minds; and must the preacher's office be filled by men content to repeat from year to year the same remarks which their fathers and fathers' fathers have repeated for ages before them? Shall infidelity itself grow skilful to present her objections to the truth, in new and attractive forms;-and will the devoted advocates of the truth talk on with a sameness that wearies even the ignorant and the credulous? Forbid it, conscience! Forbid it, heaven!

Another characteristic of sacred eloquence, and perhaps the most important of all to success in the business of the pulpit, is earnestness. Religion is not a system of abstract precepts and propositions, on which one may discourse with as much indifference as he would demonstrate a mathematical problem, or discuss a question in political economy. It properly affords no subjects on which the essayist or the scholar may play his part, and furnish amusement for a vacant hour. It comes to us as an angel from the upper world, bearing tidings of thrilling interest, telling us of our own immortal destiny, and opening a pathway to the skies. We receive it, if we receive it at all, into our tenderest sympathies, and give it a welcome entrance.

The preacher is supposed to have felt its influence, and to speak from the experience of his own heart. Men look for expressions of feeling, in harmony with the truths he proclaims. He is surrounded by beings, formed like himself with capacities for eternal joy, and exposed to the danger of eternal wo. Heaven opens to their faith, and Jesus, with the benignity of God and the sympathy of man, is seen bending to invite them thither. The world allures but to deceive,-the spoiler ceases not from his insidious work,—and the abyss beneath, heaving its terrific clouds of darkness, reveals the second death. Can

he speak, and his soul not be moved? Can words alone be eloquent on such themes as these? It is the melting eye, the glowing cheek, the fervent look, the earnest voice, the whole inan vibrating in every nerve, and moving right on with unconscious power, that must give to such truths the form of eloquence. It is not the clamor of declamation,-it is not the language of extravagance or bold metaphor,—it is not theatrical display,—it is not passion,-it is not poetry,—but it is simple earnestness.

I am aware that I have now little more than taken a hasty glance at the genius of pulpit eloquence, and perhaps refreshed your memories with some of the principles which have hitherto guided the efforts of this Society. Your own minds, however, will at once follow out the familiar hints which have been offered. Physical debility, if nothing else, would have prevented me from that intensity of thought, which originates new ideas on trite subjects, and gives to old truths the freshness of new relations. But there have lived at different times a favored few, who exhibit in their own example the best illustration that has ever been made of our subject, and to whom we may well resort to help our conceptions. Such a man was Massilon, of whom we have read, that when he preached, princes came to listen. Such was Spencer, whose early death sent a mournful note to our shores. Such was Payson, whose expiring voice has not yet died away on our ears. And such, too, was once a youthful preacher of our land, who is now, I trust, bowing with these before the throne, mingling with them in their songs, and ascribing his salvation to that Saviour, whose divinity he doubted when on earth.

I have spoken, it is true, of that eloquence, which it is our

duty to study and attempt, rather than our hope to attain. There are many circumstances in the life of a Christian minister, peculiarly unfavorable to the highest style of dignified and simple eloquence. We shall, no doubt, suffer many embarrassments, which will repress our energies, and hinder us from success. But, though we cannot hope to realize even our present conceptions, we must not yield in sullen despair, we will not shrink in tame neglect of our duty. The thought of a world in sin may sometimes stir up all our sympathies, and urge us to those wild and unnatural efforts, which defeat their object; but we will still remember, that Jesus was never rash. His eloquence was always calm,—and he, who spoke as one having authority, knew best how to affect the human heart. We shall often be oppressed with thronging cares, and prevented from enriching our minds and improving our taste in the study of the standard works of genius; but let us not neglect the opportunities that are given to enter those splendid temples, and, bearing away their offered riches, consecrate them to Christ and the church. There must come those dreary hours, when our enfeebled bodies will sink under the burdens of an office whose duties never cease, and our minds, driven to extreme lassitude, will fail us,-all that we knew be gone from our recollections, and the few thoughts, that float in dim vision before our eyes, refuse to take form or name; but we will, at least, open our minds to the impressions of surrounding objects, and learn something even from the consciousness of our own imbecility. The heart, too, will sometimes faint, or become coldly indifferent, in the reaction of habitual excitement, our sensibilities grow dull,-the sublime truths of religion cease to exhilarate us, and the affecting scenes of

sinful, suffering humanity only shroud us in tearless gloom; but let us then drink more deeply at the fountain of devotion, and, with struggling efforts, gather that warm and vital earnestness, which can make us eloquent. However we may be situated, wheresoever God in his providence may place us,on the plains of Hindoo, on the hills of Palestine, in the wilds of western America, in the islands of the distant ocean, or among the churches that our fathers have left us, we will not fail to exert our strength in the use and improvement of the talents which our Creator has given us for his service; and when, at last, any of us may be allowed to stand before his tribunal, and present a few souls, saved through his blessing on our efforts, our toils shall all be forgotten, our labors will be too richly compensated, and our hearts, more eloquent than our tongues, shall say for us, "Not unto us, but to thy name, be all the glory."

SERMON I.*

UNTO ME, WHO AM LESS THAN THE LEAST OF ALL SAINTS, IS THIS GRACE GIVEN, THAT I SHOULD PREACH AMONG THE GENTILES THE UNSEARCHABLE RICHES OF CHRIST.-EPHESIANS 3: 8. '

We are often made to feel that there is an unseen power that guides the affairs, and controls the destinies of men. When we look out upon their various situations and employments, and reflect upon the apparent causes of their condition, we cannot avoid the impression, that there is a mysterious agency, which, overruling their errors and faults, as well as their wiser caution and virtue, assigns to each individual his appropriate place. One man seems directed, by the very circumstances of his birth and education, to pursue, as his fathers have done before him, the quiet occupation of a husbandman,

-to feed his flocks and herds,-to till the ground, and gather in the fruits of the earth,―to labor hard, and to enjoy, in peaceful obscurity, the product of his labor; while another is borne along, unconsciously, by successive events, to publicity and fame, to cares and disquietude. One finds himself moving foremost in public concerns, toiling incessantly for others, and oppressed with the burden of responsibility and business which his station brings upon him; and another, perhaps the companion of his boyhood, scarcely conceiving that it might be otherwise, has little more care than to spend the hours of the passing day, and to receive with gladness the reward of his service at night. One finds it convenient and suitable for him to employ

* For the arrangement of the Sermons, &c., see the Preface.