would have abhorred sin, though it had exercised no influence over his peace; for he sought the honor of his God. In short, when the characters of the two were developed, it was apparent that selfishness produced repentance in the one, and that the tears of the other were those of love. In the one was concealed a repentant Cain; in the other, a weeping Magdalene. In the one nature predominated; in the other, grace. A difference less perceptible than that in Shiboleth and Siboleth, yet immeasurably great, and lasting as eternity! Two men sit by the way side. Both cry, 'Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me! Neither of them are hypocrites, but both mean what they say. We pronounce both blessed; but will the Judge confirm our sentence? At the passage of Jordan it will be decided. Though their acts have been the same, a mighty wind may there separate them for ever; raising the one on high, while it precipitates the other into the abyss. And why should it be so ? To us it seemed, that both had said Shiboleth. Alas! the one had only said Si; we did not observe it. That was his ruin. The one cried to the Savior like Bartimeus, and the thief on the cross; the other, like the devils ; 'Lord do not command us to go down into the deep.' The one thought within himself: Ah, if I had but Jesus, what need I care for heaven!' The other,' Ah, if I had but heaven, what need I care for Jesus!"* The one sighed for the love of Christ: the other for his saving hand. The cry of the one marked the fervor o the lover; that of the other, the despair of the helpless

* This is according to Luther's translation of Ps. lxxiii. 25.-ED.

anxious for salvation, but indifferent by whom it is effected: the devil would be as welcome as Jesus, provided he could as effectually save from perdition. To our dull senses this was not perceptible. But he who sits upon the throne heard at once that it was not the Shiboleth of the Gileadite. His ear listens for the voice of the dove. Nothing but Spirit and truth can stand before him.

We cannot say, therefore, that true heartfelt Christianity consists in tears, in penitence, or in an earnest longing after the bliss of heaven. We cannot say it consists in prayers, in Christian deportment, or in evangelical knowledge. Neither does it consist in love for the Gospel, in the emotions it awakens within us, or in zeal for the spread of Divine truth. Nor in an open confession of Christ, and the ability to testify and speak of him with eloquence, edification, and instruction. Brethren all this may only constitute a Siboleth; and woe be to us, if at the passage of Jordan it should so appear. It may all proceed from the natural man, and be the mere workings of a selfish nature. But nothing will stand the Divine scrutiny, that is not the work and produce of the Spirit, and the essence of which is not the love of Christ.

That it is sometimes impossible for the nicest discernment to distinguish between seemingly devout sentiments, whether they are the effusions of the Spirit, or the mere promptings of the natural man, we have already seen. But there are cases, in which a difference may be perceived, like that between Shiboleth and Siboleth, by which we recognize at once a Gileadite or an Ephraimite. In sermons, hymns, books, and prayers,

though equally correct and true, devout and evangelical, there is a certain something which we feel but cannot describe, by which we are enabled to say, " Here is the dove, and here some other bird; this is the spirit, and this nature; this is genuine, and this spurious; this is life, but this a portrait."

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The dove speaks through the children of God; but not always in the same accents. Sometimes its strains are sorrowful, interrupted by sighs and tears: Lord Jesus, have mercy on me! At others languishing, and expressive of the most ardent longings: Ah, when shall I depart hence, that I may behold thy glory?' Now they are those of dejection and complaint: O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" Then they breathe the raptures of nuptial joy: My beloved is mine, and I am his, he feedeth among the lilies! They are sometimes eloquent and persuasive: Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul!' Then again they are short and ejaculatory; a single 'Ah!' or Oh! is all that we can hear-but they are tones that reverberate through the choirs of heaven. Sometimes it ascends in sighs and groans: 'Put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help.' Again its voice is heard through deep conflict and distress; in gentle accents it is true, but distinct and full of consolation. The powers of darkness may sometimes succeed in bewildering a redeemed soul, by confounding all its evidences; by subverting its faith in the Rock of its hope, and in the sacred volume; till, in its perplexity, it is tempted to renounce all belief in a God or Savior, in a heaven or hell. What can here be

perceived of the note of the dove? Nothing, we are ready to reply. Here the raven's croak is heard. But let us listen attentively. It is true that in doubters, as such, the voice of the dove is not heard. But it may be recognized in the accents of complaint in which the tempted and benighted soul gives utterance to its doubts; in the sighs and groans with which it laments its unbelief; in the longing, wrestling supplications which the heart pours forth to the Lord, that He would again cause his light to shine. Thus, amongst the saints of God, it causes its voice to be heard in an endless variety of ways, and diversity of modulation: but it is every where the same dove.

The turtle dove is heard in the land! God be praised, a period has already dawned, in which these words have a delightful application to the land in which we dwell. The drooping and expiring church of Christ begins to revive, and put forth blossoms; the frosty night of winter has begun to yield to the genial breath of spring, promising a more glorious future; and the turtle, so long banished and forgotten, has re-appeared in the land. How many congregations, that once heard nothing but the raven-like croakings of the most comfortless unbelief, are now refreshed by the voice of the dove. What testimonies to the truth, what prayers and praises, have of late again been heard in the church; and the presence of the dove has been most manifest and refreshing. But the brightness that shines in our day, is but the opening splendor of an incomparably more glorious period that is rapidly approaching. Magnificent promises hang suspended over the church, like clouds pregnant with blessings. Blessed assurances,

like sweet messengers of joy, stand at her portals. O Shulamite, wait and be comforted! Let not the tempests and horrors which here and there may rage, excite thy fears. It is but the struggle between spring and winter, between life and death. Death will be vanquished; and when thou least expectest, it will again be said to thee, but in a fuller and more exalted sense, 'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away: for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come; and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land!' O blessed period! may the Lord hasten it. Amen.