SERMON XVII.

REV. ROBERT LOWRY.

"And the victory that day was turned into mourning, unto all the people."-2 SAMUEL xix. 2.

You do not expect a sermon to-day. I have no sermon to give you. The air is laden with sorrow, and our hearts are plunged together in one common grief. The mind refuses to think of anything but the great public calamity. Our dear, good President is dead! We are all mourners today. It is not for me to comfort you; we can only weep together in our overwhelming family bereavement.

We have looked forward to this day as the Resurrection Sunday of our Lord. We had adjusted our minds to the contemplation of the event, which broke the seals of the dark world, and opened up life and immortality to the sons of men. But the smile has fled from our faces to-day. We weep as at a burial, though we stand by the empty grave of our Saviour. There is no jubilant music from the organ to-day. There is no glad song of victory on our tongues to-day. No bright flowers of gladness decorate our church to-day, but, instead, we sob forth our funereal dirges. We cover our faces and drop our bitterest tears. We hang these walls with the deep drapery of woe. We droop our

beautiful flag over the pulpit, and gaze on its craped folds till our eyes cannot see it for the tears that blind them. Why does the sun shine to-day? It seems to mock us with its brightness. We could have wished that the heavens had been hung in black, and the clouds had wept their sympathy. We have no heart for sunshine. We are prostrate in our profoundest grief.

We did not know how much we loved him. We have talked of his geniality, his tender-heartedness, his patient endurance, his broad common sense; but we thought of these qualities with the quiet appreciation which attends familiarity. We only learn his great worth when he is taken from us. We feel now how good a man he was, how great, how noble.

Four years ago the people called him to preside over a country drifting toward a whirlpool. It was a time when the largest experience, the clearest statesmanship, and the most intelligent tact were scarcely adequate to meet the appalling demands of the crisis. He went to Washington, taking with him neither polish, nor statecraft, nor the learning of the schools; but he carried there. a lofty patriotisin, a sterling honesty, and a full American manhood. The work before him was not one of courtly genuflexion in the reception room. The time for fresh

He was God's gift

thoughts and manly vigor had come. for the crisis. We did not all think so then. The surge of popular excitement sometimes swept far beyond the cool stand-point of the President. When rebellion seemed to be strengthening itself in every point, and even asserting superior prowess on the battle-field, there were not wanting those who clamored for this policy and that, and poured the vials of their hasty anger on the head of the patient President. But no menace of friend or foe could drive him into a policy, when the essential elements of a

policy that would endure had not yet germinated. He stood amid the conflict of passion and opinion, as one who felt that the issues of the problem were with him. And with this temper he has filled the years of his administration. He had learnt that "he that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city." How well he has performed his task, a mourning nation is now ready to acknowledge.

There was not a nerve in his body that did not thrill with love for the Union. He lived only for the Union. If a commander was appointed or deposed, it was that the Union might the better be defended. If a change was made in the cabinet, it was in subserviency to the interests of the Union. If the just demands of the government on foreign powers were held in abeyance, the integrity of the Union was the all-controlling motive. In the early stages of the rebellion he announced that, with slavery or without slavery, the Union must be saved. To this sole end he gave his wearisome days and sleepless nights. For this consummation he issued his proclamations, or withheld his signature from the laws of Congress. While it was possible to preserve the unity of the nation without invading the institutions of the States, he forbore to interfere with domestic laws. When it was evident that the salvation of the Union demanded the extirpation of human bondage, he did not hesitate to write the immortal paper that gave freedom to four millions of enslaved humanity.

If the people were slow to give him all their confidence, they learnt at last to look to him as their worthily-trusted chief. It is seen now that he was the appointed instrumeut of God, more than even the choice of the people. When this conviction fastened itself on the popular mind, it was not difficult to determine that, in the midst of an

unsettled struggle, we should have no change of rulers. There were those who deemed him yet to be below the level of the crisis. But the popular will swept them away like chaff. We said that the man who had conducted us through four years of fearful war, and made himself the target for traitorous hatred, should carry us through to its completion. We elected him for a second term. Not even an opponent possessed of extraordinary personal accomplishments could divert the instinct of the popular heart. All classes accepted the decision of the ballot. We gave ourselves up to no vehement rejoicings, but we cherished a calm satisfaction in the result. We felt that the country was more safe in the hands of its now tried leader, than it could be under any new administration. We looked hopefully for the end.

Nor did we wait long. The expression of the popular will gave nerve to the government, the army, and the people. Faction was silenced, and loyalty became more clearly defined. Rebel sympathizers slunk out of sight, and military combinations closed more effectively on the focal points of the insurrection. With crushing weight fell the final blows. City after city was taken; fort after fort captured; army after army beaten; till the whole loyal land shouted for victory, and gave thanks to God that our beloved country was saved. How gaily our flags leaped up to the mast-head! How joyfully our guns thundered out the rejoicings of the people! How sympathetically our hearts fluttered with the restored banner of Sumter! The heavens were growing brighter every hour. Charleston, the cradle of the rebellion, was a desolate ruin. Richmond, that became its coffin, was a captured city. The insurgent government were fleeing before our arms. The rebel chief had become a fugitive from the justice that pursued him. The bastard rag that had