ing in the minds and reverberating in the consciences of thousands of the murderers of Jesus, trembling with their guilt, and crying in their dread, "Men and brethren, what shall we do to be saved?" Oh! give me rather one inspiration of the power that saves, than all the pomp of speech that ministers merely to personal renown. Alas! that the silver trumpet should be soiled with streaming tears, before it sounds its summons to the pageant of the occasion. And yet, who can remember, without weeping? The soul-the godlike soul. To speak of it only since the advent of Christ, who can remember its history without being ready to weep even tears of blood?

Think for a moment of the soul of Jesus. Was not that the paragon for all the souls of after time? And what was it that wore the crown in the soul of Jesus? Was it not love? I will not extend the metaphor into an allegory. I will not expand the soul into a palace; transform its faculties into persons; and its silent ascendency of love into the tumult of a royal exhibition. There is no true sympathy in such formal perversions. I wish to be personal; to cleave to the soul itself; and appeal for an interest in its quickest and deepest energies.

What then? Having touched the passing trope, in relation to the spirit of the Lord Jesus, I now ask: What has been the history of the individual man, since the advent of our Redeemer ? What has been this history within the range of Christendom? What was it, before the dark ages? What was it, through the dark ages? What has it been, ever since the dark ages? What is its current history? I can not say much of the lowly manthe man of the masses. In most ages, there is great obscurity in this relation. Where we can not see clearly, it is at least most pleasant to indulge favorable suppositions. But, the man of mark, whatever his sphere, the man who holds a place in the annals of time, what has worn the crown in his soul, since the example ef Jesus was set before him?

Alas! this abstraction is almost as unsympathetic as an allegory. I mean the public men of the past, whether in church or state. I mean all men of the present, public and private; for we are able to form some judgment of these. I mean, in particular, ourselves. What has worn the crown in their souls? What now wears it in our souls? Has it been love? Is it love? Pure, holy, heavenly love? Divine love? The love that burns for the glory of God? The love that delights in doing good to mankind? I tell you why I am ready to weep. I am an admirer of great men. I can not help it. Trus, I do not idolize them; God forbid. I would not dishonor Christianity, by apologizing for their vices. God forbid, may be again said, most reverently. I would not submit my own judgment, or conscience, or conduct, or rights, or liberties of any kind, to the greatest of them. But still, a truly great

man, however little he may be to his Creator, is the most splendid of all creation to us.

I look, then, over the history of the great men whom God has sent into the world, since his own perfect Son showed us all how to live. I see them, in many instances, so great that they seem to overshadow the Lord Jesus himself. Nay; do not be startled. I am bound to speak honestly and earnestly. I say, therefore, again, that, sometimes, to my own mind, these great men appear to be so great as almost to overshadow the Lord Jesus himself. They are great in genius-all kinds of genius; artistic, scientific, philosophic, poetic, oratoric, civil, military-every sort that can be named. They are equally great in all kinds of learning. They are equally great in noble and successful enterprises. They secure the control of their cotemporaries, and are certain of the applause of posterity. Fame, and wealth, and pleasure, and power, absolutely kneel down and worship them. The arts multiply their images, until, it may be, they even outnumber the gods of heathenism; and Christian nations, grown familiar with their lives, seem insensible to their crimes, and only responsive to the celebration of their praise.

Now, when I turn to the contemplation of the Lord Jesus, I do not witness the same displays of genius and learning, to say the least; nor the same kind of popular or national enthusiasm in his favor, in his own day, or even in the present.

But now I ask myself the question, How did these men live? Did they live like Jesus? Can their lives be summed up in the words "They went about doing good?" Was it holy love that wore the crown in their souls? And instantly my spirit kindles with indignation, and then melts into grief. No; it was not love that wore the crown. Oh! if love had reigned, what good they might have wrought. But it was not love. Nor yet was it even what at first it might appear to be. It was not, for instance, genius, or learning, or sensual lust, after all. It was self, the anti-christ of self; and genius, and learning, and lust, and avarice, and wealth, and office, and rank, and fame, and power, and pleasure, and opportunity, and temptation, and every thing within their command, was made to bow down and minster to the idolatry of self.

With all? Has it been so with all? No, not with all. Thank God, there have been many and noble exceptions. I need not name them. Their example adorns the earth, and is not forgotten in heaven. But it should not have been so with any. The law of Christianity runs thus: "For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord; whether we live therefore or die we are the Lord's." In relation to true Christians, this is so by voluntary devotion; and in the sense of responsibility

it is so, even in relation to merely nominal Christians. No man, however lofty and illustrious, has any right, under Christianity, to live to himself. He is bound to live in love to God and man. He is bound to live and die in the grateful service of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, it is again said, that Christ" died for all, that they which live "that is, live because he died for them "should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him who died for them, and rose again." Even if Christ were still dead, there would be reason, supposing the other facts true, to revere his memory, and respect his precepts, but he lives and reigns, and commands homage, and the highest among men is as much bound, or even more bound, than the lowest, to render it. Who, then, can think of the ingratitude and selfishness of the great without weeping? But, if I admire great men, more emphatically I love all mankind-the middle classes, the lower classes, all classes; the poorest of the poor, and the vilest of the vile. Who, then, with such feelings can recall the history of these as far as it may be recalled, or observe their condition, at the present time, without grieving for their want of love? How can we identify ourselves with them without sorrowing that we have so little of this divine principle in our souls?

Within this range, there is no great genius, no great learning, no great fame, or wealth, or power; no great national enterprise, or influence, or enthusiasm. There is general respectability, intelligence, refinement, competence, independence, comfort, external morality, patriotism, and impulsive philanthropy; with an undergrowth of occasional virulent poverty, and ignorance, and passion, and vice, and crime, and woe.

Ah me! why is it that love has been dishonored here? These are the classes with which Jesus identified himself. He was content, so to speak, that the great men of the world'should' seem to eclipse him, that he might appear more fully as a man of the people, and inspire them, if practicable, with his own spirit.

He "took upon himself the form of a servant" that he might show his love, and persuade men to imitate his example. It was not genius, or learning, or fame, or wealth, or power, that men needed, but love. If genius had been needed, what infinite genius he might have displayed. If learning had been needed, what infinite erudition he might have disclosed. If fame had been needed, how gladly the trumpets of angels would have challenged the applause of the world in his behalf. If wealth had been needed, how quickly the treasuries of the universe would have been open to meet his demands. And, if power had been needed, how easily his throne might have been exalted above all the kingdoms and empires of the earth.

But, no. It was love, love, love, that was wanted; and therefore he came to exemplify love, and illustrate love, and inculcate

love, and refresh, and revive, and redeem the wicked, and weary, and wasted world with love.

Oh! why have not the people so understood it? And why have they not united in the enthronement of love?

Alas! in their hearts, too-in our hearts, too-self has been enthroned. Whether we have possessed little or much, it has been made to minister-not to God, not to Christ, not to the Church, not to any objects of holy love, but to self-the antichrist of self-equally repulsive in the small as in the great.

We have looked upon the great, in their worldly glory, rather than upon Christ in his spiritual glory. And if we could not equal them, we have, at least, envied them, and tried to be as proud as they, and as vain as they, and as rude as they, and as selfish as they, and as resentful as they, and as suspicious as they, and as full of guile as they; in few words, as foolish, and sinful, and injurious, and wretched as they.

Ah! why have we not looked at Jesus? We might have become like him. He does not proudly assume what we never can reach, and then say y: Stand aloof, for you see you can never resemble me. No, no! Though "in him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily," he comes to us "in the form of a servant," and says to us, gently and kindly: "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls." That is, become each one of you a servant, even as I am; be meek and lowly as I am; and so you shall find rest. You may not think so; but believe me, and try it, and so you will find it. "For mv yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Try it, and you will find it so. Why, the very shadow of the world's yoke is heavier than the whole weight of mine. That is the yoke of self, and self is a task-master that cuts to the bone. My yoke is the yoke of love; and love is the angel of God that leads his children in safe and blessed disguise from the bondage of earth to the liberty and rapture of heaven.

Oh! tell me, then, brethren and friends; tell me, one and all, if love has so long been dishonored, is it not high time to repairthe wrong? Shall we not recall the exile? Shall we not vindicate her rights? Shall we not restore her rights? Shall we not engage in the coronation of love in the soul?

It must be so. The soul is desolated with rebellion and misrule that does not acknowledge this reign. What, shall appetite, or passion, or pride, or vanity, or ambition, or genius, or learning, or self, in any of its forms, wear the crown of the soul, and love-the equal friend of God and man-be excluded from her rightful dominion? See to it, sinner! See to it, that, by the grace of God, you break this bitter bondage.

And you, O Christian! hear me a word or two more. Why, even if faith be present, love is greater than faith. Even if

hope be present, love is greater than hope. What then? Shall we content ourselves with faith, and neglect love. Or, shall we listen to the music of hope, and despise the pleadings of love. Never. See! faith welcomes love to the throne. See! hope unites in this happy welcome.

But beware, or self, after all, will prevent the coronation. If love put on the crown, be sure it will not be in vain. If love put on the crown, be sure it will fulfill its obligations to both God and man; to both Christ and the Church. It matters not at what expense; time, or toil, or means; prayers, or pains, or tears; whatever sacrifices are necessary, love will be sure to ordain them. Self knows this, and self will prevent the enthronement of such a sovereign if it can.

But one word more. I have said that faith and hope may enter heaven. But this was in company with love, not without it. Faith and hope may not entirely, forsake you here, even though you slight the claims of love; but when you leave the earth, if love be not enthroned in your soul, faith and hope will bid you farewell for ever.

SERMON VI.

BY REV. LEMUEL S. POTWIN,
BRIDGEWATER, CT.

THE CONVERSION OF LITTLE CHILDREN.

"SUFFER the little children to come unto me."-MARK 10: 14.

THESE words of Christ imply that some one was hindering little children from coming to him; and this we find to be the case. Those disciples, who should have been foremost in introducing both young and old to their Master, had just been rebuking some who brought young children to him. We do not know why the disciples did so. It has been suggested that they regarded the presence of the children as an interruption of the Saviour's teachings. They could not bear that those who were too young to be taught should take up the Saviour's time. It may be that some of them were too young to be taught, but, if so, it was no worse for them to be there than for some others who were too old to be taught. Very likely some of them were too young to understand much that Christ said, but they were not too young to have him put his hands on them, and pray (for that is what he did to them);