To the Church and Congregation assembling in William Street Chapel, Windsor, to whom these discourses were addressed, they are now affectionately inscribed. THE circumstances under which these discourses appear, place their authors, before the publick, at a considerable disadvantage. The Rev. Alexander Redford departed this life on Monday, the 6th of July. On Wednesday a paper was found, in his own writing, directing the arrangements for his funeral solemnities. It was not until late on Wednesday evening, that those arrangements could be decided on. The interment took place on Friday, and it was requested that the funeral sermons should be preached on the following Lord's day. The intervals, therefore for preparation were exceedingly short; and even those were rendered still more brief by some other urgent duties, by which each of the preachers was prevented from giving his undivided attention to the subject. There having been, however, an earnest desire expressed, by many of the church and congregation, that the services should be printed, we cheerfully comply with that request, and present them to our friends with fervent prayer, that the feelings of deep solemnity and affection, which pervaded the congregations, may leave a permanently holy influence on every heart. WILLIAM HARRIS. A FUNERAL ORATION DELIVERED AT THE INTERMENT OF THE LATE REV. ALEXANDER REDFORD, At the Independent Chapel, Windsor, Berks, BY WILLIAM HARRIS, 10th JULY, 1840. BRETHREN IN THE MINISTRY AND CHRISTIAN FRIENDS. I SHOULD not have occupied to day the position I now do, but for one circumstance which renders it imperative on me. After the decease of my venerated father-in-law, the Rev. Alexander Redford, a paper was found in his hand writing, requesting that I would deliver the oration at his funeral, and preach the first sermon on the occasion; and that your surviving pastor would preach a second sermon on Lord's day evening. The affecting event to which I have alluded, and which has brought us together at this time, is calculated to impress both him who addresses you and yourselves with deep solemnity of spirit. While I recollect that the venerable minister of Christ, whose mortal remains we are now about to commit to the tomb, formerly occupied this pulpit, my own heart receives a solemn admonition, that its vital functions must soon cease, and the account of my stewardship must be rendered unto God. While the associated Ministers of Berkshire and its vicinity, remember that he who is now being borne to the grave was the father of their community; they cannot fail to anticipate that important hour which must come, and in which the Lord of the church will say unto each, "Give an account of thy stewardship; for thou mayest be no longer steward." While you who constitute this church and congregation, reflect that he who preached the gospel unto you during thirty-six years, has now appeared before his Lord; that he has closed for ever a ministry in which you are deeply implicated; and that you will hear his voice no more, nor ever again behold his much loved countenance, until you meet him under circumstances widely different from those of your former intercourse; the reflection should excite all to offer fervently the prayer of Moses, "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts, unto. wisdom. Death is an event of deep solemnity. It involves a general change of scenes, of company, and of employments. When the soul stands on the verge of the eternal world, and looks around on those scenes with which she has so long been familiar; when she turns from these to look into futurity, and strives to discover some faint traces of those scenes on which she is about to enter;, that hour must be one of the most intense feeling. Unto the ungodly that hour is a season of the most appaling horror. Death arouses conscience from its slumber, and penetrates the whole soul with the deepest sense of guilt. In the gay and, convivial hours of health, conscience is with little difficulty lulled to repose. It too often sleeps soundly until some awful visitation of divine providence announces, "thou shalt die, and not live. At the voice of death conscience arouses, but it is too late: the day of grace is past, and thenceforth that faculty will be an everlasting tormentor. ་ Most persons, deluded by the syren songs of life, procrastinate preparation for the day of death, not only until their sun has travelled upwards from its dawning to its meridian, but until it has actually passed on down to the horizon, and is there sinking in endless night. Were the solemn events of the day of our death frequently anticipated, the effect would, increasingly be manifest in the simplicity, seriousness, and piety of our general conversation. It is the christian, and he alone, that can rationally contemplate death with composure. Faith in the atonement of Jesus Christ is the means of obtaining a victory over the fear of death. This is the rock on which all must build, who build for eternity. He who successfully maintains his standing amidst the storms of life, the assaults of his spiritual enemies, and the terrors of the last conflict, must take his station on this glorious eminence. "Here is firm footing; here is solid rock. Take away from the volume of divine revelation, the doctrine of the atonement, and you remove the only comfortable hope of a convinced sinner. Where shall we seek for salvation, but in him who died, "the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God?" Whither shall we flee for refuge, but unto |