punishments. Now, God has not only invested conscience, as we have seen, with authority to promulgate, but endowed it also with power to enforce, his law. By placing inward approbation and peace on the side of virtue, he gave it the sanction of reward. But this was not enough. Pain is a more powerful principle than pleasure. To escape misery is a stronger motive for action than to obtain good. God, therefore, so framed human nature, that the painful sense of ill-desert should attend the commission of crimes; that this sense of ill-desert should necessarily produce the dread of punishment; and that this dread should so operate on the mind in the time of distress, as to make the sinner conceive Providence to be engaged against him, and to be concerned in inflicting the punishment which he suffers. All these impressions he hath stamped upon the heart with his own hand. He hath made them constituent parts of our frame; on purpose that, by the union of so many strong and pungent sentiments, he might enforce repentance and reformation, and publish to the human race his detestation of sin. Were he to speak to us from the clouds, his voice could not be more decisive. What we discern to be interwoven with the contexture of human nature, and to pervade the whole course of human affairs, carries an evidence not to be resisted. We might, with as much reason, doubt whether the sun was intended to enlighten the earth, or the rain to fertilize it; as whether he who has framed the human mind, intended to announce righteousness to mankind, as his law.

The second inference which I make from the foregoing discourse, respects the intimate connexion which those

operations of conscience have with the peculiar and distinguishing doctrines of the Gospel of Christ. They will be found to accord with them so remarkably, as to furnish an answer to some of those objections, which superficial reasoners are apt to raise against the Christian revelation. In particular, they coincide with that awful view which the Gospel gives us of the future consequences of guilt. If the sinner is now constrained by conscience to view the Almighty as pursuing him with evil for long-forgotten crimes, how naturally must he conclude, that, in a subsequent period of existence, the Divine administration will proceed upon the same plan, and complete what has been left imperfect here? If, during this life, which is only the time of trial, the displeasure of Providence at sin is displayed by tokens so manifest, what may be apprehended to follow, when justice, which, at present, only begins to be executed, shall be carried to its consummation? What conscience forebodes, revelation verifies; assuring us that a day is appointed when God will render to every man according to his works; to them, who by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honor, and immortality, eternal life: But unto them that are contentious, and obey not the truth, but obey unrighteousness; indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon every soul of man that doth evil; of the Jew first, and also of the Gentile. For there is no respect of persons with God. For as many as have sinned without the law, shall also perish without the law; and as many as have sinned in the law, shall be judged by the law.

While the threatenings of conscience thus strengthen

the evidence of the Scripture doctrine concerning future punishments, they likewise pave the way for the belief of what is revealed concerning the method of our deliverance by Christ. They suggest to the sinner, some deep and dark malignity contained in guilt, which has drawn upon his head such high displeasure from Heaven. They call forth his most anxious efforts, to avert the effects of that displeasure; and to propitiate his offended Judge. Some atonement, he is conscious, must be made; and the voice of nature has, in every age, loudly demanded suffering, as the proper atonement for guilt. Hence, mankind have constantly fled for refuge to such substitutions as they could devise, to place in the room of the offender; and as by general consent, victims have every where been slain, and expiatory sacrifices have been offered up on innumerable altars. Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow before the Most High God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, and calves of a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Or, shall I give my first-born for my transgression; the fruit of my body, for the sin of my soul?— These perplexities and agitations of a guilty conscience, may be termed preludes, in some measure, to the Gospel of Christ. They are the pointings of unenlightened nature, towards that method of relief, which the grace of God has provided. Nature felt its inability to extricate itself from the consequences of guilt: the Gospel reveals the plan of Divine interposition and aid. Nature confessed some atonement to be necessary: the Gospel discovers, that the

necessary atonement is made. The remedy is no sooner presented, than its suitableness to the disease appears; and the great mystery of redemption, though it reaches, in its full extent, beyond our comprehension, yet, as far as it is revealed, holds a visible congruity with the sentiments of Conscience, and of Nature.

Natural and revealed religion proceed from the same Author; and, of course, are analogous and consistent. They are part of the same plan of Providence. They are connected measures of the same system of government. The serious belief of the one, is the best preparation for the reception of the other. Both concur in impressing our mind with a deep sense of one most important truth, which is the result of this whole discourse, That as we sow now we must reap; that under the government of God, no one shall be permitted, with impunity, to gratify his criminal passions, and to make light of the great duties of life.

HAVE YE HEARD OF THAT SUN-BRIGHT CLIME?

Have ye heard, have ye heard, of that sun-bright clime,
Unstain'd by sorrow, unhurt by time,

Where age hath no power o'er the fadeless frame,

Where the eye is fire, and the heart is flame;

Have ye heard of that sun-bright clime?

HAVE YE HEARD OF THAT SUN-BRIGHT CLIME. 179

There are rivers of water gushing there, 'Mid blossoms of beauty strangely fair; And a thousand wings are hovering o'er

The dazzling wave and the golden shore,

That are found in that sun-bright clime.

There is the city whose name is Light,
With the diamond's ray, and the ruby bright;
And ensigns are waving, and banners unfurl,
Over walls of brass, and gates of pearl,

That are fixed in that sun-bright clime.

There are myriads of forms array'd in white,
Beings of beauty clothed in light:

They dwell in their own immortal bowers,
'Mid the fadeless hues of countless flowers,
That spring in that sun-bright clime.

Ear hath not heard, nor eye hath seen,
Its swelling songs, or its changeless sheen;
For the vest of light, and harps of gold,
And crowns of glory, wax not old,

Or fade, in that sun-bright clime.

But far away is this sinless clime,
Unstain'd by sorrow, unhurt by time;
'Tis where the song of the seraph swells,
Where the radiant Lord of brightness dwells,
Where amid all things fair is given,

The home of the just, and its name is Heaven,
The name of that sun-bright clime.