"Father, I bless thy gentle hand;
How kind was thy chastening rod,
That forced my conscience to a stand,
And brought my wandering soul to God.

"Foolish and vain, I went astray
Ere I had felt thy scourges, Lord,
I left my guide, I lost my way;
But now I love and keep thy word."

LECTURE VIII.

THE CHRISTIAN, IN HIS SPIRITUAL SORROWS.

"We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof."-Psalm cxxxvii. 2.

We now pass from the condition of the Christian, to his experience. We have contemplated the changes that may take place in his outward circumstances. We have viewed him in his prosperity and in his adversity; and have seen him carrying his religion along with him through all the varying scenes of human life.

But there are similar variations in "the inward man," "the hidden man of the heart." And these changes are no inconsiderable evidences of the reality of a work of grace, in distinction from religious pretensions. The picture of a tree is invariable; but the tree itself has its seasons. At one time it is leafless, and the sap, though not destroyed, retires into the roots. At another, it revives, and buds, and blossoms, and is filled with fruitfulness. I walk in my garden, and see the stones arranged there, always the same. But it is otherwise with the flowers and plants. And the reason is, because the former are dead, while the latter have in them a principle of life. And such is the difference between the form of godliness, and the power: between a man alive to God, and one that hath a name that he liveth, but is dead.

Let us proceed to the part of the Christian's experience which we are pledged to consider this morning. And here, I can easily imagine, that the subject itself will hardly ap pear necessary to some. They are rather surprised by the very fact we have assumed as a clear and common verity. Young converts often wonder to hear of the believer's sadness. They are often indulged with a peculiar kind and degree of consolation to allure them on, till, whatever difficulties they meet with, they feel themselves too much in

terested, and too far advanced, to think of retreating. Because, from a regard to their weakness, their enemies are restrained, they seem to conclude that they are destroyed; and because, in the novelty of their views and the liveliness of their feelings, their corruptions are but little noticed, they hope to be vexed with them no more. They therefore wonder to hear older Christians complaining of distraction in duty, and languor of zeal; and weakness of hope, and conflicts with doubts and fears. Thus it was with Israel "in the kindness of their youth." See them on the shore of the Red Sea. They rejoiced in the Lord, and sang his praise, and thought they had only to go forward and possess the pleasant land-ignorant of the wilderness between; and having no forboding of the drought, and the bitter waters, and the fiery serpents, and the Amalekites and Moabites, and their long detensions, and their being led about, and their being turned back-by all of which the souls of the people were much discouraged because of the way.

But if there are some to whom the intimation of these sorrows is surprising, there are others to whom it will be relieving, if not delightful. For there are some who are distressed and perplexed, owing to apprehensions that their experience is peculiar. They think none ever had such vain thoughts, such dull frames, such woful depressions, as they often mourn over. Therefore, in their communings with their own hearts, they are led to ask, "If I am his, why am I thus?" and anxiously turning to others, in whom they repose more confidence than they can place in themselves,

say,

"Ye that love the Lord indeed,
Tell me, is it thus with you?"

Now these will not rejoice in the deficiencies and distresses of others; but it yields them encouragement to learn, that there are some who can sympathize with them; and that what they feel, is not, though grievous, incompatible with a state of grace; since others, and even those who are far superior to themselves, utter the same sighs and groans.

To return. The Psalm from which the words of our text are taken, is universally admired. Indeed nothing can be more exquisitely beautiful. It is written in a strain of sensibility that must touch every soul that is capable of feeling. It is remarkable that Dr. Watts, in his excellent versification, has omitted it. He has indeed some verses upon it

in his Lyrics; and many others have written on the same.
We have seen more than ten productions of this kind; the
last, and perhaps the best, of which is Lord Byron's. But
who is satisfied with any of these attempts?-Thus it begins:
"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we
wept when we remembered Zion." These rivers were pro-
bably some of the streams branching off from the Euphrates
and Tigris. Here it is commonly supposed these captive
Jews were placed by their task-masters, to preserve or repair
the water-works. But is it improper to conjecture that the
Psalmist refers to their being here-not constantly, but oc-
casionally; not by compulsion, but choice? Hither I imagine
them retiring to unbend their oppressed minds in solitude.
"Come," said one of these pious Jews to another, "come,
let us for awhile go forth, from this vanity and vileness.
Let us assemble together by ourselves under the refreshing
shade of the willows by the water-courses. And let us take
our harps with us, and solace ourselves with some of the
songs of Zion.”
But as soon as they arrive, and begin to
touch the chords, the notes (such is the power of associa
tion)-awaken the memory of their former privileges and
pleasures. And, overwhelmed with grief, they sit down
on the grass, and weep when they remember Zion; their
dejected looks, averted from each other, seeming to say,
"If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her
cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to
the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my
chief joy." But what do they with their harps? The voice
of mirth is heard no more; and all the daughters of music
are brought low. Melody is not in season to a distressed
spirit. Is any afflicted? Let him pray. Is any merry?
Let him sing psalms." "As he that taketh away a garment
in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that
singeth songs to a heavy heart."-They did not however
break them to pieces, or throw them into the stream-but
hanged them up only. They hoped that what they could
not use at present, they might be able to resume at some
happier period. To be cast kown is not to be destroyed.
Distress is not despondency.

Beware of desperate steps: the darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away."

"We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof."-Let us pass from the Jew to the Christian; and *us survey the Christian,

In his SPIRITUAL SORROWS.

He who would preach well, says Luther, must distinguish well. It is peculiarly necessary to discriminate, when we enter upon the present subject. For all the sorrows of the Christian are not of the same kind or descent.-Let us consider four sources of his moral sadness.

I. Will be PHYSICAL.

II. Will be CRIMINAL.

III. Will be INTELLECTUAL.
IV. Will be PIOUS.

The first source is PHYSICAL.

There are some who understand very little of this. They are blessed with a favoured constitution; and can hardly enter into the feelings of those who pass much of their time under the dominion of a gloomy and depressive temperament that leads them to view every thing through an alarming and dismaying medium; and to draw towards themselves all that is awful and distressing. How affecting is it to hear a man of genius and piety complaining, that in one day, in one hour, he who was such an enthusiastical admirer of the works of nature, had presented to him an universal blank; so that nothing after could ever charm him again! We admit that the case of Cowper was extraordinary: but it was so in the degree, rather than in the quality. Others are subject to a measure of the same influence; and while the increased prevalence of this morbid affection produces fixed melancholy, the slighter diffusion of it may be attended with the most trying irritation and depression. We often censure, where, if we knew all, we should only pity. What a conflict have some Christians even in wrestling with flesh and blood! We are fearfully and wonderfully made. We know little of the mechanism of the body; but we know much less of the chemistry. Who can tell how the nervous juices and the animal spirits are secreted? Who can explain how the fluids blend and temper each other? Who knows how it is that when a particular humour predominates unequally, such a change is resistlessly produced in our mass of apprehensions and feelings? Yet we know the fact. We know that external things affect the body. We know that the body