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meet together; without any other distinction than what arises from the heart and the soul. The sense of this lifts the poor man above contempt; supports his spirits when apt to be dejected; and bestows dignity on the part which he acts. How inconsiderable soever that part may appear in the estimation of an injudicious world, it is ennobled, when virtuously performed, by the approbation of his Divine Witness. He can bear with indifference the scorn of the proud, as long as he knows that there is One higher than the highest to regard him. He can enjoy himself with pleasure in his mean habitation, because he believes that God dwells with him there. The Divine presence cheers to him the most lonely retreat. It accompanies his steps to the most distant regions of the earth. If he should be driven into exile from all his friends, and obliged to dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there God's hand would hold him, and his right hand would guide him. Though left without companion or friend, he never thinks himself desolate, as long as he can say, I am still with God.

But though raised above obscurity or poverty, yet, in any situation of fortune, calumny and reproach may be the lot of the servant of God. His good intentions may be misconstrued; his character unjustly traduced; and, to the open reviling of enemies, the more bitter unkindness of friends may sometimes be joined. In this situation, when wounded in spirit, and, perhaps, unable to make his innocence appear, to whom shall he have recourse for defence, to whom make his last appeal, but to that God who is ever present with him, and who knoweth his heart? How frequently, amidst the injustice and oppression of the world, has distressed innocence had no other relief but this? "God is my witness. God is my avenger.

He hath seen it, and he will repay." A good conscience, it is true, is of itself a powerful support. But God is. Lord of the conscience; and it is only when connected with a sense of Divine presence and approbation, that a good conscience becomes a steady principle of fortitude in the mind, under all discouragements. Hence, a virtuous man possesses a high degree of independence, both on the praise and on the censure of the world. It is enough to him if, when undergoing the same reproaches which Job suffered from his mistaken friends, he can say with him, Behold, my witness is in heaven, and my record is on high. (Job xvi. 19.) He affects not to divulge his good deeds to the world. He is without concern whether the world be acquainted with them or not. He knoweth that his Father which is in heaven seeth in secret; and that his prayers and his alms come up in grateful memorial before him. With me it is a small thing to be judged of you, or of man's judgment; he that judgeth me is the Lord. (1 Cor. iv. 3,4.) He shall bring forth my righteousness, at last, as the light, and my judgment, as the noon-day. In this consciousness of integrity he looks down with indifference, as from a superior station, upon the harsh censures of a giddy and ignorant world. The sense of being continually with God diffuses over his soul a holy calm, which unjust reproach cannot disturb. In the presence of that august and venerable Witness, all the noise and clamours of men, like the murmurings of a distant storm, die

away.

Lastly, supposing the character of a good man to be untainted by reproach; supposing also his external situation to be opulent or distinguished; many, notwithstanding, and severe, are the distresses to which he may be exposed. Secret griefs may be preying upon him; and his heart

left to feed in silence on his own bitterness. He may labour under sore disease, and discern his earthly frame gradually moulder into dust. He may be deprived of those friends and relatives who had been the chief comforts of his state; or may be obliged to prepare himself for taking farewell of them for ever. In the midst of these various afflicting scenes of human life, no consolation can be more powerful than what arises from the presence of a Divine protector and guardian, to whom our case, with all its sorrows, is perfectly known. To him, says the Psalmist, I poured out my complaint. I shewed before him my trouble. I looked on my right hand and viewed; but, behold, there was no man who cared for my soul. I said unto thee, O Lord, thou art my refuge. When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path. (Psal. exlii. 2-4.)

We all know, that to communicate our grief to a faithful friend often gives ease and relief to the burdened heart. Such communication we are encouraged to make, and such relief we may expect to find, in pouring out our hearts before that God, in whom compassions flow. We may have no earthly friend to whom we can with full confidence disclose all our sorrows; or we may want words in which to express them. But God is the searcher of all hearts, and the hearer of all prayers. To the secret anguish of the soul, he is no inattentive witness. Every groan which is heaved from the labouring bosom, though heard by no human ear, reaches his throne. As he knows our frame, so he remembers we are dust; and thence light arises to the upright in darkness. For the hope naturally springs, that this beneficent Being will pity them as a father pitieth his children; and in the midst of those distresses which the present circumstances of man render unavoidable, will send them help from his sanctuary.

Surrounded with this compassionate presence of the Almighty, good men never view themselves as left in this vale of tears, to bear, solitary and alone, the whole weight of human woe. In their dark, as well as in their brighter hours, God is with them. Even in that valley of the shadow of death, where no friend, no comforter, can go along to aid them, he is with them still. In the last extremity of nature, the rod and staff of the Shepherd of Israel support them.

Thus I have shewn, though in an imperfect manner, what benefits holy men derive from an habitual sense of the Divine presence. It animates and strengthens their virtue. It enlivens and brightens their prosperity. Under various forms of adversity, it affords them consolation and relief.-Such considerations, undoubtedly, form a strong argument in favour of a devout spirit, and a virtuous life. But they are considerations which may, probably, be regarded, by some, as ideal and visionary; requiring aid from a heated, or an enthusiastic, fancy, in order to give them force. I readily admit that, amidst the hurry and turbulence of the world, it may be diffi cult to bring these religious sentiments as fully into view as is necessary for their making a just impression on the soul. This requires the effort of an intelligent and feeling mind; and therefore cannot be expected to be commonly found. To the unreflecting crowd, nothing appears real but what is exposed to sense. What is invisible, is the same to them, as if it had no existence. But by the grossness of their own conceptions, they have no title to measure those of others. While they affect to treat all considerations, taken from the sense of the Divine presence, as visionary and enthusiastic, it can, on the contrary, be clearly shewn, that they are founded on the most certain and un. questionable principles of reason.

They essentially belong not to reveal ed only, but to,natural religion. Their reality can be denied by none, but by those who deny that God exists, or that he governs the world. For if he exists, he must undoubtedly pervade and inspect the world which he governs. He must know what is going on throughout his own universe; and especially must know what passes within the hearts which he has made, and of which he is to judge. To be every where present is the attribute of his nature, which, of all others, is

the most necessary to his administration of the universe. This, accordingly, is an attribute which all religions have ascribed to him. All nations have believed in it. All societies appeal to it, in the solemnities of an oath, by which they determine controversies. This attribute being once admitted to belong to the Deity, the consequences which I have deduced from it plainly and naturally follow; and every good man has ground to say, O Lord, I am continually with thee.

SERMON XLI.

ON PATIENCE.

In your patience, possess ye your souls.-Luke xxi. 19.

THE possession of our souls is a very emphatical expression. It describes that state in which a man has both the full command, and the undisturbed enjoyment, of himself, in opposition to his undergoing some inward agitation which discomposes his powers. Upon the least reflection it must appear, how essential such a state of mind is to happiness. He only who thus possesses his soul is capable of possessing any other thing with advantage; and in order to attain and preserve this self-possession, the most important requisite is, the habitual exercise of patience.

I know that patience is apt to be ranked, by many, among the more humble and obscure virtues; belonging chiefly to those who groan on a sick bed, or who languish in a prison. If their situation be happily of a different kind, they imagine that there is no occasion for the discipline of patience being preached to them. But I hope to make it appear, that, in every circumstance of life, no virtue is more important, both to duty and to happiness; or more requisite for

forming a manly and worthy character. It is not confined to a situation of continued adversity. It principally, indeed, regards the disagreeable circumstances which are apt to occur. But in our present state, the occurrence of these is so frequent, that in every condition of life, patience is incessantly called forth. Prosperity cannot be enjoyed, any more than adversity supported, without it. It must enter into the temper, and form the habit of the soul, if we would pass through the world with tranquillity and honour. What I purpose, is to point out some of the chief occasions on which patience is required; and to recommend and enforce the exercise of it, in order to our possessing our souls.

I. Patience under provocations. The wide circle of human society is diversified by an endless variety of characters, dispositions, and passions. Uniformity is, in no respect, the genius of the world. Every man is marked by some peculiarity which distinguishes him from another; and no where can two individuals be found

who are exactly, and in all respects, alike. Where so much diversity obtains, it cannot but happen, that, in the intercourse which men are obliged to maintain, their tempers shall often be ill-adjusted to that intercourse; shall jar and interfere with each other. Hence, in every station, the highest as well as the lowest, and in every condition of life, public, private, and domestic, occasions of irritation frequently arise. We are provoked, sometimes by the folly and levity of those with whom we are connected; sometimes by their indifference, or neglect; by the incivility of a friend, the haughtiness of a superior, or the insolent behaviour of one in lower station. Hardly a day passes, without somewhat or other occurring, which serves to ruffle the man of impatient spirit. Of course, such a man lives in a continual storm. He knows not what it is to enjoy a train of good humour. Servants, neighbours, friends, spouse, and children, all through the unrestrained violence of his temper, become sources of disturbance and vexation to him. In vain is affluence; in vain are health and prosperity. The least trifle is sufficient to discompose his mind, and poison his pleasures. His very amusements are mixed with turbulence and passion.

I would beseech this man to consider, of what small moment the provocations which he receives, or at least imagines himself to receive, are really in themselves; but of what great moment he makes them, by suffering them to deprive him of the possession of himself. I would beseech him to consider, how many hours of happiness he throws away, which a little more patience would allow him to enjoy; and how much he puts it in the power of the most insignificant persons to render him miserable. "But who can expect," we hear him exclaim, "that he is to possess the in

sensibility of a stone? How is it possible for human nature to endure so many repeated provocations? or to bear calmly with such unreasonable behaviour?"-My brother! If you can bear with no instances of unreasonable behaviour, withdraw yourself from the world. You are no longer fit to live in it. Leave the intercourse of men. Retreat to the mountain and the desert, or shut yourself up in a cell; for here, in the midst of society, offences must come. You might as well expect, when you beheld a calm atmosphere, and a clear sky, that no clouds were ever to rise, and no winds to blow, as that your life was long to proceed without receiving provocations from human frailty. The careless and the imprudent, the giddy and the fickle, the ungrateful and the interested, every where meet us. They are the briars and the thorns, with which the paths of human life are beset. He only who can hold his course among them with patience and equanimity, he who is prepared to bear what he must expect to happen, is worthy the name of man.

Did you only preserve yourself composed for a moment, you would perceive the insignificancy of most of those provocations which you magnify so highly. When a few suns more have rolled over your head, the storm will have, of itself, subsided; the cause of your present impatience and disturbance will be utterly forgotten. Can you not, then, anticipate this hour of calmness to yourself, and begin to enjoy the peace which it will certainly bring? If others have behaved improperly, leave them to their own folly, without becoming the victim of their caprice, and punishing yourself on their account.-Patience, in this exercise of it, cannot be too much studied by all who wish their life to flow in a smooth stream. It is the reason of a man, in opposition to the passion of a child. It is the en

joyment of peace, in opposition to uproar and confusion. He that hath no rule over his own spirit, is like a city that is broken down, and without walls. (Prov. xxv. 28.) The next important exercise of patience is,

II. Patience under disappointments. These will often happen to the best and wisest men; sometimes to the wisest and best-concerted plans. They may happen, too, not through any imprudence of those who have devised the plan, not even through the malice or ill-design of others; but merely in consequence of some of those cross incidents of life which could not be foreseen. On such occasions, persons of a warm and sanguine temper are presently in a ferment. They had formed their hopes, as they think, upon the justest grounds. They had waited long for success; and borne with many delays. But when their designs are brought to so unexpected an issue; when, without any fault of their own, they find their hopes finally blasted, all patience forsakes them: they no longer possess their souls; the most passionate exclamations break forth. "To whom, except to them, could such a disappointment have happened? Since the creation of the world, was such a combination of disastrous incidents ever beheld? Why are they doomed to be so unfortunate beyond all others?"-Alas! how unskilfully have you calculated the course of human events! How rashly and presumptuously had you trusted to success! To whom was it ever given, to guard against all the vicissitudes, which the fluctuating fashion of the world is incessantly bringing about? If one friend, to whom you looked up, has died, or another has lost his influence and power; if the opinion of the public is changed, and its favour has been withdrawn; if some mistakes have occurred to lessen the good-will of a patron on whom you depended; if, through the con

currence of these, or such-like circumstances, a more fortunate rival has prevailed against you; what is there in all this, that differs from the ordinary lot of man? Are we not, each in his turn, doomed to experience the uncertainty of worldly pursuits? Why, then, aggravate our misfortunes by the unreasonable violence of an impatient spirit? If our designs have failed through rashness or misconduct, let us blame ourselves. If they have failed through circumstances which we could not prevent, let us submit to the fate of man; and wait, with patience, till a more favourable opportunity shall occur of regaining success.

Meanwhile, let us turn to the other side of the prospect, and calmly consider how dubious it was, whether the success which we longed for would have proved a blessing. Who knoweth what is good for man in this life? Perhaps the accomplishment of our designs might have been pregnant with misery. Perhaps, from our present disappointment, future prosperity may rise. Of such unlooked-for issues, we all know there have been many examples. Who can tell, whether our case may not add one to the number?-At any rate, let us recollect that there is a Supreme Ruler, who disposes of the affairs of men; under whom, all second causes work only as subordinate agents. Looking up to that irresistible arm which is stretched over our heads, let us be calm; let us submit and adore. Either to despair, or to rage, under disappointments, is sinful. By the former we injure ourselves; by the latter, we insult Providence, and provoke its displeasure to continue. To possess our souls in patience is, at once, our wisdom as men, and our duty as Christians. The benefits of this virtue are so often repeated in this world, that good policy alone would recommend it to every thinking man. Disappointments derange and overcome

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