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Let fools for riches strive and toil,
Let greedy minds divide the spoil,
'Tis all too mean for me.

Above the earth, above the skies,
My bold and fervent wishes rise,
My God, to heaven and thee.
O Source of glory, life, and love!
When to thy courts I mount above,
On contemplation's wings;
I look with pity and disdain
On all the pleasures of the vain,
On all the pomp of kings.

Thy beauties rising in my sight,
Divinely sweet, divinely bright,
With rapture fill my breast;
Though robb'd of all my worldly store,
In thee I never can be poor,
But must be ever blest,

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FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. 245.]

FEBRUARY, 1839.

THE SABBATH.

[VOL. 21.

When coasting through some of the Scottish Isles, we were becalmed on a Saturday evening off the Island of Jura. We turned the prow of our little bark toward a bay that invited us by its peaceful beauty to enter, and casting anchor, wished for the day. We looked forward with some anxiety to the coming Sabbath, as to how its peaceful hours might be observed in the land near which we lay, and how the sheep among its barren hills were fed. We called to mind those happy seasons spent in our own home, when we had taken sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God as friends; and we thought it may be good for us, perhaps, to be removed sometime from such scenes into a barren and dry land where no water is. The wished-for morning rose in all that glorious and tranquil beauty that so well becomes the holy day of rest. The Sabbath seemed about to be observed in the world of nature, as well as in the world of grace, so calm was every scene, so hushed into the tranquillity of repose. As we looked from our bark upon the shore, all there seemed as quiet as the glassy waters that lay between; amid their peaceful dwellings but few of the inhabitants were seen to move; no sound arose from thence discordant from the feelings with which we contemplated the scene, and even our fears of the evening before had now almost sunk into equal serenity. Yet, as the morning began to advance, some characteristic features of the lovely landscape changed. Along the distant winding shore, and down the rugged mountain paths, groups of peasants were seen to approach, as varied in their costume and appearance as in the modes of their conveyance. Some mounted on horseback, others in that rude description of cart which

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is commonly found among the highlands, while the greater number, both male and female, were hastening joyously along on foot, as if they were glad when it had been said unto them, we will go into the house of the Lord. To these groups our attention had been attracted at a rather earlier period of the morning than those who frequent the house of God are generally seen to be castir; but upon landing and making inquiry, we discovered the reason, namely, that a great proportion of the congregation so soon to be assembled together, came from considerable distances, some twelve and some fifteen miles distant; their place of worship, which was situated close by the shore, near which our boat lay, being the only one upon the island. We soon mingled in their great congregation; and though we spake not the same language (their minister performing the service in Gaelic) yet I humbly trust we worshipped devoutly the same everlasting God.

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For though our tongues be diverse, still

If by the same ascent they rise,

There's One near mercy's throne who will

Make all, the language of the skies;

And He who sits on mercy's throne,

Hears that Interpreter alone.

How that hour of prayer was occupied by all there assembled, I dare not venture to say. 'To their own Master they stand or fall; He that knoweth the thoughts and intents of the heart knew theirs. But when it was past, and the homeward throng were scattering again their glad groups over the island, I thought within myself, Ah with what a silent voice of reproach do those speak to the careless ones of more favoured spots, to many who, though dwelling in a church-crowded land, are nevertheless far from being a church-going people; who, when external circumstances throw no hindrance in their way, find too readily some excuse within prepared to supply their place.

Reader, whosoever you may be, do you call yourself by that glorious but responsible name, Christian? If

you do, remember there is more in it than an mere name; there is connected therewith a solemn, an important duty, in the eyes of both God and man; a duty which no fictitious excuse can ever remove. But I was wrong; it is not of the duties of a Christian that I am about to speak, so much as of their glorious privileges; it is not so much of what a Christian must feel himself bound to do, as of what a Christian must consider it a blessing to be permitted to do. It is in this light I would wish to view one of the best gifts of our Father which is in heaven, that refreshing bunch of the grapes of Eschol, that peaceful earnest of the rest of the re deemed, which is more than shadowed forth, which is felt and rejoiced in, on the Sabbath. Wearied with his "six day toil," the Christian looks forward with delight in the midst of his weekly trial and care, to the rest which the Sabbath shall afford; when he shall be enabled to turn aside, as it were, from the busy path of life, with all his heart and all his soul, to worship the God of his salvation; when, like the camel in the desert, he may draw from the well of life supplies to refresh his spirit while journeying through the wilderness of the coming week; and, communing in secret with his God, he may so partake of the similitude of his likeness, as that the world with which he so soon must mingle may take knowledge of him that he has been with Jesus.

How does the weary day-labourer turn to the brief hour of repose which it is permitted him to enjoy; is it not with a thrill of delight, more than half the zest of which springs from the toilsomeness of his former occupation? How does the traveller turn in to the inn, whose friendly sign-post speaks to him of refreshment and rest; is it not with a joy greatly enhanced, nay, rather wholly arising from the fatigues and hardships of the day? And how does the Christian (I mean not merely the professing, but the true Christian) hail the morning of the Sabbath? As an hour of repose to one that is weary; an inn of rest to a toil-worn traveller, afar from the quiet of his home! In proportion as the

necessary business, and intercourse, and pursuits of the week are a burden and restraint, a cause of trial, and a subject of dislike to him; so the Sabbath, with its peaceful retirement from almost all, save the unwearied but tever wearying snare of a sinful heart, is a scene of delight, a source of contented joy, a furtherance of the work of righteousness, which is peace, and a foretaste of the effects of righteousness, which is quietness and assurance for ever. He can then lawfully abstract himself from the too-engrossing business of this transient scene; he can then dwell in peaceful, and joyful, and hopeful contemplation on the mysteries of redeeming love, the wonders of Almighty Providence, the treasures of eternal grace; he can, when bent over the Book of God, think of, hear from, and talk to his best and truest Friend; pour into his bosom all the sorrows of the past, and learn from his wisdom for all the trials of the future-until his heart will by degrees become so loosened from those snares and entanglements of the world, which the six days' previous toil had thrown around it, that it will be less easily caught, and with more difficulty detained, by the seductions of the week which is to come. Compared with these, how cold, and heartless, and joyless are the Sabbath joys which the worldling marks out for himself the holy day of rest is to him a day of listless idleness, of weary pleasures, or sinful gratification. He walks, and laughs, and trifles its precious hours away. To him it is a burden, for his own desires and the customs of the world, even depraved as it is, are so much at variance as to preclude the possibility of his being happy. If he enters the house of prayer, he walks mournfully before the Lord of hosts, because his heart is not there; but seldom or ever his footsteps tread the hallowed courts of the house of our God: some idle pretext, some false excuse, which would not be thought of, which would not stand if pleasure called, not only hinders his entrance there, but for the moment calms his conscience; and, parched and worn out, he passes by the only fountain in the desert whose waters can

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