not say, I will keep my covetousness, but I will resign my sensuality; he did not say, I will retain my drunkenness, but will surrender my malice and revenge: but he comes humbly and devotedly, and flings down his vices, his passions, and his prejudices, before the throne of Almighty God, and says, “Take all, take every thing, take what thou wilt, and give me that which contains my salvation!"

It is true, men will laugh at his improvidence and simplicity and when they see him cheerfully relinquishing the riches they so desperately pursue, and the pleasures of which they are so fondly enamoured, they will exclaim, What a foolish bargain has this man made in giving such a fine price for that barren field! —but what will he care, when he knows what it contains? Morning and evening will he retire to the solitary spot, and beseech his good Father to put a holy guard over the place, that no evil may come near, to rob him of his hope and his happiness: and in the day will he watch, lest he should be plundered by that enemy, who knows its value well, for he once enjoyed it, and has lost it for ever.

Yet do not conceive that he will remain in listless retirement and indolent meditation; for in that treasure he will find the armour of righteousness, in which he will array himself on the right hand and on the left;— from that treasure will he take the helmet of salvation and place it firmly upon his head ;-from that will he gird himself with the sword of the Spirit, and his feet shall be shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace:—and at the time when men are fretting themselves about their hollow pleasures,-forgetting perhaps that such a being ever existed,- -or remembering him only in order to ridicule the silly sacrifice that the poor man had made, he will come out suddenly amongst them, all richly and gorgeously apparelled, to run his race of faith, and hope, and charity, in the eyes of all mankind; so that men shall look at each other aghast, and shall say, as they did of him who is

the author and giver of all these gifts," Is not this the son of a man like ourselves?" Whence hath this

man all these things? But they cannot long mistake whence it proceeds :—when such a light shines before men, they cannot but say, "Truly this is God's work!" and many may be led to look for that treasure, which they see can produce such glorious riches.

SERMON V.

MATTHEW, X. 28

Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

If an inhabitant of some distant part of the universe, -some angel that had never visited the earth, had been told that there was a world in which such an invitation had been neglected and despised, he would surely say: "The inhabitants of that world must be a very happy people;-there can be but few among them that labour and are heavy laden;-no doubt they must be strangers to poverty, sorrow, and misfortune;-the pestilence cannot come nigh their dwellings, neither does death ever knock at their doors;-and, of course, they must be unacquainted with sin, and all the miseries that are its everlasting companions."

If such were our case, we might let our Bibles moulder into dust, and "refuse to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely;"-even of him who says, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." So that the first thing we are naturally led to consider in this, as in every other invitation, is the kind of persons to whom it is addressed: for if we do not find that we correspond to the description, it would be a waste of time to expend any further consideration upon the subject.

It is addressed to those that labour and are heavy laden so are all the promises of the Gospel. They are all made in language of the fondest, the kindest, the

most affectionate consolation. It is language that could not be understood, that would be utterly unmeaning, if addressed to those who were perfectly at ease in their feelings, and had no weight upon their minds. To him that is at ease in his possessions, the Gospel speaks in a solemn and hollow voice: "Thou fool, this night thy soul may be required of thee, and then, whose shall all those things be?" But to those whose hearts are disquieted within them, it speaks in a tone of the softest tenderness, and the most enchanting compassion.

How is the office of our Redeemer described, first by the prophet, and afterwards by himself? "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings to the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;-to comfort all that mourn ;-to give unto them beauty for ashes,—the oil of joy, for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.”

Now this is what our Saviour came to perform; it is the formal description of his office; and you perceive he is sent to the broken-hearted,-to the captives,-to them that are bound,-to them that mourn,-to them that are in the spirit of heaviness. At one time, he is beautifully represented as speaking "a word in season to him that is weary;" at another, he is described as "the Sun of Righteousness, rising with healing on his wings." He opened his ministry with blessings "on the poor in Spirit;" with blessings on them that mourn." He answered the accusations of the proud men who were at ease in their possessions, and who felt not heavy laden, that he "came not to those that were whole, but to those that were sick;" and then he points to the humble publican who came heavy-laden to the house of God, so that he could not lift up his eyes unto heaven, under his burden,-and that man found rest unto his soul. And when that Redeemer was about to depart, that Redeemer, whose office it was to bind up

the broken-hearted, to comfort them that mourn, to give rest to the heavy-laden,-what did he promise? "Another Comforter, that should abide with us for ever." Such is the strain of the Gospel from beginning to end. It is the ministry of consolation, that therefore, from its very nature, speaks only to them that need to be consoled.

The Gospel is " a word in season to him that is weary;" therefore it speaks only to him that is weary, to him that is seeking rest and finding none; and to him it brings relief, refreshment, and repose. It finds you a bruised reed,-it props and supports you. It finds you weeping,—and it wipes away all tears from your eyes. It finds you fearful, cheerless, disquieted,— and it gives you courage, hope, and tranquillity. There is a wilderness before her, and the garden of Eden behind; before her is lamentation, and mourning, and woe; behind her, come thanksgiving and the voice of melody.

Thus is the Gospel an invitation to those that are heavy-laden; and it is the business of every man to ask himself solemnly the question-"Is he one of those who are invited?" If you be one of those who labour and are heavy-laden,-come now, come freely, and you shall find rest unto your souls! (We shall presently consider how you are to come, so as to accept this invitation.)

But if you are not heavy-laden, ask yourself the cause. Is it because you have already accepted this invitation, and have already found rest unto your soul? If this be the case, "good luck have thou with thine honour! ride on, because of the word of truth, of meekness, and of righteousness!"

But is your mind at ease? is there no weight upon your spirits? You are, perhaps, at rest; but it may not be the rest that Christ has promised. Then this invitation is not to you; it is to the heavy-laden: the Gospel has no promises for you; for its promises are those of comfort and consolation. If you are contented with this