the mission of his Master, arrest thee but an instant in thy rash career; wave him with thine hand, turn not from

not away him thine eyes, close not thine ear, tell him not, Now I am young and vigorous, my spirits are high and bounding, my soul is free, let me now enjoy my youth, let me walk in the ways of my own heart, and in the sight of my own eyes; a little while, and this pleasant season shall have passed away, I shall cease to be young, I shall cease to be strong, my spirits will become faint and drooping, my soul will be chained down; years will gather round about my head, my hair will grow grey, my step will totter, my sight will fail me; then, powerless and decrepit as I shall be, unfit for the service of the world, then I will serve my God.'

Thinkest thou, presumptuous being that thou art, homage such as this will suffice for an all-wise, an all-powerful

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Creator? and even supposing that it might suffice, art thou so certain that thou couldest pay even this stinted portion? What is thy tenure of life? is it so fixed and unchangeable, that no vicissitude can affect it, no chance disturb? Reflect! have none crossed your path, fresh in the bloom of youth, bright in the anticipations of joy, at their feet flowers strewing their path before them, above their head a cloudless sky,-in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, has never the freshness of youth disappeared? the brightness of joy grown dim? the flowers withered from before their feet? clouds and thick darkness gathered round their heads? Like you, perhaps, they joyed in their youth; like you, they loved to walk in the ways of their own hearts, and in the sight of their own eyes --and now, where is their place to be found? The grass grows green upon their grave; their remembrance is but

the simple stone that may tell the passer by the years they numbered, or the name they bore: say not with the trembling but stubborn Felix, "Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee." There is no season so convenient as this season; the present time is all we can call our own. This day ye have assembled in the temple of your Maker; this day ye have prayed,-God and your own hearts only know how truly, that you might be "led into the

way of truth," that you might "hold the faith in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life." This night the sincerity of your prayer may be attested; this night thy soul may be required of thee--the sleep which will come over thy limbs may never be broken! Never broken, did I say-broken, perhaps, for some brief space of mortal agony broken in the dead of the night, when not a sound is heard to ruffle the

stillness of the scene, save thine own bitter groans; when no aid of art is nigh, no form of one thou lovest to bend over thee in fond solicitude; then, in that dreadful moment, how much more dreadful must it be, if first the lips be to be tuned to prayer-if the heart, its cherished dreams dispersed, be compelled to look on the sad reality before it if then a wild cry for mercy, faltering on the tongue, the unconsecrated thought clinging to the soul-thy spirit, shrinking within itself, be hurried into the presence of its God! The voice of God speaks no more as it spoke once in elder time, taking the semblance of mortal sounds, out of the midst of the mount that burned with fire; to us it speaks less fearfully, but no less true-it speaks in the hallowed stillness of this awful spot, it speaks from these stones whereon ye tread, beneath which dust mingles with its kindred dust, once youthful, joyous, thoughtless as our own

-it speaks in these rude and simple beams, whereon the luxury of man hath never heaped his vain and unavailing ornaments-it speaks in yonder sentence graven on your walls, mark well its accents, "Be ye doers of the world, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves." From this self-deception may God in his infinite mercy shield and protect us all!

Now to God, &c.