the prevailing opinion, that there is a great inequality in the distribution of the blessings of life. In opposition to this opinion, I take up the words of the text.

The Lord is good to all. It is not said, merely, that his tender mercies are over his works, but that they are over all his works. His providence is not only kind, but its kindness extends to every human being.

There is no general view of life, perhaps, with which the minds of men are more strongly impressed, than with the apparent inequalities of the human lot. It is probably the most prolific source of all secret repining and open complaint. Affliction of a severe kind comes but seldom; but this inequality in the state of life is permanent. It is perfectly obvious, too. Every one can see the difference between his situation in life, his dwelling, his equipage, and the observance which is paid to him--and those which belong to his more prosperous, wealthy, or honoured neighbour. The distinctions of life indeed chiefly consist in the glare of outward things, and therefore more powerfully impress

the senses.

Now, if it can be made to appear that there is, in fact, considerable deception in these estimates; that things are far more impartially balanced in the system of providence at large than is commonly imagined; that inequality is not the rule of its operations, but only the exception to the rule,—it would serve the important purpose of making us more contented with our lot, more happy in the opportunities and means of happiness that are given to us all, and more submissive and grateful, I would hope, to that Being who has so equally and so bountifully distributed them.

To this subject, then, let me direct your thoughts this morning.

I. And in the first place, you see, at once, an instance and an illustration of this impartiality of Divine Providence, in the inequalities caused by nature; in the allotments of climate, temperature, soil, and

scenery.

There is no one of us, perhaps, whose thoughts have not sometimes wandered to fairer climes than our own, to lands of richer productions and more luxuriant beauty, to those isles and shores of the classic East,

where all the glory of man has faded indeed—where all the monuments of his power and art have fallen to decay-but where nature lives for ever, and for ever spreads its unfading charm; to the verdant and sunny vales of the South-regions of eternal Spring-where the circling seasons, as they pass, let fall no chill or blight upon the fresh and fragrant bosom of the earth. But is there no counterpart to this scene? Where does the volcano lift up its subterraneous thunders, and pour forth its flaming deluge? It is in these very regions of eternal Spring. It is on the green and flowery mount, on the vine-clad hills -fast by the quiet fold of the shepherd, and amidst the rejoicings of the vintage. Whence comes the fearful rumour of the earthquake that has whelmed a city in ruins? It comes from the land of the diamond and the cane; from the hills of Ophir; from groves of the palm and the olive; from vallies loaded with fruits, and fanned with aromatic galeswhere, if nature is more energetic to produce, she is also more energetic to destroy. Where does the dire pestilence walk in darkness, and the fell destruction waste at noonday? Amidst groves of spices, and beneath bowers of luxuriance; and the beam that lights its victims to their tomb is the brightest beam of heaven, and the scenes of which they take their last hasty leave, are the fairest that nature displaysas if life and death were intended to be set in the most visible and vivid contrast. And where, but there also, is that worse than plague, and pestilence, and earthquake-that degradation of the mind-that widespreading pestilence of the soul-that listless indolence, which only arouses to deeds of passion? Let the millions of Southern Asia tell. Let Turkey, so often drenched with blood, answer. Let the wandering Arab, let the stupid Hottentot, let the slothful and sensual inhabitants of the fair isles of the Pacific teach us. Who would not rather struggle with fiercer elements, than sink an ignoble prey to the soft languors of pleasure, and the besotting indulgences of passion? Who would not far prefer our wintry storm, and "the hoarse sighings of the east wind," as it sweeps around us, if they will brace the mind to nobler attainments, and the heart to better duties?

There is one class of virtues that is fostered by the rigours of our climate, which deserves to be particularly noticed. I mean the domestic virtues. We are compelled by the inclemency of our seasons, not only to have some permanent place of abode, but to resort to it. In milder regions, men live abroad-they are scarcely obliged to have any domicile. We are compelled to live at home, and we attach a meaning to the term, and we hallow it with feelings that were unknown to the polished Greek and the voluptuous Asiatic. It is the angry and lowering sky of winter that lights up the cheerful fire in our dwellings, and draws around the friendly circle. It is the cheerlessness of everything abroad, that leads us to find or make pleasures within; to resort to books and the interchange of thought; to multiply the sources of knowledge, and strengthen the ties of affection. It is the frowning face of nature, like the dark cloud of adversity, that lends attraction to all the sympathies and joys of home.

II. But I come now, in the second place, to consider the impartiality of Divine Providence, in the condition of human life. Life-to borrow a comparison from the science of political economy-life, like nature, is a system of checks and balances. Every power of conferring happi

ness is limited or else counteracted by some other power, either of good or evil. There is no blessing or benefit, but it has some drawback upon it; and there is no inconvenience or calamity, but it enjoys some compensation. This results from the very nature of things. You cannot enjoy things incompatible. You cannot at once enjoy, for instance, the pleasures of the country and the town. You cannot mingle the quietude of obscurity with the emoluments and honours of office. You cannot have, at the same time, the benefits of affliction, and the joys of prosperity. If you would reach the loftiest virtue, you must sometimes endure sickness and pain, and you must sometimes be bowed down with sorrow. If you would have perpetual ease and indulgence, you must resign something of noble fortitude, holy patience, and of the blessed triumplis of faith.

The inequalities which appear in the condition of human life, relate chiefly to the possessions, the employments, or the distinctions of society. If we should examine these, we should probably find that they are of less importance to our happiness than is commonly imagined. Indeed, we know that they all depend chiefly on the use that is made of them; and their use depends upon the mind. Distinction and mediocrity, leisure and toil, wealth and poverty, have no intrinsic power of happiness or misery in their disposal. There is a principle within, that is to render them good or evil.

But, not at present to insist on this, these circumstances of inequality, in themselves, are less than they seem. It is common, I know, to hear of the prerogatives, the power, the independence of the higher classes of society. But Divine Providence acknowledges no such nobility; no such exemption from the wants of the human lot. It teaches us very little about prerogative or independence, however the pride of man may flatter him. No tower of pride was ever high enough to lift its possessor above the trials, and fears, and frailties of humanity. No human hand ever built the wall, nor ever shall, that will keep out affliction, pain, and infirmity. Sickness, sorrow, trouble, death, are all levelling dispensations. They know none, high nor low. The chief wants of life, too, the great necessities of the human soul, give exemption to none. They make all poor, all weak. They put supplication in the mouth of every human being, as truly as in that of the meanest beggar.

Now consider society for one moment, in regard to its employments. And there is not, perhaps, a greater infatuation in the world, than for a man of active and industrious habits, to look with envy or repining upon the ease and leisure of his neighbour. Employment, activity, is one of the fundamental laws of human happiness. Ah! the laborious indolence of him who has nothing to do; the preying weariness, the stagnant ennui of him who has nothing to obtain; the heavy hours which roll over him, like the waters of a Lethean sea, that has not yet quite drowned the senses in their oblivious stupor; the dull comfort of having finished a day; the dreariness in prospect of another to come; in one word, the terrible visitation of an avenging Providence to him that lives to himself!

But I need not dwell on a case so obvious, and proceed at once to mention the distinction of wealth and poverty.

It must not be denied that poverty, abject and desperate poverty, is

« ПретходнаНастави »