-they came not alone, but are followed by a longer and sadder procession than went weeping on the way to Babylon: they are followed by a world in tears. Cast out in them-in them condemned and expatriated -we all defiled the land wherein we dwelt. In this sense the world sinned in Adam, and defiled the happy bowers of Eden; and the universality of sin stands firm on the universality of the sentence, "Death has passed upon all men, for that all have sinned."

I. Let us look at man sinning. "Ye have defiled the land."

Sin is presented here in the aspect of a defilement. But before fixing your attention on this feature, I may remark, that it offers but one of many aspects in which sin appears; all alarming, all hateful, all detestable.

As opposed to sin and its consequences, heaven and holiness are pictured forth in the Bible in colors that glow upon the canvas, through the emblems of every thing we hold most dear and desirable. Raise your eyes, for example, to the New Jerusalem. Gold paves its streets, and around them rise walls of jasper. Earth holds no such city, nor the depths of ocean such pearls as form its gates; no storms sweep its sea no winter strips its trees; no thunder shakes its serene and cloudless sky; the day there never darkens into night; harps and palms are in the hands, while crowns of glory flash and blaze upon the heads of its sinless inhabitants. From this distant and stormy orb, as the dove eyed the ark, faith eyes this glorious vision, and, weary of the strife, longing to be gone, cries, "Oh that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly away and be at rest!"

And how difficult would it be to name a noble

figure, a sweet simile, a tender or attractive relationship, in which Jesus is not set forth to woo a reluctant sinner and cheer a desponding saint! Am I wounded? He is balm. Am I sick? He is medicine. Am I naked? He is clothing. Am I poor? He is wealth. Am I hungry? He is bread. Am I thirsty? He is water. Am I in debt? Am I in debt? He is a surety. Am I in darkness! He is a sun. Have I a house to build? He is a rock. Must I face that black and gathering storm? He is a anchor sure and steadfast. Am I to be tried? He is an advocate. Is sentence passed, and am I condemned? He is pardon. To deck him out, and set him forth, Nature culls her finest flowers, brings her choicest ornaments, and lays these treasures at his feet. The skies contribute their stars. The sea gives up its pearls. From fields, and mines, and mountains, Earth brings the tribute of her gold, and gems, and myrrh, and frankincense; the lily of the valley, the clustered vine, and the fragrant rose of Sharon. He is "the chiefest among ten thousand, and altogether lovely;" "in Him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." I offer him to you—make a free offer of him, and doing so will challenge you to name a want for which I shall not find a supply in Christ, something that fits your want as accurately, as the works of a key the wards of its lock,

"A Way he is to lost ones that have strayed;
A Robe he is to such as naked be;

Is any hungry, to all such he is Bread;
Is any weak, in Him how strong is he!
To him that's dead he's Life; to sick men, Health;
Eyes to the blind, and to the poor man Wealth."

Look now at sin; pluck off that painted mask, and

turn upon her face the lamp of the Bible.

We start;

it reveals a death's head. I stay not to quote texts descriptive of sin; it is a debt, a burden, a thief, a sickness, a leprosy, a plague, a poison, a serpent, a sting-every thing that man hates it is; a load of evils beneath whose most crushing, intolerable pressure, "the whole creation groaneth." Name me the evil that springs not from this root-the crime that lies not at this door. Who is the hoary sexton that digs man a grave? Who is the painted temptress that steals his virtue? Who is the murderess that destroys his life? Who is the sorceress that first deceives and then damns his soul!-Sin. Who, with icy breath, blights the sweet blosssoms of youth? Who breaks the hearts of parents? Who brings gray hairs with sorrow to the grave? Who, by a more hideous metamorphosis than Ovid ever fancied, changes sweet children into vipers, tender mothers into monsters, and their fathers into worse than Herods, the murderers of their own innocents?-Sin. Who casts the apple of discord on home hearths? Who lights the torch of war, and carries it over happy lands? Who, by divisions in the Church, rends Christ's seamless robe ?-Sin. Who is this Delilah that sings the Nazarite asleep, and delivers the strength of God into the hands of the uncircumcised? Who, with smiles on her face, and honied flattery on her tongue, stands in the door to offer the sacred rites of hospitality, and when suspicion sleeps, pierces our temples with a nail? What Siren is this, who, seated on a rock by the deadly pool, smiles to deceive, sings to lure, kisses to betray, and flings her arms around our neck, to leap with us into perdition ?-Sin. Who petrifies the soft and gentle heart, hurls reason from her throne,

and impels sinners, mad as Gadarene swine, down the precipice, into the lake of fire?-Sin. Who, having brought the criminal to the gallows, persuades him to refuse a pardon, and with his own hand to bar the door against the messenger of mercy? What witch of hell is it, that thus bewitches us?-Sin. Who nailed the Son of God to that bloody tree? and who, as if it were not a dove descending with the olive, but a vulture swooping down to devour the dying, vexes, grieves, thwarts, repels, drives off the Spirit of God? Who is it that makes man in his heart and habits baser than a beast; and him, who was once but little lower than an angel, but little better than a devil? -Sin. Sin! Thou art a hateful and horrible thing; that "abominable thing which God hates." And what wonder? Thou hast insulted his Holy Majesty ? thou hast bereaved him of beloved children; thou hast crucified the Son of his infinite love; thou hast vexed his gracious Spirit; thou hast defied his power; thou hast despised his grace; and, in the body and blood of Jesus, as if that were a common thing, thou hast trodden under foot his matchless mercy. Surely, brethren, the wonder of wonders is, that sin is not that abominable thing which we also hate.

But let us leave what is general, to fix our attention on the view of sin which the text presents. It is set before us here as a defilement; and I may remark, that it is the only thing that in the eye of God does deform and defile us. Yet how strange it is, that some deformity of body shall prove the subject of more parental regrets and personal mortification than this foul deformity of soul. It is miserable to think how hearts have grieved, and even eyes, which got their tears surely for better uses, have wept over the

stain of some costly dress, which never grieved and never wept for a sin-stained soul. What pains are taken, what costs and cares incurred, to bedeck the body for the house of God, as if that flimsy finery could conceal or compensate for a foul heart within! Your manners may have acquired a courtly polish; your dress may rival the winter's snow; unaccustomed to menial offices, and sparkling with Indian gems, your hands may bear no stain on them, yet they are not clean; nay, beneath this graceful exterior may lie concealed more foul pollution than is covered by a beggar's rags. This son of toil, from whose very touch your delicacy shrinks, and who, till Sabbath stops the wheels of business, and with her kind hand wipes the sweat of labor from his brow, never knows the full comfort of a cleanly habit, may have a heart within, which, compared with yours, is purity itself. Beneath this soiled raiment, all unseen by the world's eye, he wears the "clean linen" of a Redeemer's righteousness. His speech may be rude, his accent vulgar; but let him open his heart, unbosom its secrets, and from these there come forth such gracious thoughts, such holy desires, such heavenly aspirations, such hallowed joys, that it seems as if we had opened some rude sea-chest, brought by a foreign ship from southern lands, which, full to the lid with pearls, and gold, and diamonds, loads the air with floating odors of cassia, and myrrh, and frankincense.

Hypocrite, and dead professor! let us open thy bosom: full of all corruption, how it smells like a charnel-house! We are driven back by the noisome stench-we hasten to close the door; it is a painted but putrid sepulcher, whose fair exterior but aggravates the foulness within. It is not what lies without,