are not to be discarded by any means in the christian; they are not filthy rags after regeneration. One of two things then is certain. Either the language in question is to be regarded as an expression of deep penitence in the pious, and thus to be understood figuratively, or as requiring some qualification, a construction which we believe its connexion absolutely demands, or it must be applied to other than christians, to the righteousness of pharisees, hypocrites, and the most abandoned of men, persons whom no one supposes fit subjects for acceptance with God. 6 Why will not men interpret these strong expressions according to nature, as well as revelation? Why will they not explain scripture consistently? Does any one imagine king David the most corrupt of all men? Was he not declared to be a man after God's own heart? Yet in a psalm he has left us, nothing seems too humiliating for him to say of himself. Was St Paul literally the chief of sinners,' 'not meet to be called an apostle,' a wretched man? Does he not say elsewhere, I suppose I was not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles.' Do not all men, even the most holy, experience fluctuations of feeling? Why then seek to build an universal doctrine on casual expressions of good men uttered in an hour of despondency? Why limit and qualify one passage, yet refuse to do thus with another equally requiring it and equally perverted without it?' Those who regard us as trusting to works alone, as undervaluing a true faith, misapprehend us. Inculcate mere morality! Expect salvation for outward observances alone! Who entertains such opinions? Believe that God has appointed a day in the which he will judge the secrets of men by Christ Jesus, and yet hold that our actions are to save us, that the state of the heart is unimportant! The scriptures clearly distinguish between those who go about to establish their own righteousness and those who submit themselves to the righteousness of God.' Is it then supposed that we confound all these distinctions, defend all that is or ever has been called right? Let it not be imagined. we have yet to learn that there is a false morality in the world? We know full well that men are often governed in their conduct by a regard to fashion, public opinion, policy, a cold hearted prudence, that have an utter disregard both of final happiness, and the laws of the Deity. If there be upon earth a form of doctrine adapted to awaken the holiest affections of the soul, to purify human motives, and bind us in spirit to our Saviour and our God, that form is ours. Whatsoever is sublime, enduring, and elevating in piety, whatsoever tends to overcome selfishness, and render our wills conformable to God's will, is comprised in the faith we receive. Be it our care, by the aid and blessing of heaven, to illustrate and extend the inward triumphs of this faith, to exhibit the fruits of joy, peace, and love, to sanctify ourselves body and soul an acceptable offering unto God. B. Y. LINES WRITTEN BY A PARENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. Messrs Editors :-I send with pleasure, as I am permitted, the following lines written by a father upon the recent death of a very lovely and promising child, at an age, when her powers and affections were just developing in their freshness and purity. They are the warm, but true expressions of a deep sorrow, which will ineet, I doubt not, a ready sympathy in every parental heart. They may help, also, to comfort that numerous company of mourners, who, as it pleases God, for wise though hidden purposes, are never found wanting within even the narrowest circle of human families; and who may be seeking some solace for their grief in the recollection of the virtues or the opening graces of their departed children. Yours, P. Farewell my darling child, a sad farewell, Thou art gone from earth in heavenly scenes to dwell. Might hope for bliss, thine is that holy trust. Thy last, soft prayer was heard-No more to roam; The slow dead hours, the sighs without relief, *The last words, uttered but a few moments before her death, were, 'I want to go home.' How desolate the space, how deep the line, Most lovely thou! in beauty's rarest truth! A cherub's face, the breathing blush of youth; A smile more sweet, than seemed to mortal given; An eye that spoke, and beamed the light of heaven; A temper, like the balmy summer sky, That soothes, and warms, and cheers, when life beats high; Gave, as it moved, a fresh and varying grace; Thy ceaseless flow of feeling, like the rill, Win their fond kiss, or gain their modest praise. When sickness came, though short, and hurried o'er, How patient, tender, gentle, though disease Spoke all thy love, as language ne'er could speak! But Oh! how vain by art, or words to tell, . More vain to tell that sorrow of the soul, That works in secret, works beyond control, When death strikes down with sudden crush and power Most vain to tell, how deep that long despair, Yet still I love to linger on the strain— Tis grief's sad privilege.—When we complain, Thy modest kindness, and thy searching glance; How changed the scene! In every favorite walk J. S. |