commands them, in general terms, to pursue whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, pure, lovely, or of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, it plainly appeals to the native dictates of their heart. Nay, unless men were endowed by nature with some sense of duty or of moral obligation, they could reap no benefit from revelation; they would remain incapable of all religion whatever. For, in vain were a system of duty prescribed to them by the word of God; allegiance were in vain required towards their Creator, or love and gratitude enjoined towards their Redeemer; if, previously, there was no principle in their nature, which made them feel the obligations of duty, of allegiance, and of gratitude. They could have no ideas corresponding to such terms; nor any conviction, that, independently of fear or interest, they were bound to regard, either him who made, or him who redeemed them. This, therefore, is to be held as a principle fundamental to all religion. That there is in human nature, an approving or condemning sense of conduct; by means of which, they who have not the law, are a law unto themselves. They who, from a mistaken zeal for the honor of Divine revelation, either deny the existence, or vilify the authority of natural religion, are not aware, that by disallowing the sense of obligation, they undermine the foundation on which revelation builds its power of commanding the heart.

The text leads us to observe, that one of the cases in which the natural sense of good and evil operates most

forcibly, is when men have been guilty of injustice or inhumanity. We saw the anguish of our brother's soul, when he besought us: and we would not hear. An inward principle prompts us to do good to others; but with much greater authority, it checks and condemns us, when we have done them injuries. This part of the human constitution deserves to be remarked as a signal proof of the wisdom of its Author, and of the gracious provision which he has made for the welfare of mankind. We are all committed, in some measure, to the care and assistance of one another. But our mutual influence reaches much farther with respect to the evils, than with respect to the enjoyments of those around us. To advance their prosperity, is often beyond our ability: but to inflict injuries, is almost always within our power: and, at the same time, selfinterest very frequently tempts us to commit them. With the utmost propriety, therefore, we are so framed, that the influence of the moral principle should be most authoritative, in cases where its aid is most needed; that to promote the happiness of others, should appear to us as praiseworthy, indeed, and generous; but that, to abstain from injuring them, should be felt as a matter of the strictest duty.-Amidst the distress which the Patriarchs suffered in Egypt, had only this suggestion occurred, "We saw our brother beginning to prosper, and we contributed not to his advancement," their minds would have been more easily quieted. But, when their reflection was, We saw his anguish when he besought us and we would not hear, then compunction turned upon them its sharpest edge. I proceed to observe,

II. That our natural sense of right and wrong, produces an apprehension of merited punishment when we have committed a crime. When it is employed in surveying the behaviour of others, it distinguishes some actions, as laudable and excellent; and disapproves of others, as evil and base. But when it is directed upon our own conduct, it assumes a higher office, and exercises the authority of a judge. It is then properly termed Conscience; and the sentiments which it awakens, upon the perpetration of a crime, are styled, Remorse. Therefore, said the brethren of Joseph, is this distress come upon us; behold also his blood is required. They acknowledged, not only that they had committed a wrong, but a wrong for which they were justly doomed to suffer.

Did not conscience suggest this natural relation between guilt and punishment, the mere principle of approbation, or disapprobation, with respect to moral conduct, would prove of small efficacy. For disapprobation attends, in some degree, every conviction of impropriety, or folly. When one has acted unsuitably to his interest, or has trespassed against the rules of prudence or decorum, he reflects upon his conduct with pain, and acknowledges that he deserves blame. But the difference between the sense of misconduct and the sense of guilt, consists in this, that the latter penetrates much deeper into the heart. It makes the criminal feel, that he is not only blameable, but justly punishable, for the part which he has acted. With reference to this office of conscience, the inspired writers frequently speak of it, in terms borrowed from the awful

solemnities of judicial procedure; as, bearing witness for or against us; accusing or excusing, judging and condemning. It will be found, that, in the language of most nations, terms of the same import are applied to the operations of conscience; expressing the sense which all mankind have, of its passing sentence upon them, and pronouncing rewards or punishments to be due to their actions.

The sense of punishment merited, you are further to observe, can never be separated from the dread, that, at some time or other, punishment shall be actually inflicted. This dread is not confined to the vengeance of man. For let the sinner's evil deeds be ever so thoroughly concealed from the knowledge of the world, his inward alarms are not quieted by that consideration. Now, punishment is the sanction of a law. Every law supposes a rightful superior: and, therefore, when conscience threatens punishment to secret crimes, it manifestly recognises a supreme Governor, from whom nothing is hidden. The belief of our being accountable to him, is what the most hardened wickedness has never been able to eradicate. It is a belief which arises, not merely from reasoning, but from internal sentiment. Conscience is felt to act as the delegate of an invisible ruler; both anticipating his sentence, and foreboding its execution.

Hence arise the terrors, which so often haunt guilt, and rise in proportion to its atrocity. In the history of all nations, the tyrant and oppressor, the bloody and the flagitious, have been ever pointed out as fearful, unquiet,

and restless; subject to alarms and apprehensions of an unaccountable kind. And surely, to live under such disquietude, from the dread of merited punishment, is already to undergo one of the most severe punishments which human nature can suffer. When the world threatens us with any of its evils, we know the extent, and discern the limits of the danger. We see the quarter on which we are exposed to its attack. We measure our own strength with that of our adversary; and can take precautions, either for making resistance or for contriving escape. But when an awakened conscience places before the sinner the just vengeance of the Almighty, the prospect is confounding, because the danger is boundless. It is a dark unknown which threatens him. The arm that is stretched over him, he can neither see nor resist. On every side he dreads it; and on every object which surrounds him, he looks with terror, because he is conscious that every object can be employed against him as an instrument of wrath. No wonder that the lonesome solitude, or the midnight hour, should strike him with horror. His troubled mind beholds forms, which other men see not; and hears voices, which sound only in the ear of guilt. A hand appears to come forth and to write upon the wall over against him, as it did of old, in the sight of an impious monarch. He shall find no ease nor rest. For the Lord shall give him a trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of mind: and his life shall hang in doubt before him; and he shall fear day and night, and have none assurance of his life. In the morning he shall say, Would to God it were even;

and at even he shall