head. He passed from province to province, and from city to city, and as he came, there was no sign of riches. He rode not in a chariot, attended by a splendid retinue. He came not with observation: he was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief: he was despised and rejected of men. The purest and holiest personage that ever mingled with mankind, he was, neverthess, destitute, and a companion and guest of the poor. Should the Saviour of men come into one of our cities, as he now and then visited Jerusalem, his personal appearance and his circumstances would harmonize with the poor of that city, rather than with the rich. His sympathies would be with the former, rather than with the latter; while, in selecting his lodgingplace, he would probably enter the doors of some obscure family, whose names are scarcely known here, but are written and known in heaven. In preaching, too, it would be to the poor; while the men and women who move amid affluence and pride, and ride on the wheels of splendor, and revel in all the delights which this world presents, these would be absent. Christ would not be seen, nor would his voice be heard, throughout all that brilliant circle. He would not be welcome there. The Lord Jesus Christ will never appear again on earth, as when he came to save lost men. Yet might that bemight he once more visit this world as a man of sorrows, destitute and having not where to lay his head; might he be in our immediate vicinity-to linger with us for a few days, and were it true that any gifts and hospitalities of ours might be acceptable to him, and afford him consolation and comfort; might some woman of Samaria be privileged to give him to drink a cup of cold water; and some penitent Mary be permitted to bathe his feet with her tears, and wipe them with the hairs of her head; and some eager Zaccheus, amid the crowd, might catch his eye, and hear him say, "Come down, for to-day I must abide at thy house;" and some Martha should have the privilege of preparing the table where Christ was to be the guest; and some Dorcas should be permitted to make with her own hands a garment for the comfort of his sacred person: were privileges like these to become ours, O! who would not prize them above very many good things which this world presents? Who would not submit to many sacrifices to be thus honored? Who would not forego the choicest repast, if that repast might go to refresh the hungry and thirsty Jesus? Who would not part with his goodliest, warmest garment, might it enwrap his chilled and trembling limbs? Who would not thread many a cold street of the great city, to find the house and the chamber where he might be lying in sickness? Who would not fly to the deepest, darkest cell, where Jesus might be imprisoned? Nay, who would not cross the seas, and traverse mountains and deserts, that they might perform these ministries to their afflicted, suffering Saviour? Whose heart would not yearn toward him with emotions unutterable? And who, in their longing, would not weep for the privilege of flying to the presence of that sorrowing one, and of being the first, and surest, and strongest, to bring the desired relief? Charming vision! But this "Man of sorrows" is no longer here. He passed away, one day, and a cloud received him from mortal sight. He has retired to the heavens, and taken his place at the right hand of God, and will be there till his coming to judge the world in righteousness. The heavenly privilege of entertaining him personally belongs no longer to men. But what then? He is gone, it is true, but he has left his representatives. Departing heavenward, he proclaimed to those he left behind, "The poor ye have always with you. Forget them not. It is more blessed to give than to receive. And when I come again in my glory, and all the holy angels with me, I will welcome you to my everlasting kingdomannouncing to the world that inasmuch as ye blessed and comforted the weakest, poorest of my brethren, ye did it unto me." It is not for me, as it was once for Zaccheus, to open the doors of my house for the admission of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is not for me to see him sit at my table, and to tender to him the very highest and best hospitalities of which I am capable; but it is my privilege to do that which will be just as acceptable to him-which he will receive precisely as though it were done to him personallyfor which he will love me just as fully and freely-and for which he will just as certainly and liberally reward me with his presence and smiles for ever and ever. If I help his poor and suffering children, he will receive it as performed for himself, were he in those identical sufferings. Amazing motive this to inspire us to benevolence! It banishes all ideas of sacrifice. It transforms our almsgiving into a privilege unspeakably desirable. Under its influence we begin to inquire, Where are the poor? Lead us quickly to some object of pity and suffering, that we may lavish upon him our charities. We who never asked for riches before, now begin to wish ourselves in possession of thousands, that we might more widely scatter comforts to the destitute; for of such beneficence Christ will say, "Ye did it unto me." Yet let the benevolent poor consider the widow and her two mites, and forget not that Christ only requires according to what we have, and not according to what we have not. My hearers, therefore, will remember the poor. You will remember them especially in this inclement season, when often Along the woods—along the moorish fens, Garments, good and warm, I will hope, shall defend you whenever you meet the chilling blasts of this cold winter. At what time the fierce north wind shall sweep along the streets, or the wild spirit of the storm shall howl around these dwellings, you shall be safely hidden from the tempest; while the fire fair blazing shall pour forth for you its genial warmth. When you shall be hungry, your heavenly Father will spread for you the comfortable board, and you shall partake and rejoice. Most of you may not be rich, yet you will not be doomed to suffer. You will be warmed and fed. Various little comforts will meet you here and there, and many a voice of thanksgiving, and many a smile of delight, will cheer your abodes, while these wintry months shall roll away. And when it is all cheerful within your doors, and your little family circles are all well and happy there, your thoughts will sometimes wander away from that group. There will be times when you will draw toward the lattice, and look out into the cold dark storm; and as you look, you will think of the poor; and if there shall then come gliding along, the remembrance that your hand had been opened for their relief and comfort, that remembrance will be sweet and happy. Father! as during this stern winter you shall rejoice at seeing your beloved children comfortably clad, that joy shall be elevated and enhanced, if accompanied by the remembrance that you have made comfortable some poor little child, that, but for your charity, would have suffered and wept. Christian lady! as within the warm parlor, along some one of these wintry nights, you glance at your husband and children, and feel that with yourself and them all is peaceful and well; your peace shall flow more full and free if, in that hour, you may remember to have visited the lone widow, and helped, by your beneficence and goodness, to cheer her in her sadness. Son or daughter! while along the dreary winter you may see your dear father and mother safe sheltered from the cold, it shall not disturb the pleasure of that sight to recollect that you have thrown the warm garment over the withered and trembling form of some "poor old man,” and aided to smooth his pathway to the tomb. Christian! if amid these coming days and nights some dark cloud shall come over your prospects-and some grief, bitter and unexpected, shall tear and crush your heart and you shall sigh and weep in secret places, it shall be a soothing balm to your wounded spirit, if you may remember that the prayers of the poor carry up your name every day to God; and you shall now and then listen to soft whisperings coming as from the breath of angels, saying, "Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble." for "The poor ye have always with you." Why? Because "it is more blessed to give than to receive." They are always with you. Why? That ye may be blessed; they cannot recompense you. Ye shall be recompensed at the resurrection of the just. "He spake, and my poor name he named; Of me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall thy memorial be, Fear not, thou didst it unto me." SERMON XXI. The Existence of God. BY REV. NELSON ROUNDS, A. M., EDITOR OF THE NORTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE. "For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse."Rom. i, 20. THIS text will receive some light by the following transposition: "For the invisible things of Him, that is, his eternal power and Godhead, are clearly seen, or perceived from, or ever since, the creation of the world, being understood, or learned, by the things that are made." Not that the idea of the divine existence is innate in man, nor that it is demonstrable by human reason alone, for facts are opposed to this. But the idea once suggested to the mind, as it has been among nearly the whole human family, by revelation or tradition, is capable of obvious, irresistible proof from the works of nature. The nature of the argument is a posteriori: or we reason from effect to cause. I. GROUNDS OF BELIEF IN THE EXISTENce of god. 1. God reveals himself by the works of nature. Nature is an effect: it must have had a cause. That cause is God. * More particularly: First. Every effect must have a cause. You see the picture of a flower or a bird, and you ask at once, Who drew it? You behold the statue of a man, perfect in form and feature, and you inquire, Who was *To show how deeply this first principle of reasoning is ingrafted in the original constitution of the mind, we would relate the following simple circumstance: We were once traveling with our little girl, (then but five or six years old,) in a carriage, and we were just passing a saw-mill not far from the road. The wheel and entire machinery were beneath, and entirely excluded from view. The pond of water was spread out in our view, and the saw was playing briskly up and down through the log. The little girl spoke out with great animation, and said, "Pa, see there! there is a man down in that water a sawing." |