the dross of earth for the precious things of heaven the unsatisfying pursuits of time for the solid joys and glories of eternity.

Where, then, must we seek for truth? Man cannot reveal it to us. I answer by asserting

II. That we can only know it by the communication of God, in whom it essentially dwells.

The seat of truth, its birth-place and its home, is in his bosom. He, the great First Cause of all, the maker and sustainer of all things, must possess it as an inalienable attribute. Nothing can be hid from him. The plan by which the universe was formed was with him from eternity; all the substances that exist, material or immaterial, their relations and mutual agencies, were ever present to his mind; nothing can take place without his observation and permission. That which has been, that which is, that which shall be, he most fully understands: so that he can be liable to no mistake, and meet with no surprise. It is impossible that he should err. It is as impossible that he should deceive; for error and deceit are inconsistent with the perfection essential to the very notion of a supreme deity. God, therefore, being in perfect possession of all truth, must be able to impart it to his intelligent creatures in such measures as they are capable of receiving. Their limited nature will, of necessity, limit that capacity; but to its full extent he must surely be able to replenish them. From him, then, as from its living fountain, truth must be sought; and vain will be the attempt to discover it without his assistance. "God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." If we have fellowship with him

we cannot walk in darkness. As the beams of the sun render discernible all things on which they fall, so will the irradiation of the Divine intellect reveal to intelligent creatures whatsoever it is his purpose to declare. The natural faculties of our minds are his gift, and he has rendered them capable of comprehending a considerable measure of physical and moral truth. By observation, by experiment, by induction, we learn the qualities and uses of material substances. By experience we are enabled to form some judgment, though not in all cases an accurate one, of our relations, interests, and duties in civil and social life. But the things of God we are unable to search out. We can know nothing of them, except so far as he condescends to reveal them. Yet this is the most important branch of truth. It is of unspeakable moment to us to know the nature of God, so far as creatures can know it; our relations and our duties towards him; the origin and design of our being; the purposes for which we were created and placed in this world; and the destiny which awaits us when we

quit it. Is there any life beyond the present? If there be, how may we hope to secure its happiness?

When we look into ourselves, we find the most astonishing contradictions:-a perception of good, and yet a constant propensity to evil: an ardent longing after happiness, and yet an inclination to those things which we are conscious must be destructive of it: longings and desires which earth cannot satisfy, combined with a grovelling tendency to the things of earth,—a sordid sensuality predominating over higher aspirations. How came we into this state? Could an infinitely wise,

and good, and powerful Being create us in such inconsistency? or have we degenerated from our primitive condition? That we have degenerated can scarcely admit of doubt, even in the minds of those who reject revelation. Are there any means, then, by which we can be rescued from this debasement? Is there any possibility of attaining that purity and perfection which must be the ambition of every generous soul? Inquiries such as these occupied the minds of ancient sages. But they had no means of obtaining the solution of their doubts. The volume of nature, which they assiduously studied, could not furnish it. They might thence derive sublime and pleasing glimpses of the Divine attributes; but they could not learn to explain the mysteries of their own condition. They felt that this was not enough; and longed for a divine Instructor, who might make known the true character of God, our relations to him, our offices in time, our prospects in eternity.

If we, my brethren, had never heard of such a communication, or such a teacher, ought we not also to wish for them? Might we not reasonably look up to God for such a revelation? Would it not be fair to argue that He who has endowed our minds with such faculties, must be able to provide suitable objects for their exercise? And might we not hope that he would be willing? Shall He who gave us the light of the sun to guide and cheer us in our daily occupations, refuse the light of truth to guide us in those unspeakably nobler employments which belong to spiritual and immortal beings?

That infinite benevolence must be essential to the

Deity can scarcely be denied. The heavens declare not only the glory but the goodness of our God; and the earth bears testimony to it, filling our hearts with food and gladness. He, then, that is so bountiful in inferior matters, shall he not be bountiful in that which most concerns us? Will he, indeed, leave us to grope our way in wretched uncertainty, knowing neither how to please him, nor how to secure our own felicity. He will not-he cannot-he has not, my brethren. There

must exist somewhere a revelation of his will. If we search with sincerity and diligence, we must find, that, from the beginning, communications have been given to men concerning religious truth and duty.

I trust that those who know and love their Bibles will forgive me for what may seem a waste of their time in proving what they so fully and joyfully acknowledge. But I am at present engaged with persons who inquire, What is truth? as if there were no standard to which an appeal can be made. I wish to shew such persons that there must be such a standard; and that those who are ignorant of it, are ignorant through their own wilful blindness and neglect of inquiry. The argument to be used with them is little different from that which might be addressed to a learned heathen, who, acknowledging the existence of a supreme God, still doubted whether he had given any revelation. I would shew to such a man, that in every age there have been persons who professed to have received such revelation. It was not because God concealed himself from the Egyptians and Chaldeans, the Greeks and Romans; but because they did "not like to retain him in their knowledge," that

they were given over to "a reprobate mind." All Noah's children knew the true God; the family of Shem long retained that knowledge; the descendants of Abraham were selected to preserve it-to them were committed the oracles of God;" and they were so brought into contact with the other nations, that all might have obtained the light of truth, had they been really desirous of it. That light is now diffused around us by the bright beams of the Sun of Righteousness; and none who do not wilfully close their eyes, fail to partake the illumination. In this land, most assuredly, if any are ignorant of divine truth, it must be through their own wilful blindness. That there are such persons, however, the revival of Pilate's inquiry makes but too evident; and therefore it is needful to admonish them.

III. I proceed now to the third point which I undertook to establish-that we ought most thankfully and diligently to study the revelation God has given to us.

There is no need to argue this with sincere Christians, such as I trust compose the majority of this congregation. But the sceptic (if any such be present) may be ready to stop me by the objection-" Amidst the many pretences to Divine revelation—the many books which it is alleged have been sent down from heaventhe many contending sects, not only amongst heathens and Mahometans, but even amongst Jews and Christians, how can I have a hope of certainty? You tell me to search for truth; but I repeat the question, What is truth? and how shall I distinguish it from error?"

Unhappy indeed were the condition of mankind, if there were no criterion; and most difficult would it be