shall there be seen without a veil, on his throne of power and glory. But I am anticipating what I propose to mention

VII. That the knowledge acquired in heaven, will not be merely speculative, but such as will touch all the springs of holy joy and ecstacy. There is a pleasure which the mind always receives from the simple acquisition of knowledge, or the discovery and contemplation of truth. But beside this, there is a peculiar pleasure, which arrises from ascertaining certain truths, in which, from any circumstances, the mind had been deeply interested, and strongly desirous that they should be found to be, what they are, at length, discovered to be in fact. Such will be the nature of every newly opening view of truth, which will break on the mind of the saint in the heavenly world. It will be a truth which will awaken all the most exquisite sensibilities of his soul. He will feel a holy and inexpressible delight, in perceiving every thing which his growing powers will enable him to comprehend. The grosser passions will no doubt be all extinct; but the spiritual passions, if I may so call them, will be sublimed, and will receive new capacities of pleasure and gratification. Much is said in the word of God, on the sacred excitement, which will be given to the soul in the celestial mansions. Every thing in the Bible tends to show that heaven will not be a state merely of increasing perception, however desirable, but of divine animation and transport. Think, O Christian! of thy happiest hour; think of an hour in which it has been given thee to know a sacred serenity of spirit, in the possession of that "peace of God which passeth all understanding;" an hour when a still, and sweet, and solemn elevation of soul, in the contemplation of thy God and Saviour, made thee a partaker of "the joy of the Holy Ghost"-That probably is the nearest resemblance thou canst have on earth, of the delights of heaven. But better, infinitely better than that, in degree and purity, will be all the hours that shall carry forward thy existence in the mansions above. And this enjoyment, it must be remembered, will never satiate, or weary the glorified spirit-It will be ever fresh, and new, and vigorous, through all the periods of an endless duration. We know that mental and spiritual pleasures, even in this world, are in their nature the most durable. They do not give an impetuous or sudden gust of gratification, like sensual delights-followed often by a sense of repletion or disgust. Mental pleasures may be long continued; and the fatigue which at length ensues, is the fatigue of the body, which clouds, and depresses, and enfeebles the mind. But in heaven, the soul will experience no hindrance from the body. She will rise in all her native vigour to the paradise of God; and when she resumes her body at the resurrection of the just, it will be, as we have seen, a spiritual body, which will aid, and not obstruct, her every exercise and enjoyment. The engagements of heaven, we doubt not, will be various; but, "Holiness to the Lord," will be inscribed on them all; and redeeming love and sovereign grace will be the favourite theme, on which all the ransomed of Adam's race will dwell with expanded powers, and with insatiable and untiring bliss.

Finally-The joys of heaven will be eternal. This is the consideration which gives them their highest value. Here our best enjoyments are short and transitory; and the recollection that they must be so, and that they are to be succeeded by new and painful conflicts, often abates them while they last. But in heaven there will be no fear of any change, or any termination of the felicity experienced. On the contrary, an endless increase, we have reason to believe, will be Ch. Adv.-VOL. XII.

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anticipated and realised. The human mind possesses an expansive property, by which, at every step of improvement, it becomes capable of making acquisitions more easily, and of taking in a larger measure of knowledge and fruition. If this property of the human soul shall be retained in its glorified state, as we have every reason to believe it will, who can estimate its attainments in the progress of eternity! May not the present capacity of the highest angel, be at length reached, and exceeded by the meanest saint? Through the soul of this saint, may not more happiness ultimately pass, than has yet been experienced by all the angels and saints now in glory! That amount is finite, and in eternity an individual may exhaust it all, and then an eternity will be still in prospect! O the breadth and the length, the height and the depth of this incomprehensible felicity! It absorbs and overwhelms our minds-In silent meditation let it suggest unutterable thoughts.

Long as I have detained you, beloved hearers, I do not feel at liberty to conclude this discourse, without a few plain practicable observations on what you have heard about heaven.

1. Let it be remembered that the heavenly delights of which I have spoken, and you have heard, can never be enjoyed by those who are not prepared for them in the temper of their minds. The desire of happiness is inseparable from our nature; and as heaven is ever represented as a state of consummate and endless enjoyment, unsanctified men, as well as others, often cherish and express the hope and the expectation of going to heaven when they die. But let them not be offended, when they are told, that they really do not desire heaven. They do indeed, with all sincerity and earnestness, desire happiness, but still they do not desire heaven; that is, such a heaven as actually exists, and which is the only one which ever can exist, in all the universe of God. The God of heaven is a holy God, and he certainly never will make an unholy heaven. Of the heaven which he has prepared for all who are qualified to enter it, perfect holiness characterizes every inhabitant and every exercise. But unsanctified men do not love holiness. Their taste, disposition, and feelings are all set against it, and will continue to be so, while they remain unsanctified. To suppose then that they desire a heaven of perfect holiness, is to suppose that they desire what they hate; which is a contradiction in terms. No truly, let them understand themselves correctly, and they must see that it is only happiness-a sinful happiness-and not a holy heaven, which is the object of their desire. And hence it is plain, that without a radical change of heart and affections, they could not be happy if they were in heaven; for they would find nothing there but objects of disgust and aversion. Be it then imprinted on the memory of us all, and let every unsanctified sinner in this assembly bring his mind into close contact with the solemn truth proclaimed by the God of heaven, that "Without holiness no man shall see the Lord-Except a man be born again-born of the Spirit-he cannot see the kingdom of God." Seek renovation then, fellow sinner-seek the influences of the Holy Spirit to renew you unto holiness-if you would, on any rational ground, hope for heaven. Let not this great concern be delayed for a single hour, lest death overtake you while you delay, and you hear the irreversible decree"He that is unjust let him be unjust still; and he that is filthy let him be filthy still; and he that is righteous let him be righteous still; and he that is holy let him be holy still."

2. Let the people of God be exhorted to meditate much on heaven.

"Preach more about heaven-I have never preached enough about heaven" said an aged and eminent minister of the gospel, to a young brother, who visited him on his death-bed. Yes, we ministers of the gospel ought to preach more than we are wont to do about heaven; and you, dear brethren in the Lord, ought to meditate more-much more than I fear the most of you do, on heaven. I verily believe, that in this very point, the primitive Christians were chiefly distinguished from those of modern times. They lived with heaven in their eye; and it was this that made them undervalue the world, and that raised them above the fear of death, even in its most frightful forms. Truly the secret of martyrdom is here. Let a man possess a holy confidence that death to him will be instantly followed by the vision of his approving Saviour, in all the glories and raptures of the heavenly world, and he goes to the cross, the scaffold or the stake with an unfaltering step-yea, with a triumphant spirit-It will be, he says, but a momentary agony, and it will introduce me to eternal joys. We, beloved Christian brethren, have but little prospect of being called to the trial of martyrdom. Yet we have our trials; and some of them perhaps more dangerous, for the very reason that they are less feared, than were those of martyrdom. We have sicknesses, and sorrows, and bereavements, and disappointments, and worldly losses and vexations innumerable-these on the one hand-And on the other, we have the smiles, and the flatteries, and the ten thousand seductions of the world. Now, the meditation of heaven will sustain and cheer us under the former, and teach and enable us to undervalue and despise the latter. By this meditation we go, as it were, from earth to heaven-We gain an elevation, from which when we look down, every thing on earth appears little. We breathe a purer moral atmosphere, and feel a delightful relief, in escaping for a short time from the murky air of this polluted world. O, brethren, you know-for I now speak to those who know it by experience-that heaven is begun on earth; and when we get something of this imperfect heaven, in our present weary -pilgrimage, it does enliven and strengthen us wonderfully; and render us superior to all things here below. And as it is a holy happiness, it increases the spirit of holiness in our hearts, while we enjoy it. It makes the will of God our choice, and therefore every thing that comes to us appears right-It likewise animates us to all present duty, and thus renders us most useful. It fills us, moreover, with a most ardent desire to take as many with us to heaven as possible, both from a love to our fellow men, and from a desire to glorify God our Saviour; and thus it consecrates us, with all that we have and are, to the promotion of the gospel of Christ: And finally, it dispels all the darkness of death and the grave, and puts into our mouth the conqueror's song “O death where is thy sting! O grave where is thy victory! The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus ChristCome quickly-Amen-Even so, come Lord Jesus."

From the New York Observer.

WHY SO LOTH TO DIE?

I find within me a strange reluctance to die, and I perceive in others indications of a similar unwillingness. Indeed it is rare to meet with one who does not participate in this general and great aversion to dy

ing. Now I do not wonder that some are unwilling to die. Nature revolts at death. It is the object of her strongest antipathy. It is not strange, therefore, that mere natural men should be averse to it. Some have nothing to die for. How can it be expected that they should be willing to die? They have nothing beyond the grave to go to. Their possessions all lie on this side of it. They have their portion in this life-their good things here. Do you wonder they are reluctant to leave them? To such to die is loss. Death is not theirs, as it is the Christian's; but on the other hand, they are death's. Jesus is not precious to them. How should they be "willing rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord?" What Paul esteemed "far better" than life, viz. dying in order to be with Christ, has for them no charm whatever.

But that the spiritual man, the disciple and friend of Jesus, the child and heir of God, should be so strongly averse to death, deserves to be considered strange. We might indeed expect that there should remain some of the reluctance of nature to death, even in the subjects of grace, for Christianity does not destroy nature; but that this reluctance should be so strong and often so predominant-that grace should not create a desire for death, stronger than nature's aversion to it, is what surprises us.

I am sure it ought not to be as it is. Certainly every Christian ought to be able to say with Paul, "having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." However averse to being "unclothed," he should yet be willing to be "clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life." Life required an exercise of patience in the saints of old, which seems to have no existence now. Job says, "all the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come." Then Christian submission was exercised in living. Now to be resigned to death is the desideratum. Grace had then to make its subjects willing to live. Now it has to make them willing to die.

How shall we account for this reluctance? What if nature in us be strong, is not grace stronger? Has it subdued our sins, calmed our agitations, allayed our fears, and can it not master this one aversion? Have we made experiment of what grace can do, with the fear of death?

Is it because of the pain of dying that we shrink from it? But how know we that to die is so very painful? In half the cases of death at least, it does not appear to be so. How many sicknesses we are subject to, whose progress is attended with far more pain! How many surgical operations, which men readily submit to, are beyond all doubt productive of more suffering!

Is this world so bright and beautiful that we are loth to leave it on that account? But is not heaven fairer and brighter far? Here there is night; but there none. Here deformity alternates with beauty; but there all is loveliness-here the alloy prevails. There there is no mixture-all is pure. Can it be possible that earth has charms and attractions equal to those of heaven-this earth, which the curse has lighted on, comparable in point of beauty and loveliness to that heaven where God manifests himself, and which Jesus has gone to prepare for becoming the fit habitation and eternal home of his redeemed? Is it conceivable? Even the saints who lived under a darker dispensation esteemed the heavenly a better country. Is it the separations which death makes, that render us so averse to die? True, it separates, but it unites also. It takes us, I know, from many we love, but it takes us

to as many we love. Leave we a family behind? But do we not go to one larger, more harmonious, happier? Are we parted from friends by death? And are we not joined to friends by the same? If we lose a father, do we not find a better Father; and if we leave a dear brother, do we not go to one who "is not ashamed to call us brethren?" More than half of some families have gone already to heaven. Why should we be so much more desirous of continuing with the part on earth, than of going to the portion in heaven? Do those you part from need your care and services, more than those to whom you go? But is it not safe going, and leaving them in charge of God? Is it not he now who cares for them, and watches over them, provides for them, and defends them? And will he not do it when you are dead and gone? Ah, the parent clings to life, and looks imploringly on death, when he thinks of his loved little ones! What will become of them? he asks. What would become of them now, if they had only you to care for them? It is not your eye that keeps watch over them-nor your arm that is put underneath and round about them-nor your hand from whose opening palm their wants are supplied. It is God's. And what he does by you now, cannot he do without you? Cannot he find other agents and instruments when you are laid aside? Does he not say of the widows and fatherless children, "Leave them to me?" And will he not be faithful to the trust which he solicits?

Do not children desire to see the face of their father? And are not we children of God? After so many years of daily converse and communion with him, and after receiving so many tokens of his paternal regard, should you not be willing to go now and see him face to face, whose unseen hand has led, sustained and supplied you hitherto? It is unnatural in us not to be willing to go to God-We readily go to

those we love.

Has home no charm? What man is he, to whom it has not a charm? Who has been long absent from it and does not languish with desire to reach it? But where is home-thy father's house? It is not here. It is beyond the flood. Earth is not home. Heaven is home. Living is not being at home. Dying is going home. We must die to reach our father's house. And yet we are reluctant to die!

Do you dread the way? Do you tremble at the thought of the valley of the shadow of death? What, when you are sure of such company as that of Jesus? Will you fear with him at your side? Do not talk of the cold arms of death. Think rather of the warm embrace of Jesus. Does he not say he will come for you? "If I go, I will come again, and receive you unto myself." Angels may minister to the saints on common occasions, but when a Christian dies, Jesus himself attends.

But death has a sting. You mean he had one. To those who believe in Jesus, no sting of death remains.

Fear ye the consequences of dying?-Does the thought of the presence into which you are to go appal you? But you have often been into that presence in prayer-you have appeared already before God on his mercy seat, and then you have wished the veil away. Why then so unwilling that death should withdraw it? Were you not gladdened by those transient glimpses of his glory which you saw? And dread you now the full and fixed gaze of his glory? Have you not often sighed for those brighter views, and those nearer and clearer discoveries which death will afford you?

Surely it cannot be the judgment you fear. What, when you are "ac