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Lectures to Young People

William B. Sprague, 1830
 

IMPORTANCE OF THE PERIOD OF YOUTH

"Hear, O my son, and receive my sayings." Proverbs 4:10
 

It can hardly have escaped the observation of any reader of the Bible, that a large part of the writings of Solomon, and especially of his proverbs, have a peculiar adaptation to the circumstances of the young. From this fact it is doubtless a legitimate inference, that he attached a peculiar importance to the period of youth; and as he was unrivalled for practical wisdom, and wrote under the inspiration of God—we may fairly conclude that his opinion on this subject is correct. It is, moreover, an opinion which has been held by the wise and good of every age; and it requires but a moment's reflection to perceive that it is built on a correct view of the principles of human nature, and of the connection between man's character and destiny.

YOUTH IS A PERIOD OF GREAT IMPORTANCE. To illustrate this truth is the object of the present chapter.

I. The importance of the period of youth is manifest from the consideration that youth is the commencement of a rational and immortal existence, the condition of which is, in some important respects, concealed from us.

Youth is the commencement of a rational existence. There are orders of being below us, which we contemplate with various degrees of interest, according to their different properties. We look, for instance, with higher emotions upon the operations of vegetable life in the flower unfolding its beauties, or the tree stretching forth its boughs towards heaven, than we do upon the clods of the valley. In the brute creation, we discover evidences of a still higher creating agency; for they are endued with animal life and instinct; with a capacity for enjoyment and suffering. But man, though only next above the brutes in the scale of being, leaves them, in respect to his capacities, at an immense distance.

Superadded to his animal nature, is the gift of REASON; a principle which is capable of an indefinite expansion; by which, standing on this earth, he can measure the heavens, and explore the distant parts of creation. Moreover, he has not only an intellectual, but a MORAL nature; he has a conscience, which recognizes God as a moral Governor, and his law as the rule of duty; and which more than intimates the fact of an approaching retribution. He is susceptible of enjoyment and suffering, not merely as an animal—but as an intellectual and moral being; and it is in these higher departments of his nature, that he is capable of enjoying the bliss of a seraph, or of being tortured with the agony of a fiend. However lightly man may think of himself as a creature of God, or however he may abuse his own powers, he is gifted in a manner which evidently points to some mighty result.

But it were a supposable case, that man might be endowed with the very powers which he now has, and yet, by an annihilating act of the Being who created him, his existence might, at some future period, be blotted out; and in this case, even the mighty capacities of the soul would, in a great measure, lose their importance. But man is not only gifted with reason—but is destined to IMMORTALITY. Time was, when he had no existence; but in all future time, he will be a living, intelligent, active being. When the foundations of the earth were laid, and the heavens spread out as a curtain, he did not exist to witness that exhibition of Almighty power; but when the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, he will exist, not only as a spectator—but a sharer in those amazing scenes. And farther and still farther onward in the progress of ages, even to an interminable duration, his existence will be protracted: it is not at his option whether it shall be continued or not; for immortality is entailed upon him; and though by his conduct he may affect the condition of his being, he can never accomplish the extinction of it.

But though it is certain that man is destined to an endless existence, there is much in respect to the character of it, which, at its commencement, cannot be known, except by the Creator. This is true even in respect to the present life. No one can predict with certainty what his condition will be, even during the brief period of his sojourning here: whether he is to be signally blessed by the smiles of God, or to be unusually buffeted by the storms of adversity, is an mystery which no present circumstances can enable him to solve. And so in regard to a  future existence—we cannot decide in respect to any one, at his entrance into life, whether he is hereafter to be an heir of glory or an heir of woe—a companion of fiends or a companion of angels. Such is the mutability of the world, the treachery of the heart, the sovereignty of God, that the condition of our being, both in the present and future life, must be, in a great measure, concealed from us, until we learn it by actual experience.

Collect now the several circumstances which have been mentioned under this article, and tell me whether they do not invest the morning of human life with peculiar interest. It is the period in which a rational soul commences a career as unlimited as the existence of Jehovah; and attended by joy or woe which imagination in its boldest flights never conceived. And over the whole path of the soul's existence, there hangs, at present, a fearful uncertainty. No one can say, in what manner these unfolding faculties are hereafter to be employed; whether in serving God—or in opposing him; whether in bringing upon the soul a perpetual shower of blessings—or an everlasting torrent of wrath. Is that an interesting moment, when the inexperienced adventurer steps from the shores of his native country, and trusts himself to the mighty deep, to be borne to some far distant region? How much more interesting the period, in which an immortal soul commences the voyage of life, not knowing how much he may be tempest-tossed during his passage, or whether he may not even be wrecked on the dark coast of eternity! If, in the former case, the eyes of anxious friends follow the mariner as he goes off into the deep—is it not reasonable to suppose, in the latter, that the watchful regards of angels are attracted by the condition of a young immortal, whose character is yet to be formed, and whose destiny is yet to be revealed?

II. The importance of the period of youth is farther evident from the consideration, that  probably, in most cases, youth gives a complexion to the whole future existence. Every moral action, no doubt, exerts an influence on the prevailing disposition of the person by whom it is performed; and  if we could subject the character of an individual, at any given period, to a rigid analysis, we would find that it was precisely that which might be expected from the combined influence of all his previous moral actions. There are instances in which a single action, and that in itself apparently an unimportant one—has manifestly decided the character and the destiny for life. One wrong decision has frequently been the means of clothing the prospects of an individual with gloom and disgrace; while one good purpose, one victory gained over temptation, has often proved the seed which has yielded a rich harvest of reputation and virtue.

But if the influence of a single action, whether good or bad, has often such a decisive and visible bearing upon future character, what shall be said of the combined influence of all the actions which an individual performs, during a considerable period of life, and especially in the season of youth? It is at this period that the habits of thought, and feeling, and action, are formed; that the inclinations usually become fixed; and the whole character assumes a definite complexion. It would seem probable, therefore, antecedently to experience, that, in general, the first impulse given to the mind and heart would be the decisive one. But what reason teaches, experience abundantly confirms.

If we look abroad into the world, some indeed we shall find who have disappointed the hopes which they early awakened in respect to usefulness and piety; and others, whose early life was a scene of profligacy, who have afterwards been plucked as brands from the burning. But in the great majority of instances, it will appear that the direction which the character received in youth, is retained in every succeeding period of life. In far the greater number of cases in which you see old age cheered by the hopes and comforts of true religion, you will find that the foundation of this tranquility was laid in the morning of life; and on the other hand, where you see hoary headed vice shuddering in despair on the borders of eternity, it will usually be safe to conclude that the agony which you witness is to be referred especially to the early neglect of true religion.

Hitherto I have spoken only of the influence which the period of youth exerts upon the subsequent periods of the present life: but its influence is equally decisive upon our whole future eternal existence. In many cases, indeed, the season of youth constitutes the whole period of life, and of course, the whole period of probation: in all such instances, none can doubt that it must be decisive of the soul's everlasting destiny. Nor is the case materially different, where life is continued even to old age; for if our condition in a future world depends upon our character at death—and if our character in the later periods of the present life usually takes its complexion from the period of youth—then it follows that the influence of this period reaches onward to eternity—that it is emphatically the seed-time for eternal life—or eternal death!

III. Another consideration which still farther illustrates the importance of the period of youth is, that youth furnishes peculiar advantages for rendering the whole future existence happy; or for becoming practically pious.

There is a general susceptibility of character attending this period, which is favorable to the cultivation of true religion. I mean not to imply that the human heart is not originally the seat of corrupt inclinations; for that were to call in question not only the decision of the oracles of God—but the results of every day's experience. But this melancholy truth notwithstanding, it admits of no question—that there is something in the very state of the soul during the period of youth, which may be said in a comparative sense, to favor the work of its own sanctification. The understanding, not having been brought under the dominion of prejudice, is open to the reception of truth. The conscience, not having had its dictates frequently opposed and trifled with, is ready faithfully to discharge its office. The various affections of the heart are easily excited; and more easily than at any subsequent period, may receive a right direction. Who will not say that there is in all this, a most desirable preparation for becoming truly pious; especially when the state of the soul to which I have here referred, is contrasted with that almost invincible prejudice, that deep moral insensibility, which often results from long continued familiarity with the world.

Another advantage for embracing true religion connected with this period, is, that it is a season of comparative leisure. Then the cares of the world which cluster upon manhood, are comparatively unknown. The more active scenes of life—the strife of business, the din of worldly enterprise, are seen and heard only at a distance. Not as in subsequent life, is there a family to be provided for, and a thousand domestic cares pressing upon the heart, and putting in their requisitions. There is much leisure for serious reading; especially for reading the volume of inspired truth, which is given to be a light to our feet, and a lamp to our paths. There is much leisure for serious reflection, and self-examination; for applying the truths of God's word to the regulation of the heart and life. There is much leisure for private communion with God; for Christian fellowship; for attendance on the various means of true religion—in short, for everything which may be instrumental either of the renovation of the soul, or of its growth in grace. The season of youth, however it may be employed, is emphatically the leisure season of life; and he who does not find time to become pious then, has no reason to expect that he shall ever find it afterwards.

It is another favorable circumstance in respect to the period of which I am speaking, that the efforts which are then made towards a life of true religion, meet a peculiarly ready and cordial cooperation from Christian friends. When the Christian looks upon the veteran in sin, who has reached an old age of carelessness, though his eye may affect his heart, as he reflects upon his character and his doom, yet the hopelessness of the case seems to dampen resolution, and discourage effort; and even when he discovers in him some relentings in view of the past, or some anxiety in respect to the future, it is difficult for him to regard even these as symptoms of thorough reformation. But in regard to the young it is far otherwise. So much is there in their circumstances to favor pious impressions, that Christians are peculiarly encouraged to be faithful towards them.

This is true especially of pious parents. They look upon their children, in the morning of life, with a mixture of concern and hope; and they are prompted not only by Christian feeling—but by parental affection, to do everything in their power to secure their salvation. Hence they often warn them of the danger of a life of sin, and urge them to enter immediately on a life of true religion. Hence, every indication of serious feeling on the part of their children is regarded by them as a signal to double their diligence, in pressing upon them their obligations, and in endeavoring to bring them to repentance. Hence too, they make them the objects of daily prayer, and not only bring them around the domestic altar—but earnestly intercede for them in the closet. Nor are these efforts for the young confined to parents; but Christians in general feel themselves especially called upon to labor and strive for their salvation; and whenever they show any symptoms of concern, there are many around them who stand ready to second every effort they make to escape from the wrath to come.

And is it not a privilege, my young friends, thus to be wrestled for by Christian parents—thus to be borne on the hearts of God's people—thus to be counseled, and exhorted, and aided by those who are walking in the path to heaven? Let repentance be delayed to old age, if indeed old age should ever arrive—and where then will be the pious mother to embalm her supplications with her tears; or where will be the companion in years to encourage and accompany you in the rugged path of self-denial; or where will the Christians be found who will have hope enough in respect to you to come, while your last sands are running out, and plead you with the earnestness which they now manifest, to prepare for heaven?

As the last and perhaps the most important advantage for becoming pious, which belongs to the season of youth, I would say that the Spirit of God then, more frequently than at any other period, exerts his gracious influences. These influences he does indeed exert at every period; and sometimes even when the heart has become encrusted with the mildew of spiritual death. But experience proves that the young are far more likely to be the subjects of them than people at a more advanced period of life. To youth he speaks most frequently through the dispensations of Providence, the preaching of the word, the operations of conscience, and even the vanities of the world, and charges them to make true religion the object of their immediate and supreme regard.

And I may appeal to the fact that his efficacious influences actually are exerted during this period far more frequently than in any subsequent one; that much the larger part of all who embrace true religion, do it in the morning of life. Let revivals of true religion be brought to testify on this subject; and if I mistake not, you will find that, while a multitude of youth, during these scenes of divine mercy, are seen pressing into the kingdom; there are comparatively few who have reached the period of middle life, and only here and there an individual from the ranks of old age. What does this fact prove, my young friends, other than that the Holy Spirit is peculiarly ready to exert his influences in bringing you to repentance?

IV. My last general remark illustrative of the importance of the period of youth, is, that  youth is fraught with peculiar dangers.

In illustrating this article, I shall take for granted the fact that man is naturally inclined to evil—a fact which, you will readily perceive, must invest with much additional importance the several sources of danger to which I shall refer.

There is danger resulting from that very susceptibility of character, which has already been mentioned as favorable to early piety. For if the mind is then peculiarly susceptible of truth, it is also proportionably susceptible of error. If the conscience possesses all its native sensibility, opposition to its dictates must exert a peculiarly hardening influence. If the feelings may be excited, with comparative ease, in favor of true religion, they may even more readily be enlisted against it. And hence the melancholy fact is, that in a multitude of instances, the understanding, the conscience, the affections—the whole man, has become enslaved to a life of sin, at the very period when he was most susceptible of the influences of piety. Let no young person then repose in the conviction that his mountain stands strong, and that he is in no danger of becoming a hardened transgressor, merely because he is occasionally roused, or melted, or agitated, under the exhibition of divine truth. Let him take heed lest the enemy comes, and avails himself of that very susceptibility—to bind him hand and foot with the cords of depravity and error—and consign him over to a most fearful destruction.

        Moreover, youth is a season of  inexperience; and this constitutes another source of danger. Everyone knows that our most valuable knowledge is derived from experience; that it is far more accurate, more deep, more practical than any other. But of this the young, from the nature of the case, cannot, in a great degree, avail themselves; as it is the exclusive prerogative of riper years. They have had but little experience of their own hearts; but little opportunity of tracing out the sources of human conduct, of becoming acquainted with the evil principles which lurk within them—the treachery, perverseness, rebellion, which constitute the elements of man's depraved nature. They have had but limited experience of the world, and are very inadequate judges of its true character. They have ordinarily seen only its bright side; have not often been pierced by its ingratitude, or betrayed by its faithlessness, or stung by its neglect. Of its temptations  too, of the stratagems of the wicked, of the serpentine influence of worldly pleasure, they know comparatively little. How manifestly does this lack of experience give the world which they are entering, a powerful advantage over them!

        With but a slight knowledge of themselves, they are liable to misjudge in respect to the circumstances in which they shall be safe, and to put character and happiness in jeopardy, from a wrong estimate of their strength to resist temptation. With but a slight knowledge of the world, they are in danger of trusting it where it intends to betray; and of being carried headlong by its influence into the vortex of pleasure and vice, while yet they have scarcely suspected that they were beyond the limits of virtue and safety. Many a youth has gone into the haunts of sin, and finally into the eternal world of woe, because at the commencement of his course, he did not suspect the danger.

        Again: the world has its thousand snares; and here is another source of danger to the young. There are scenes of pleasure, which are misnamed innocent; which, while they avoid the grossness of dissipation, wear a bright and fascinating aspect to the young, and strongly tempt them to the neglect of true religion. There are scenes of profane and intemperate riot, which, though enough to sicken the heart of piety, hold out a powerful temptation to many who have given a few of their first years to what is called innocent pleasure. There is the stage, with all its splendid apparatus for destroying immortal souls. The most burning strains of eloquence, and the most melting strains of music; the exquisite efforts of the pencil and of the chisel, are all prostituted to make an appeal to the youthful heart in favor of irreligion and licentiousness. There are evil books, written with a pen dipped in the poison of asps, for the very purpose of carrying to the youthful bosom the elements of pollution and death. There are evil men, yes, and evil women, too, who go about preaching the doctrine that true religion is a dream, and death an eternal sleep; who encircle the unwary youth, in his down-sitting and his uprising, with the snares of death; and who are prepared to celebrate the wreck of his principles and of his hopes, with a shout of fiendlike exultation. In these circumstances, who will not say that the most appalling dangers hang around his path?

        And now, in view of all that has been said, is it not manifest that youth is a period of great importance? I ask you, my young friends, whether, as the commencement of a rational and immortal existence, and as the period which is probably to give a complexion to that existence, it is not too important to be devoted to any other purposes than those for which it was designed? Is it not too important to be wasted in careless levity, in vain amusement; in any of the unfruitful works of darkness? Are not its advantages for becoming pious too important to be neglected; its dangers too serious to be regarded with unconcern?

        This critical and deeply interesting season will soon have passed away, and the period of manhood will follow. The period of manhood, did I say? Ah, it may be the period of retribution; that in which the soul shall be mingling in the hosannas of the redeemed—or the wailing of the lost! But wherever, or in whatever circumstances, future years may find you, rely on it, the period of youth will have contributed much to make you what you will then be, both in respect to your character and condition. Regard each moment then as a price put into your hands to gain wisdom; and remember that now, now, emphatically in respect to you, is the accepted time. Now is the day of salvation!

DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY
 

"Do not be misled—Bad company corrupts
 good character." 1 Corinthians 15:33


Nothing is so valuable to man as his character. This is proverbial even in regard to the present life. Strip him of everything else, and leave him with a good conscience, and what will probably attend it, a fair reputation—and all that you do will be comparatively harmless. You may have wounded his sensibility, or overcome his resolution, or clouded his worldly prospects; but he has that which, in the end, will be likely to place him above the power of malice. His character is a broad shield, which the arrows of adversity, and even the sting of detraction, can never effectually penetrate. Be his circumstances what they may, the fact that he has a good conscience and a good character, may justly render him contented and fearless.

But if the character which is formed here, be important in its relation to our present existence, it is infinitely more so, as it stands connected with eternity. This present life is the only period of our probation. It is a school in which we are training for an immortal existence. Every moral action of our lives will exert an influence upon us—either in heaven or hell; and the sum of these actions will decide the complexion of our characters, and of course, our eternal destiny.

If these remarks are just, then it clearly follows that there is no part of our conduct which ought to be considered unimportant. The least departure from duty, the least violation of conscience, may be a seed which will produce a harvest of everlasting woe. It may be the germ of a sinful habit. It may be the first of a progressive series of wicked actions which will extend through eternity. It may prove the outer door to the temple of vice; and he who enters it, may reasonably expect to be led on, until he has explored all its scenes of pollution and darkness—until he finally sacrifices his immortal soul on the altar of confirmed profligacy.

Perhaps there is no influence so uniform and so powerful in the formation of character, as that of example. This results from the fact that we are creatures of imitation: there is a principle in our nature which leads us instinctively, and from our earliest childhood, to copy the manners of those with whom we associate. This, to a great extent, is involuntary; insomuch that people have often unconsciously contracted peculiarities of character, which, when they were reminded of them, they could instantly trace to the example of some friend. I do not here inquire whether we are more likely, from our constitution, to imitate good or bad examples; but only speak of the general influence of example, of whatever kind, founded on the fact that we are naturally imitative beings.

The considerations at which I have now just hinted, namely, that with the characters which we form here, must be connected not only our present, but eternal condition; and that there is no influence more powerful in forming these characters than that of example. These considerations, I think, must prepare you suitably to estimate the subject to which I am about to call your attention; I mean the DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY. I wish each one of you to hear for himself; and to let conscience make a faithful and honest application; and it is my earnest prayer to God, and I doubt not that it is the prayer of your parents who are here among you, that you may so listen, and so apply—that this discourse shall prove the means of making you better and happier through eternity.

That evil company has a corrupting and dangerous effect, is a fact so well understood, and so universally acknowledged, that it would be quite superfluous to enter into any direct proof of it. The wisest man in the world has long ago said that "a companion of fools shall be destroyed!" And who has not seen the assertion verified in instances almost innumerable? It will be more to our purpose, therefore, to show you the process by which evil example operates; or to notice the different principles which it brings into action, in corrupting the morals, degrading the character, and ruining the soul.

I. The danger of associating with wicked companions commences in the fact that  it renders vice familiar. I know it has been fashionable to say, in the language of a distinguished poet, that
"Vice is a monster of so frightful mein,
That to be hated, needs but to be seen;"
and on this principle some have gone so far as to justify the most profane and licentious exhibitions of the stage; and have gravely contended that those splendid scenes of impiety, decked out with all that is most attractive and provoking to the sensual appetites, are fitted indirectly to nourish good affections, and lead to a virtuous life. The fundamental error of this kind of philosophy is, that it overlooks the melancholy fact that man is a being of depraved inclinations; and the moment you bring him in contact with vice, you place by his side a companion to whom his arms and his heart involuntarily fly open.

However you will account for the fact, all experience proves that there is a tendency in human nature to go astray; and that while nothing more than the absence of restraint is necessary to the formation of evil habits; a habit of virtue and piety is always the result of fixed resolution and severe effort. If then, the state of the heart naturally is such as to render it most sensible to the solicitations of vice, you will easily perceive how this consideration operates to invest all needless fellowship with evil company with great danger. You may apply fire to materials which are exposed to the frost and damps of winter, and you will find it difficult to produce a flame; but if you bring it in contact with some highly inflammable substance, you will see a blaze, or hear an explosion, in an instant. In like manner, if all our inclinations were originally on the side of virtue, the danger from being familiar with vice might be comparatively small; but the case becomes greatly changed, when it is recollected that we have within us evil propensities, which are ready to kindle as soon as the torch of temptation is applied to them!

I am aware that the circumstances of our present condition sometimes necessarily lead us to witness scenes of wickedness; but this, so far as it is unavoidable, is to be considered as constituting part of our trial, and as making a loud demand for our vigilant activity and resistance. But in a large part of the instances in which young people are the witnesses of vice, it is not because Providence places them in the way of it in the course of their duty—but because they are prompted by inclination. Now let me say that those of you who have yielded so far to curiosity, or any other principle, as to place yourselves deliberately and unnecessarily in the way of vice—I care not what kind it is—have unconsciously entered into a league with it. The fatal poison is already in your hand, and unless you cast it from you without delay, in all probability, you are ruined.

II. It is the tendency of mixing with bad associates, to benumb and finally destroy the moral sense.

By the moral sense, you will understand me to mean that faculty or principle of action, partly of an intellectual, and partly of a moral character, by which we discern the difference between right and wrong, and approve the one and condemn the other. In some, I suppose, this faculty is originally more active and delicate than in others; but in all, it is an essential part of the human constitution, and is indispensable to moral agency. It is easy to see that in the formation of character, much will depend on cultivating or neglecting to cultivate the moral sense. And of course, whatever contributes to render our moral perception less accurate, or our moral sensibility less keen, must proportionably put in jeopardy our virtue. Now let me ask whether the voice of universal experience does not decide that mingling in evil company, and witnessing evil examples, has this unhappy tendency? Have not even people of an established principle of piety, who have been called, in the course of providence, to mingle in scenes of wickedness, found it exceedingly difficult to maintain that high and solemn sense of the evil of sin, which they wished to cultivate; and have they not been obliged to fortify themselves against this deadening influence, by a double degree of watchfulness and prayer? But perhaps there are some before me who can bear testimony on this subject from experience. Can you not remember the time when some particular vice, say that of profane swearing, or gaming, or drunkenness, excited in you emotions of disgust and even horror—when you could hardly look upon its miserable victim without an aching heart? But it may be, that you have since frequently been in wicked company; and the sounds of blasphemy and the riot and loathsomeness of intemperance have become familiar to you; and has not this familiarity rendered you insensible, in a great degree, to the odiousness of these vices?

Nay, are there not some among you who can now commit, without much remorse, sins, the very thought of which would once have made you tremble? Look back, O young man, and see how far you have already fallen towards the gulf of profligacy and ruin; and then, in the light of your past experience, and over the ruins of a good conscience, look forward and prophecy concerning your future doom!

The extinction of the moral sense is usually very gradual, and the progress of its decline is often marked, with great accuracy, by the conduct. Everyone knows that conscience is originally one of the most active and powerful of all the inhabitants of the human bosom; and that she will never yield up her authority until she has sustained a severe struggle. There is nothing, perhaps, in which this conflict is more clearly marked, than in the progress of a young man, who has had a pious education—towards a habit of profaneness. Though he has been accustomed occasionally to hear the language of cursing from others, the impressions of his childhood are too strong, to allow him immediately to copy it.

At length, in an evil hour, he summons resolution enough to make the awful experiment of uttering an oath; but his faltering tongue and blushing cheek proclaim, that there is a commotion and a remonstrance within. Conscience rouses up all her energies, and thunders out a rebuke, which almost puts him into the attitude of consternation. Perhaps his early resolutions to reverence the name and authority of God, come thronging upon his remembrance—or perhaps the instructions of other days, enforced by parental affection, rise up before him—or it may be, that the image of a departed parent, who had trained him up in the way that he should go, haunts his busy and agitated mind, and reproaches him with filial ingratitude. He resolves that the dreadful privilege of taking the name of God in vain, has been purchased at too great expense; and that he will not venture to repeat an experiment that has been so fruitful in remorse end agony. But presently he is heard to drop another oath, and another; and in each successive instance, the conflict with conscience becomes less severe, until, at length, this faithful reprover is silenced, and he blasphemes his Maker's name without remorse, and almost without his own observation.

When I see an ingenuous youth taking the first steps in this path of death—when I see his countenance change, and hear his voice falter, and the embarrassment and awkwardness of his manner tell me that conscience is uttering her remonstrance at the very moment when the language of profaneness is upon his lips, I say to myself—'Poor young man, little do you know what disgrace and wretchedness you are treasuring up for yourself!' I regard him as having set his face like a flint towards perdition; and I read on his character, in dark and ominous letters—"The glory has departed!"

It is important here to be observed, that the effect of any particular vice in destroying the moral sense, is universal. That is, by being familiar with any one sin, the mind gradually contracts a degree of insensibility to all others. For instance, if you indulge in profaneness, the sin of licentiousness, or drunkenness, as an offence against God, will not appear to you in its native odiousness; for this plain reason, that, by indulging in sin of any kind, you lose your regard for God's authority. There is also such an intimate connection between different vices, that it is exceedingly difficult to be devoted to one, without being, in a greater or less degree, the slave of more. Remember, therefore, that, in frequenting the company of the wicked, you expose yourselves not only to the particular vices which you may happen to witness in them—but to any others to which subsequent temptations may invite you; because, when you have once cast off the fear of God, your heart will be open to every bad impression, and will be a soil in which every kind of sin will flourish luxuriantly.

III. It is another effect of associating with evil company, that it checks the operation of the principle of shame.

This too is part of our original constitution; and is so essential and active a principle, that the absence of it is always taken as a decisive indication of confirmed profligacy; insomuch that there is hardly a more striking epitome of a thoroughly depraved character, than that he is without shame before others. Though some higher principle than a regard to the opinion of others is necessary to constitute an action good in the sight of God, or to be the foundation of a pious life; and though this principle, like every other, is liable to abuse, and needs to be properly restrained and regulated; still, no doubt it was intended by Providence to impose a check upon our wicked inclinations. And so essential is the operation of shame, to the welfare, and I may say, the existence of society, that if all those evil propensities which are now kept in check by a regard to the opinion of the world, were allowed to operate freely, it is probable that all the opposition which human laws could make to the vices of men, would be no more than the weakest mound of earth set to defy the angry torrent, as it comes rushing from the mountains.

If, then, this principle of shame, is so important to the preservation of virtue in the community, and, of course, to the virtue of each individual—surely anything which has a tendency to extinguish it is greatly to be deprecated; and that this is the direct tendency of evil company, must be obvious to everyone.

Here again, I appeal directly to the consciences of those, if there be any such before me, whose experience renders them the most competent judges. When you first associated with those who took the name of God in vain, would not the thought of your ever being heard to utter the same language have crimsoned your cheek with shame? But after a while, did not this peculiar sensibility to the opinion of others, so far wear off, that when none but your sinful companions were present, you ventured a profane expression; and even after you could swear fearlessly in their presence, was it not a considerable time before you could feel willing to hazard an oath in the hearing of your serious friends? And when, after taking the name of God in vain, you have sometimes turned your face, and been unexpectedly met by the reproving countenance of some pious friend, have you not been awed into confusion by the majesty of virtue; and felt that you had done an act which, in the estimation of that good man, would cover you with disgrace? But you may, for ought I know, have long since bid adieu to all such scruples; and you may be congratulating yourselves upon the victory you have gained over a prejudice of pious education; and you may have become so shockingly familiar with the dialect of hell, that even the presence of the virtuous and good cannot restrain you from it: for all this may be calculated upon as a legitimate consequence of being often found in the way of sinners.

Just so it is with the sin of intoxication. Probably the greatest drunkard in the community can remember the time when he would have shuddered at the thought of thus foolishly sacrificing his reputation; and perhaps there was hardly ever an instance in which a man yielded to this kind of temptation for the first time, that he was not thoroughly ashamed of it, and would turn his face from you when you met him in the street, lest your countenance should reveal to him your pity or contempt. But by frequently resorting to the company of drunkards, and by repeating a few times the brutish experiment, the flush of shame faded from his cheek, and made way for a still deeper hue of crimson, which proclaims that he is a shameless sot.

And so it is with respect to every other bad habit. By frequenting the society of the wicked, a person soon comes practically to regard them as the most important part of the world; and consequently, his regard for the opinion of the godly, and his fear of losing it, are gradually diminished and destroyed.

IV. Another sentiment which is brought into operation in aid of a wicked habit, by associating with wicked companions, is  the dread of being singular.

There is nothing that goes to the heart of a young man like "the world's dread laugh;" or the idea of standing alone; or of being charged with superstitious scruples of conscience: and this is a principle of which the abettors of vice are always sure to avail themselves, in regard to those who are inexperienced. When a young man, whose mind has been stored with good sentiments through the influence of education, falls into their company, it is astonishing to observe how their invention is quickened for devising means for his destruction. They take care not to display to him all the mysteries of iniquity at once, lest it should produce a shock which should drive him from their society. At first, perhaps, he discovers in them nothing more than an excessive cheerfulness; and so far, he thinks they may be imitated without much danger. But it is not long before he must take another step; and if he hesitates and falters now, he sees on one side, a reproachful frown, and on the other, a contemptuous smile. One, perhaps, charges him with unmanly superstition, and another with the lack of independence; or it may be, the whole fraternity of them send up one general shout of ridicule. At such a moment, I look upon a young man as suspended between life and death; and as the experiment which is now going forward may result, I expect his eternal destiny will be decided. If I could look into his heart at this awful crisis, I would expect to find it in a state of fearful agitation; and if the power of reflection had not deserted him, to find him proposing to himself some such questions as these—"What step is this which I am now tempted to take? Where will it conduct me? May it not ruin my character, and ruin my soul? What mean these counsels and warnings of my early youth, that now come knocking at the door of my heart? If I yield, will not the hearts of my pious friends bleed with tenfold deeper sorrow than if I were to die—nay, will it not almost send a pang of agony down into the graves of my departed parents, who dedicated me to God, and with their dying breath charged me to beware of a life of sin? But how can I sustain the anguish of being singular? How can I bear to be thought cowardly and spiritless; to hear these shouts of ridicule, and witness these expressions of contempt? No, I will not submit to this intolerable burden: I will rush headlong into the haunts of sin, and endeavor to stifle conscience and drown reflection. Cease, then, to trouble me, you recollections of my early days. You pious friends, who have followed me all my life with affectionate wishes and good offices, I can heed you no longer. I will sooner pierce all your hearts with anguish, than to stand alone and try to stem this torrent of ridicule. And you too, departed parents, even if I knew I should disturb the repose of your graves, and plant a thorn in that pillow which sustains your head in yonder lonely mansion—I could not bear to be singular. Leave me therefore, friends; leave me, conscience; leave me, every tender and endearing recollection; leave me too, you gloomy forebodings of future misery; and let me sacrifice my soul as quietly as I can! I can hazard anything else, even the eternal burnings of hell; but I cannot, I will not, hazard the odium of being singular!"

I do believe, my hearers, that many a young man, who now sits in the seat of the scoffer, if he would honestly tell you his whole experience, would be obliged to relate the story of some such conflict as this which I have here supposed; and it may be that there are young people before me, who can recollect something like it in their own experience. But if I knew there were such a case, I should hardly think it premature to call upon you to begin even now to mourn for the death of an immortal soul.

V. I shall close the illustration of this subject with one more remark; and that is, that it is  the tendency of evil company to separate a person from the means of grace.

What though he may live in the midst of Christian privileges, and almost at the very threshold of the sanctuary—will he enter those hallowed courts, where everything betokens reverence and purity—when his heart loathes the service of his Maker? Will he deliberately place himself in the way of reproof for those very vices to which he has deliberately resolved to yield? Or will he be likely to read the word of God, when he meets his own sentence of condemnation on every page? I do not say indeed that the whole extent of this evil will ordinarily be realized in the early stages of vice; on the contrary, I well know that its progress, for the most part, is gradual. But I do say—and I appeal to the heart of every profligate for the truth of it—that the tendency of wicked company is, finally, to form a complete separation from all the means of true religion. If he is entirely devoted to the service of sin, it were an absurdity to suppose that he should have either time or relish for the service of God; and even if he attends upon it with external formality for a while, it will soon become too irksome to be continued. And when the means of grace are once abandoned, I know not where we are to look for a more decisive symptom of a hard heart and a reprobate mind. We must not indeed venture to limit the power of the Most High God; but if there ever be a case which, upon all the principles of human probability, we may pronounce hopeless, and in which our most awful apprehensions may reasonably cluster around the destiny of a fallen mortal—surely it is the case of him who has voluntarily cut himself off from the means of salvation.

On a  REVIEW of this subject,

1. We may see how insidious is sin! From small and almost imperceptible beginnings, it gradually makes its way, until it reduces the whole man to its dominion, and brings into captivity every affection and faculty of the soul. Sin first throws out the bait of pleasure, and flatters its victim on to forbidden ground; then it makes him the sport of temptation; and does not give him over until he is fast bound in the chains of eternal death.

In its very nature, sin is deceitful; it is a stranger to all open and honest dealing; its very element is the region of false appearances, and lying promises, and fatal snares. When it addresses itself to the unwary youth, it puts on a smiling countenance, and makes fair pretensions, and takes care to conceal its hideous features, until, like a serpent, it has entwined him with its deadly coils, and rendered his escape impossible!

For instance, how common is it for young men to yield to the solicitations of evil companions, from the notion that it discovers great independence of character! But what sort of independence, I would ask—is that which cannot command resolution enough to resist a few worthless and wicked companions? What sort of independence is that which had rather put at hazard the interests of eternity, than to brave the sneers of half a dozen vile associates? The truth is, that the person who acts this part, shows himself the greatest coward that walks the earth: he is afraid to encounter the reproaches of those whose censure is the highest praise; and rather than do it, he deliberately consigns his character and his soul to destruction.

Again, how often do young men become profane, from the idea that profaneness is a mark of manliness; and that to break out occasionally in the language of cursing, gives them a sort of dignity and importance. But let them go out into the street, and see in what kind of characters this vice is to be found in its most frightful height; and then say whether they wish to share the honor of profaneness with such companions. Let them listen to the poor drunkard who has fallen down in the highway, and is just waking from his beastly slumber, and they will find him muttering an oath; cursing the God who made him, or it may be, the hand that is attempting to relieve him. Let them go into the most vulgar circles where not even decency is tolerated—and there they will find profaneness, vulgarity, and drunkenness, mingling in the same scene of disgusting riot. And yet they are cheated into the delusion that, at least, an occasional indulgence in this vice makes them more manly. They are beguiled, as were our first parents by the fatal apple; and think not of the danger, until it is too late to avert it.

2. We learn from this subject,  how dreadful is the character of a corrupter of others. Every wicked man is more or less chargeable with this, whether he particularly intends it or not; because it is impossible for him to live in the world, without exerting an influence upon those with whom he associates; and this influence will receive its complexion altogether from his character. But there are men with whom the business of corrupting others is a profession; who deliberately lay their plans for ruining immortal souls; who seize upon the unwary youth, like the animal upon his prey, and never leave him until they have accomplished his destruction. I know not that there are any such here—I am willing to believe there are none. But if such a man has been providentially sent to the sanctuary, I cannot feel willing that he should go away without a word of warning. And I am not going to expostulate with you in regard to the danger, or cruelty; or guilt of your conduct; but only to direct your thoughts to one event, which will as certainly overtake you as that there is a God in Heaven. You are hastening to the judgment; and at that dreadful bar, you will meet every soul that you have helped to destroy; and the blood of each of these souls will be upon your own head! Nay, more; your corrupting influence may be propagated from generation to generation; and thousands whom you may never see in the flesh, may recognize you at the judgment as their destroyer; and the united curses of all these miserable beings may be heaped upon you through the ages of a suffering eternity. If your heart has not absolutely received the dark seal of reprobation, or if all the fountains of feeling have not been congealed by the chilling atmosphere of vice—must not the prospect fill you with horror?

3. The subject supplies an important argument to all in favor of a pious life. It is but too common for people of wicked character to take shelter under the plea that they injure none but themselves; and that, whatever the consequence of their conduct may be—they alone must bear it. Never was there a greater mistake. A corrupt example, even where it is not accompanied by a deliberate purpose of corruption, mingles contagion with the whole moral atmosphere in which it operates; and such must ever be its effect, until human nature is subject to a new set of laws.

What a powerful motive is here for a life of virtue and piety! You are acting, not for yourselves alone—but for the world around you; and when we urge you to a life of true religion, we are pleading in behalf of the immortal interests of your fellow men. What an argument also for the most exemplary circumspection on the part of the professed disciples of Christ! You may have even a living principle of true religion, which will secure your own salvation; and yet for the lack of proper vigilance, you may be betrayed into practices which will blast the rising germ of youthful promise, and even cause the darkest shades of vice to settle on some heart which had already begun to yield to the impressions of true religion.

How dreadful the thought that a friend, by a careless and unedifying example, should be instrumental in destroying his friend for whom he would even have died! How delightful, on the other hand, is the reflection that, by yielding your hearts and lives to the purifying influence of the gospel, you may not only save yourselves—but may be preparing to meet some in heaven—it may be, the objects of your tenderest affection—who will have been conducted there by the light of your example!

Finally:  Let every young person be deeply impressed with the danger of his situation, and avoid the beginning of evil.  I cannot suppose that there is a youth before me, who has deliberately formed the purpose to resign himself to a wicked habit, and to persevere in it until he shall enter eternity. But I have reason to fear that there are those here in whom this fearful result will actually be realized; those who are venturing into the path of vice with that most foolish of all notions—that they shall retreat early enough to save their souls. Alas, with all your advantages, I fear you have not yet learned the slippery and insidious nature of vice. As well might you think to take the deadly viper into your bosom, and render him harmless by flattering words; or as well might you drink down the fatal poison, and expect to stop its progress in your system, when the blood had curdled at your heart, as to think of being the companion of fools, and yet not be destroyed.

If you enter on a career of vice, and make the wicked your chosen companions, I acknowledge that Omnipotence may, in his adorable sovereignty, pluck you as a brand out of the burning; but without some special interposition which you have no right to expect, it is altogether probable that you will be lost forever. Your only safety lies in a cordial, practical, immediate reception of the gospel of Christ. Every other guide will mislead you—this will conduct you safely and certainly to heaven.

And now, if such a conclusion would not do violence to all the principles of human calculation, I would like to believe that all of you have resolved to enter immediately, and in earnest—on a pious life. But probably there are some here, who have not even thought of forming such a purpose; and perhaps others who have formed it, in whose remembrance it will hereafter exist, as a monument of the power of temptation, or the treachery of the heart. I confess that an ominous gloom settles upon my mind, as it ventures forward to explore the path of these people through the darkness of futurity. I see them going away from this place, unaffected by all which they have heard, and returning to the haunts of sin with as keen a relish as ever. I see them becoming more and more hardened in vice, turning their backs upon pious instruction, and living as if eternity were a dream, and the word of God a fable. At no great distance onward in the path of life, I discover them struggling under the pressure of adversity. I hear them call to the world for assistance; but the world turns a deaf ear to their entreaties. I extend my views yet a little further, and see these same people on the bed of death. I see by the sinking countenance, the fluttering pulse, the faltering accents—that their conflict with the destroyer has commenced. I cast an eye around me to see whether any of their former wicked companions are present, to try to sustain them in this awful exigency; but not one of them is to be seen: theirs was the work of destruction, not of consolation. I see them writhing in agonies unutterable; oppressed and appalled by the prospect of an opening retribution, without a hold in the universe on which to hang a single hope. I hear their lamentations over a mispent life; their cutting reflections upon their miserable associates; their agonizing supplications for a longer space for repentance. And while my eye rests with horror on the frightful impressions that Despair has made upon the countenance, I witness the ominous change, which tells me that the soul is in eternity. And then, amidst all the wailings of parental tenderness which surround me; and while my mind is busy in trying to recollect some word or look which might have been a symptom of repentance—even then, from that world where "hope never comes," I seem to hear echoed in groans of unavailing anguish, "the harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved!"

And is there a youth before me, of whose future lot all this may prove to have been a faithful prediction? Especially, is there one who has been dedicated to God, and had the benefit of a Christian education and parental prayers, in whose experience this complicated wretchedness shall be realized? "O Lord God—you know!"

DANGER OF EVIL INSTRUCTION
 

"Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causes to err from the words of knowledge." Proverbs 19:27.

The primary elements of a good character, are good principles. Not that good principles necessarily imply a good character; for experience proves that passion often neutralizes their influence; but a truly good character does necessarily involve good principles. Let a system of false opinions in respect to religion once gain possession of any mind, and what can you expect but that from this bitter fountain will issue streams of corruption and death. Hence it is that those evil men who corrupt and destroy the young, are exceedingly apt to assail, first, their pious principles; not doubting, if they can gain a victory here, that they shall be able, without difficulty, to storm the citadel of the heart. To this end, they often make the great truths of Christianity the subject of conversation; assailing them with sophistry on the one hand, and ridicule on the other. They thrust into their hands books and newspapers, to occupy their leisure, which are artfully designed to unhinge their moral and pious principles. And frequently this malignant agency is exerted in a covert manner; and the youth is brought in contact with these vehicles of death, and has actually begun to imbibe the poison, before he is aware of it. In short, every means of corrupting the principles of the young which the ingenuity of man can devise, has been, and still is, employed; and that too by people of every rank, from the highest to the lowest in the community.

It is in reference to efforts like these that the wise man gives the advice contained in our text: "Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causes to err from the words of knowledge." In the spirit of this direction, I shall endeavor, in the present discourse, first, to expose some of the errors of which youth at the present day are in danger; and, secondly, urge some considerations to dissuade them from being found in the way of evil instruction.

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I. I am, first, to expose some of the ERRORS of which youth, at the present day, are in danger.

1. The first which I shall notice, is, that the BIBLE is not a divine revelation.


I am aware that this is, by no means, a day of triumph for infidelity; and that the man who now openly casts off the authority of Scripture, does it at the expense of being branded with at least some degree of public disgrace. Still there are to be found those, even at this day—and I fear not a few—who have hardihood enough to pronounce the Bible a forgery; who deliberately set themselves to seal this fountain of consolation  against the wretched—this fountain of salvation against the sinner. Unhappily, we live so near the period in which the world was convulsed by what seemed the momentary triumph of infidelity, that infidels of our day find weapons enough for prosecuting their malignant warfare, forged at their hands; and yet, as it would seem, for no other purpose than to keep a malignant invention busy, they are, from time to time, replenishing their armory with other weapons of their own devising. Those to whom I now refer, are open in their hostility to the Bible: they breathe out the venom of infidelity wherever they go; and put their books in circulation whenever they have opportunity; and glory in their shame.

But there are others who lend their aid to the same cause by means a little less direct—but not less effectual. Perhaps they will not tell you that they believe the Bible to be a forgery; perhaps they will even give a vague assent to its being a divine revelation—but they will tell you with nearly the same breath, of different passages which have a contradictory meaning; of stories too trifling, and of doctrines too absurd, to have had such a Being as God for their author: and thus, by endeavoring to bring into contempt a part of the Bible, they aim to destroy the authority of the whole. So long as men of this character are scattered through society, who can doubt that young people are in danger of being corrupted by infidelity?

Now, my young friends, I will tell you, if you are ever tempted, for a moment, to give heed to those who would persuade you to renounce your belief in the Bible as a divine revelation, what you must be able to prove, before you can consistently venture on infidel ground.

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You must be able to show that the miracles of which the Bible contains a record, either were never performed, or if they were, that they do not prove its divine authority. If you take the former side of the alternative, and say that these miracles were never performed, you must still admit either that they were pretended to be performed, or they were not. If they were pretended to be performed, as recorded in scripture, it behooves you to show how it was, that so many competent witnesses, and among them the most malignant enemies, in circumstances the most favorable for detecting imposture, and for several years in succession, should actually have been deceived. If you say that they were not pretended to be performed, then you have to account for the fact that such a record of them as that which the Bible contains, should have been made, at the very time when the imposture—if it were one—was most open to detection; and that it should have been circulated first among the very people who would have been most interested and most able to detect it; who yet never even pretended to call the facts in question. If you say that the record of these miracles was not made during the age in which they were professedly performed—but that it was palmed upon some succeeding age, then you have to account for the fact that the whole mass of historical testimony fixes the date of this record to nearly the period in which they are alleged to have been performed; and you have this additional difficulty to solve—how a record of facts, purporting to have occurred under the observation of the very people to whom the record was first given, could have been received by them as a true record, when, at the same time, no such facts had ever fallen within their knowledge.

But if you choose the latter side of the alternative, and say that these miracles were actually wrought—but still do not prove the Bible to be a divine revelation—you have then to show either that the God of truth would give the stamp of his authority to falsehood, or else that these mighty works were performed by the aid of evil spirits; for that they transcended the limits of human power, admits of no question. The former of these suppositions—that Jehovah has lent his sanction to falsehood—you will not dare to admit, even in thought. If you admit the latter, and refer the miracles of the Bible to diabolical agency, then you have this great moral phenomenon to explain—how the enemy of all good came to be so heartily and earnestly engaged in the destruction of his own kingdom; for the manifest tendency of all the miracles of the Bible was to promote the cause of righteousness.

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Here then you perceive, at the threshold of infidelity, you have most serious difficulties to encounter; but the half has not been told you. You have, farther, to account for the fact that this book contains a long chain of prophecies, extending almost from the beginning of the world to the present time, and to all future ages—that, as the plan of Providence has been developed, these prophecies have regularly had their fulfillment in the history of the church and the world—that the most minute and improbable events have occurred in exact correspondence with predictions which were written ages before their occurrence. If there were no divine wisdom here, whence this marvelous power of lifting the veil that hides futurity? How is it that a worm can tell of things that are to be, unless it has been mounting up above the dust, and holding communion with Omniscience? Who dares be so impious as to say that Jehovah would arrange the system of his Providence, to meet the conjectures of weak fanaticism or wicked imposture?

You have, moreover, before you can consistently reject the divine authority of the Bible, to account for the fact that so many different people as were concerned in writing it, living in different ages, in various states of society, and in circumstances to preclude the possibility of collusion, could have produced a book between whose various parts there is the most perfect, though evidently, on their part, the most undesigned, HARMONY. If all the letters of which the Bible is composed, were to be separated from each other, and thrown promiscuously into the air, and should fall to the earth in precisely the order which they originally held, making a regular and complete book, it would not be a greater anomaly in human experience, than would be found in the fact that such a book as the Bible is, in respect to the harmony of its parts, should have been made in the circumstances in which it was made, independently of divine inspiration.

You have still farther to account for the fact, that men living in a crude state of society, and many of them with the most limited advantages for intellectual cultivation, should have produced compositions, which, in sublimity  both of thought and language, leave far behind the finest models whether of ancient or modern times. The most perfect specimens of narrative which the world has seen, are found in the gospels; but what was there in the laborious occupation of fishermen, that gave promise of these matchless performances? If you deny that these people wrote under divine inspiration, whence the mighty difference between their productions, and what you could reasonably expect from people in the same sphere of life, and with much better advantages of education, among ourselves?

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You have also to account for the fact, that the Bible presents a higher standard of  moral purity than is any where else to be found; that all its doctrines and precepts, all its promises and threatenings, are worthy of an infinitely holy God. Tell us, if this be imposture, how it has come to pass that wicked men—the enemies of holiness, have produced the holiest book that the world has ever seen. If they could have done this, where was the motive to influence them to it, so long as it was directly opposed to their corrupt views and purposes? If they had desired to do it, would it not still, being conceived in sin, necessarily have borne, in a greater or less degree, the moral likeness of its authors?

And, finally, you have to account for the wonderful efficacy with which the Bible has been attended. Compare the combined moral effects which have been produced by all the other books in the world, with those which have been produced by the Bible, and the former dwindle to nothing in the comparison. It is the Bible which is the means of accomplishing such wonderful transformations, as we sometimes see, of human character—making the proud, humble; the vindictive, forgiving; the cruel, tender-hearted; causing the swearer to reverence the name of God; the drunkard to lay aside his cups; the dishonest man to give back his ill-gotten gains; and the miser to open his coffers at the call of charity. It is the Bible which has shed the light of peace and hope around the path of adversity; which has been a pillow for sickness, and a staff for old age; which has caused the voice of rejoicing to rise even from the valley of death. It is the Bible which has demolished altars of cruelty and temples of idolatry; which has illumined the wilderness with the light of civilization, and for savage customs has substituted the soft charities of life; which, as it travels around the globe, sends abroad a healing influence, and leaves a bright track of glory behind it. Whence is it, I ask, that the Bible produces these wonderful effects, if it has not God for its author? How is it, if it is the work of man, that it has survived all the efforts which have been made for its destruction; that, like the burning bush, it has been always on fire, and yet has never been consumed?

Such, my young friends, are some of the difficulties to be encountered, before you can, with any show of reason, reject the divine authority of the scriptures. You must be able to show that the miracles which the Bible records, either were never performed, or if they were, that they do not prove it to be a divine revelation; that the prophecies which it contains, notwithstanding their literal and exact accomplishment, were only fortunate conjectures. You must be able to account for the fact that so many writers, on such a subject, and in such circumstances, have written with perfect harmony; that men comparatively destitute of intellectual culture, have written with such unparalleled sublimity; that men of most corrupt minds, (for the idea of imposture necessarily supposes this,) have made a book which breathes the most elevated moral purity; and finally that this Book, bearing the signature of Heaven upon its title-page, and thus affronting Jehovah by a lie, has gone abroad, changing the moral wilderness into a garden, and pouring light and joy into every bosom by which it has been welcomed. Until you are able to account for these and many similar facts, you cannot, for a moment, consistently place your foot on infidel ground. How then ought you to estimate the cavils of infidelity? As lighter than nothing, until you have deliberately and satisfactorily met all the difficulties which have now been suggested.

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2. Another error of which young people, at the present day, are in danger, is, that no atonement was necessary that God might pardon sin; and that it was no part of the design of Christ's death to make an atonement.

This error is, of course, held by all who reject the divine authority of the Bible. It is held also by many who profess, in some sense, to acknowledge its claims to inspiration. The former class deny the necessity of an atonement; but regarding the Bible as a mere human production, neither ask nor care whether it contains the doctrine or not. The latter class, in common with the former, assert that an atonement was not necessary; but they go farther, and also assert that this doctrine is not found in the Bible. Before you receive this error, you ought to be able satisfactorily to answer the following inquiries.

How could God grant an absolute pardon to the sinner, and yet maintain the dignity of his character and government—without an atonement paid for the sin? The law which God has given to man as a rule of conduct—is perfectly holy, both in its requisitions and in its penalty. But man, by not obeying the requisitions of the law, has become obnoxious to its penalty. Suppose now that the great Lawgiver and Judge should remit the offence, without any expression of his displeasure against it; in what attitude must he place himself, in view of the intelligent universe? Would not the question be agitated in every part of the creation in which the fact was known—why an infinitely wise and holy God should make a law to be trampled upon with impunity; and if it were fit that the law should be made, why it were not also fit that its honor should be maintained? Is it an expression of infinite holiness, to let sin go unpunished? Is it an expression of infinite wisdom or benevolence, to encourage illegally by overlooking a spirit of rebellion in one part of the universe, and thus to hold out encouragement to the same spirit in every other part of it? If these questions must be answered in the negative, then I ask, whether Reason herself knows any other alternative, than that an atonement must be made, or the sinner must perish?

Again: If Jesus Christ did not die as an atoning sacrifice, whence the connection between the ancient sacrifices and the pardon of sin? That such a connection existed under the Mosaic dispensation, no person who reads the Bible can doubt; victims were constantly offered under the name of sin-offerings, as an atonement for the sins of the people. That there is no natural connection between the slaying of an animal, and the forgiveness of sin, is obvious; and moreover, the apostle expressly declares that "the blood of bulls and of goats cannot take away sin." Whence, then, did these sacrifices derive either their significance or their efficacy, if they are not to be considered as types of the great sacrifice of Christ?

cont

Moreover: How will you reconcile it with infinite wisdom, that God should have employed means so disproportioned in their importance to the end which he designed to accomplish? If the object of Christ's death were to make atonement for sin, then here was an end to be answered of sufficient magnitude to warrant the most expensive means that could be employed. But if he lived merely as a teacher, and died merely as a martyr, whence the wonderful preparation that was made for his advent and his death; and whence the wonderful interest which these events have excited, both on earth and in heaven? Why this constant reference to the Messiah in all the rites of the ancient dispensation? Why was he the theme of prophecy, during a period of four thousand years? Why was his birth celebrated by the songs of angels, and his death signalized by the convulsions of nature? If his object had been merely to instruct the world, and to seal the truth of his testimony with his blood; could not this object have been effected by some lower personage than him who was the Brightness of the Father's glory? And if this were so, whence the mighty difference between him and his apostles, which should invest his life and death with so much more importance than theirs? Whence is it too that his death awakens so much wonder, and gratitude, and joy, in heaven; that even the angels make it the theme of their high praises; if, after all, no higher object was gained by it than to prove himself sincere in preaching an improved system of moral virtue? I ask, again, whence this astonishing disproportion between means and ends, which there actually is—if Jesus Christ did not die a vicarious sacrifice for the sins of the world?

And finally, under this article, what explanation will you give of the following passages of scripture, consistent with a rejection of the doctrine of atonement?

"Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows." "He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed." "The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all." "Being justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus." "Whom God has set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past through the forbearance of God." "Even as the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto—but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many." "Who his own self bore our sins in his own body on the tree." "In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins; according to the riches of his grace." "You were not redeemed with corruptible things—but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot." "Unto Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and has made us kings and priests unto God; to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever, amen."

These are some of the more prominent passages in which the design of Christ's death is exhibited: Which of them all, let me ask, even seem to teach, that he died merely, or chiefly, as a martyr to the truth of his doctrines? If the doctrine of atonement is not explicitly taught here, we ask for language in which it can be conveyed intelligibly.

cont

3. Another error to which young people, at the present day, are exposed, is, that a spiritual rebirth, renovation, or radical change of character, is not necessary to salvation.

But what is implied in salvation? Nothing less than being admitted to a participation of the joys of Heaven. But what is the character of heavenly joys? They are perfectly holy: nothing that defiles can ever enter the kingdom. What sort of taste or disposition, then, must be necessary in order to relish or participate these joys? Undoubtedly, a perfectly holy one; for the very idea of happiness includes in it a correspondence between the taste of the individual, and the objects or pursuits from which the happiness is derived. You might, for instance, bring the most delicious food before a man whose taste was vitiated by disease; and though the food would be good in itself, and would be grateful to a healthy appetite, yet to the sick man it would only be an occasion of loathing.

So also in reference to the joys of Heaven—though they are not only real—but far surpass in extent all our conceptions; yet, in order that they may become ours, we must possess a temper conformed to them. But does man, by nature, possess this temper? Let every man's experience answer. Let the history of the world answer. Above all, let the word of God answer. "Every imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth." "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." " They are altogether become filthy: there is none that does good, no not one." "The natural man discerns not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." If such be the natural character of man, and such the nature of heavenly joys, is it not manifest, even on principles of reason, that a radical change is necessary to the sinner, before he can be admitted to Heaven?

Hear now the direct testimony of God on this subject. By the mouth of his prophet Ezekiel, he says: "A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh." "But as many as received him," says the apostle John, "to those gave he power to become the sons of God, even to those who believe on his name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man—but of God." Our Savior himself declares, "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." The apostle Paul having described the exceedingly depraved character of the Corinthians previous to their conversion, says, in reference to the change they had experienced: "But you were washed, you are justified, you are sanctified, in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God." And again: "Not by works of righteousness which we have done—but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Spirit." What meaning having the semblance of plausibility—can you attach to these passages, if you deny that they teach the necessity of a radical change wrought by the immediate influence of the Holy Spirit, in order to salvation?

cont

4. The fourth and only remaining error which I shall here notice, is—that either no punishment, or only a limited one, awaits the wicked in a future world.

If you say that the wicked are not to be punished at all in a future state, you must maintain the position either on the ground that they will cease to sin at death—or else that the connection between sin and misery will be dissolved. Will you take the former ground, and say that the wicked at death are delivered from all sin? But by what means is this accomplished? Is it by death itself? No! for death is only a termination of the animal functions—a mere passage from one world to another; and surely there is nothing in this that can affect the moral state of the soul in any way. But do you say that it is by a divine influence, operating upon the soul in the action of death? You say this without any warrant; for the Bible has given no such intimation. But if it be so, this influence is either exerted in consistency with man's moral nature, or it is not. If it is thus exerted, then of course the sinner must be conscious, in some measure, of those moral exercises which precede and attend regeneration; must be conscious of co-operating with the Spirit of God, both in conviction and conversion. But this surely is not true; for, in a multitude of instances, the sinner dies in stupidity, or delirium, and sometimes in the act of challenging the vengeance of God. If you say that this influence is not exerted according to the laws of our moral nature, then, in respect to this point at least, you make man a mere machine: you have gone over to fatalism, and are not to be reasoned with.

But do you choose the other side of the alternative, and take the ground that the connection between sin and misery will not exist after death? But here again, as there is nothing in death to destroy the existence of sin in the soul, neither is there anything in it to change its nature. It is part of the nature of sin to produce misery, just as truly as it belongs to the sun to impart light; and though this tendency is not always manifest in the present life, yet it is only on account of the countervailing influences which grow out of our present condition. Just in proportion as the sinner is removed from these influences even here, you see him reaping a harvest of wretchedness. As he will be completely removed from them in a future world, what can prevent sin from having its legitimate operation in making him completely wretched?

But perhaps you admit that there is a degree of punishment in a future world—but maintain that it will be limited in its duration. The idea that an immortal soul should be doomed to suffer inconceivable woe, during its whole existence, is so dreadful—that you shrink from the admission of it.

cont

And what then? Is that any reason why you should reject the plain testimony of God? Let it be remembered that this is a case in respect to which the wishes of men have nothing to do. The grand question in relation to it is, not what you desire to be true—but what actually is true! The criminal on the scaffold no doubt wishes to see his sentence remitted; but that wish has no influence to prevent the executioner from doing his office. Not more does the dread which is associated in your mind with the idea of eternal punishment, constitute any evidence against its reality.

But you say, perhaps, that it would not consist with the benevolence of God to inflict eternal punishment for the sins committed in this short life. Let it be remembered that we the culprits, are but miserable judges in this matter. Is it consistent with God's infinite benevolence to bury the ship, laden with human beings, in the mighty deep; or to cause the earth to open, and swallow up thousands, whom we are accustomed to call innocent? None but the atheist will deny this; for such events actually do take place under God's administration. By what superhuman wisdom, then, are you enabled to decide that the eternal punishment of the sinner cannot consist with infinite benevolence? Whence have you gained that knowledge of the exact influence of sin on God's moral universe, which qualifies you to pronounce that its punishment must be limited, or God's perfection must be sacrificed?

But if the punishment of the sinner is hereafter to come to a termination, in what manner is this to be effected? Do you say that his sufferings will be disciplinary; and that in consequence of their reforming and purifying influence, he will before long be prepared for the happiness of heaven? Here again, this is a needless assumption—as there is no such influence being attributed to the sufferings of the wicked in the word of God. But this notion is moreover contradicted by the analogy of experience. Would the parent, if he wished to reform an abandoned child, be likely to confine him constantly to the company of those who were equally or even more abandoned than himself? And is it not true in fact, that when the wicked in the present life have been doomed for their crimes by the sentence of human law, to confinement with those of a character similar to their own, they have generally come away monuments, not of the reforming influence—but of the corrupting and hardening influence, of such kind of punishment? Where then is the ground for believing that the wicked in a future world, by being associated with those who continually blaspheme God, and oppose the interests of his kingdom—will become conformed to his image, and acquire a relish for his service?

cont

Admitting, however, this remedial tendency which you attribute to the sufferings of the sinner, you have yet another difficulty to surmount—it is to determine how the sinner can be delivered from punishment—in consistency with the sentence of God's law. The only alternative that here presents itself is, either that he has actually suffered the full penalty of the law, and is released on the score of justice; or else that his deliverance is effected through the efficacy of Christ's atonement. But both sides of this alternative are mere assumptions—not warranted even by the semblance of scripture authority; and as for reason, if she has anything to say concerning them, it is certainly nothing in their favor.

But against both these suppositions, as well as against that of the disciplinary tendency of the sufferings of the wicked, there stands arrayed that mass of divine testimony, which exhibits the present world as the only world of probation, and the future as a world of unalterable retribution. "Whatever your hand finds to do," says Solomon, "do it with your might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave"—the world of departed spirits—"where you go." Says the prophet Isaiah, "Those who go down into the grave, cannot hope for your truth." "The night comes," says our Savior, that is, the night of death, "in which no man can work." As there is to be no change in the character of man after he leaves this world, the scriptures teach that we shall be judged according to "the deeds done in the body;" and rewarded "according to our works," performed on this side the grave. It is clear then that the Bible has decided that, neither on the ground of justice, nor on the ground of mercy—will the punishment of the sinner be remitted, after he has become an inhabitant of the eternal world.

But there are many other passages of scripture, in which the doctrine of eternal punishment is not only implied—but explicitly declared. The prophet Isaiah, filled with the most awful impressions of the future state of the wicked, exclaims, "Who can inhabit everlasting burnings?" Our blessed Lord himself, speaking of the wicked, says, "These shall go away into everlasting punishment." Paul says concerning those who obey not the gospel, that "they shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and the glory of his power." And John, in the Revelation, declares concerning the inhabitants of the bottomless pit, that "the smoke of their torment ascends up forever and ever."

cont

But you will say, perhaps, that the words "everlasting," "eternal," "forever and ever," &c. do not necessarily imply unlimited duration, as they are sometimes used in scripture in reference to objects whose duration is acknowledged to be limited. To this I reply that, whatever this language may denote in certain cases, the manner in which it is used as descriptive of the punishment of the wicked, precludes the idea of limited duration; for the same language which expresses the duration of the miseries of the wicked—is employed in the very same connection, to express that of the happiness of the righteous; which all acknowledge to be unlimited. "Some shall arise to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt." "And these shall go away into everlasting punishment—but the righteous into everlasting life;" the same Greek word being used in the latter case as in the former. Here then is an example of the strongest expressions to be found in the Greek and Hebrew languages, being used by the Spirit of God—and in circumstances in no way liable to exception—to describe the duration of future punishment. The only alternative which these passages suggest is, either that the miseries of the wicked will be strictly eternal—or else that the happiness of the righteous will be limited.

If, however, after all, you choose not to admit the passages already quoted as decisive on this point, there are others not liable to the criticism to which I have referred, and which undoubtedly convey the idea of unlimited duration, if it can be conveyed by human language. Such are the following: "Their worm dies not, and their fire is not quenched." "They shall never see life." "They shall never enter into rest." "It were good for that man if he had never been born." Surely it would have been better for Judas to have been born, if, after suffering millions of ages, he should finally begin an endless career of happiness and glory.

There is yet another test to which the doctrine which I am considering may very properly be referred. I mean its moral tendency: for it requires no argument to prove that that doctrine which removes any of the restraints to sinful indulgence, cannot have God for its author.

cont

Now then I inquire, if there is no punishment, or only a temporary punishment, for the wicked, in a future world—in other words, if virtue and vice are ultimately to find the same level—I inquire what there is to keep a wicked man from any deeds of iniquity to which his inclinations may prompt him—provided only he can escape the eye and the arm of human law?

The wretch whose ruling passion is the love of gold, casts his eye covetously upon your possessions; but they are so guarded that he cannot reach them without shedding your blood. What hinders then, if death be the gate of glory to all—but that, when he has once satisfied himself that he can escape detection, he should draw his dagger and stab you in the dark? Nor is the penalty of human law, upon his principle, greatly to be dreaded, or even dreaded at all; for it is only anticipating a little, a momentary pang, which is after all the harbinger of eternal joy. Is it not then manifestly the tendency of this doctrine is to throw open the flood-gates of iniquity—and to license to the utmost, every corrupt propensity of the heart?

You perceive then, my young friends, that you have most serious difficulties to encounter from reason, scripture, and experience, before you can adopt either scheme of universal salvation. Be not so unwise as to yield to the dictates of mere feeling on this subject. It is a matter, I repeat, to be decided, not by the wishes of men—but by the testimony of God. To this then, as the ultimate source of evidence, be your appeal; and if the doctrine is taught here, that the punishment of the wicked will be eternal, remember that heaven and earth shall sooner pass away—than one jot or tittle of what Jehovah has threatened shall fail of being accomplished!

cont

II. I have now completed the examination which I designed, of some of the more common errors to which young people, at the present day, are exposed: I proceed, secondly,  to suggest some considerations with a view to dissuade you from being found in the way of evil instruction. The wise man, in the text, cautions the young, not merely to avoid giving heed to the instruction of the wicked—but to avoid even hearing it. "Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causes to err from the words of knowledge." The idea clearly is, that you are not to allow yourselves, in any way, to be familiar with corrupt sentiments; neither by reading bad books, nor by listening to the preaching or conversation of bad men.

1. The first consideration which I shall offer, as a REASON why you should not be found in the way of evil instruction, is—that there is great danger that you will embrace the errors with which you thus become acquainted.

This danger results partly from the fact that men naturally love darkness rather than light. Of this fact the history of the world furnishes abundant proof; else how will you account for it, not only that men in all ages have misinterpreted the voice of God speaking to them in his works and ways, and that they have worshiped everything as God but Jehovah himself—but also that so many have shut their eyes against the broad light of revelation, and have either denied its divine authority, or else perverted it to sanction the most gross and fatal errors. Taking for granted then this fact, it amounts to nothing less than a predisposition in the human heart to the reception of error.

Suppose your bodily system was exactly predisposed to some contagious disease, would not that fact greatly increase your danger, on being brought into contact with the elements of infection? Or suppose an individual had a strong thirst for intoxicating liquors, would not this invest with additional danger all opportunities for indulging in the use of them? Is it not equally manifest that that natural aversion to the reception of God's truth, of which I have spoken, must be peculiarly favorable to the influence of evil instruction?

cont

But this danger farther arises from the love of novelty, and the pride of personal opinion. There is something exceedingly grateful to many youthful minds, in the reflection that they have turned off from the beaten track—that they have escaped from vulgar prejudices, and broken away from the trammels of education, and that they are giving the world a fine example of independent thought. But this spirit finds but little aliment in the way of truth; for that is a highway, and the simple and unlettered walk in it; and the way to be distinguished from the vulgar herd, is to leave this plain path, and broach some wild or wicked speculation. More or less of this spirit no doubt belongs to human nature; and though you may not hitherto have been sensible of its operation, yet if you venture into the way of evil instruction, there is great danger that you will find, not only that this spirit exists—but that it exerts a powerful influence in opening your mind to the reception of error.

Moreover, you are in danger of embracing the errors which you accustom yourselves to hear defended, from the fact that familiarity with error, as with vice, has a tendency to make you insensible of its deformity.  This tendency results partly from the power of habit, and partly from the deceitful nature of sin; and it exists universally; though it must be acknowledged that it is often counteracted by the influence of circumstances.

The process by which it discovers itself, needs only to be described, to be recognized by everyone as a reality. The youth who has been educated to reverence the bible as God's word, when he first hears it assailed by infidel cavils and scoffs—shudders at the impiety, and perhaps wonders that God allows such a wretch to live. He hears the same thing the second time—but with less horror than before. He hears it again and again, and at length ceases to be affected by the impiety. At no distant period, he gathers bravery enough to smile at what once made him tremble; to assent to that, which once drew from him expressions of abhorrence. At a more remote point in the process, he cordially takes the infidel by the hand, and greets him as a brother; thus, perhaps, in a little period, having traveled the whole distance—from a firm belief to a total rejection of the bible. Say, my young friends, whether all this is not perfectly natural; and easily accounted for on the principle that familiarity with error blinds the mind to its inherent odiousness. Venture not then in the way of evil instruction, lest, through the operation of the same principle, you should be the subjects of the same disastrous change.

Another consideration which renders it probable that you will embrace the errors which you hear defended, is, that, from your age and inexperience, you cannot be supposed to be properly furnished for an encounter with error. The man who, when properly armed, might stand his ground against a company of ruffians, would, if stripped of his armor, fall into their hands at the first onset. In like manner, the man who has been long accustomed to study his bible, might find little difficulty, and be in little danger, in meeting the cavils of the enemies of truth; while he who is comparatively unacquainted with the word of God, might be easily entangled, and drawn away by their sophistry. Taking it for granted then that you have not that deep and thorough knowledge of the bible which might more naturally be looked for in advanced life, you cannot but perceive that you are in great danger, from this circumstance, of receiving the errors which are defended in your hearing. Cavils which might be satisfactorily answered in many ways, and the fallacy of which a more thorough knowledge of the word of God might enable you instantly to detect, assume, from your ignorance, the weight of arguments; and there is danger that you will soon come to conclude that what you cannot answer, is unanswerable.

cont

But the consideration which crowns the evidence of your danger on this subject, is, that  multitudes of youth, from hearing evil instruction, actually have embraced the errors with which they have thus been made familiar. Yes, I could point you to many a young person, who thought himself safe when he ventured on this forbidden ground, and felt confident that his belief of the truth was never to be shaken, who can now speak boldly in defense of the most dangerous errors, and even pour contempt on the revelation of God. Tell me, my young friends, what there is in your circumstances which promises that the same experiment will result more favorably in respect to you. Rely on it, that ground which your curiosity may tempt you to explore, is beset with snares; if you venture among them, take heed lest they prove to you the snares of eternal death!

cont

2. Guard against being found in the way of evil instruction, because there is great danger that you will not only by this means embrace error—but that you will retain it until the close of life.

There are two principles which will operate powerfully towards such an evil result. The first is, the pride of consistency. The circumstances in which the error is supposed to be embraced, are exceedingly well fitted to bring this principle into action. You have become an errorist under the teaching of wicked men, who have watched you in every step of your progress, who have triumphed in their success, and have congratulated you on being set free from puritanical prejudices. In your fellowship with them and with others, you have probably gloried in your opposition to the truth; for it usually happens that the truth finds its bitterest enemies in the ranks of apostacy. How difficult then must it be to come down from this high stand which you have taken, into the dust; to acknowledge, after all your confident boasting, that you have been left to believe a lie! How hard to bear the taunting accusation of fickleness or hypocrisy; to be assailed by the hiss of contempt, instead of being greeted with the smile of approbation! If you have embraced error in the circumstances to which I have referred, is not here a powerful consideration to prevent you from abandoning it? Even if doubts should sometimes force themselves upon you, is it not probable that this pride of consistency—this fear of the world's dread laugh, would lead you to shake them off as soon as possible?

The other principle to which I referred as likely to operate in preventing you from abandoning your errors, when they are once adopted, is a regard to present comfort. No matter from what consideration you may have been induced to receive them—when once received, they will of course exert an influence to quiet the conscience, and thus minister to a life of sin. The man who speculatively believes the great truths of the Bible, has but little to defend him against the arrows of conviction. When the threatenings of God are thundered in his ears, conscience is exceedingly apt to take advantage of his belief, to stir up tumult and agony in his heart.

But the man who has embraced any fundamental error, carries a shield upon his conscience, which the sharpest arrows from the quiver of the Almighty can scarcely penetrate. He is at ease under the preaching of the word, under the warnings of Providence, in revivals of true religion, and is even mighty to oppose the operations of God's Holy Spirit: but take from him his system of error, and you strip him of the armor in which he trusted; you leave him as liable to the terrors of conviction, as other men. In every human bosom there is a natural dread of misery; especially in the bosom of the sinner, a dread of finding himself exposed to the wrath of God. How probable is it then, on this ground, that if you have once yielded to the influence of error, you will never abandon it. It produces a feeling of safety which you love to cherish; whereas the parting with it must be the signal for a painful sense of exposure to the most awful calamities.

I have said that there is a probability that a system of error once adopted will be retained until the close of life: perhaps I ought rather to say until near the close—for experience proves that the approach of death has a mighty influence to break up these delusions. Cases indeed occur, in which the soul clings to them to the last, and even with apparent triumph; but the instances are far more numerous, in which the most honest confessions, and the most gloomy forebodings, pronounce these systems of error to be refuges of lies. But this conviction is often—perhaps usually, nothing more than the conviction of despair. The soul, just in the act of making its change—though it may abandon the error, is not in a condition to escape from its influence; and hence it may be said in the most important and practical sense—that those by whom error is once received, will probably carry it with them to the gates of eternity.

cont

 3. Guard against being found in the way of evil instruction, because the errors to which you are thus exposed, if adopted, and retained until the close of life, must be fatal to your souls. I here refer particularly to those errors which have been examined in the former part of this discourse, though they are by no means the only ones of fatal tendency.

 Let it be remembered that these errors are, in the highest degree, practical. There are many false notions, and even in respect to true religion, which may be held with little or no hazard; because they are at best mere matters of speculation, and do not involve any great point of duty or interest. But it is otherwise in respect to those which we have been considering: they contemplate man in his relations to God and eternity; and involve interests too momentous for the human mind adequately to estimate. I know there are those who will have it, that nothing is practical in true religion—but what relates to external morality and to the present life; but surely those are the most practical truths, in the only proper sense of that word, which are fitted to exert the greatest influence in preparing men for heaven; and those the most practical errors, which minister most directly and effectually to the soul's everlasting destruction.

 But the fatal influence of the errors of which I have spoken, is more directly manifest in the fact, that they either sweep away the only foundation of the sinner's hope, or else they effectually prevent a compliance with the terms on which salvation is offered. If you believe that the Bible is not the word of God, then you set at nothing all that God has done for your salvation, and fairly bring yourself under the sentence, "He who believes not, shall be damned." If you believe that Jesus Christ has made no atonement for sin, it were absurd to suppose that you should ever rest your soul's everlasting interests on his atonement; and yet this is the only sure foundation. If you believe neither the reality nor the necessity of a renovation of heart by the Holy Spirit, what motive will you have to seek it? But Jesus himself has declared, "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." And finally, if you believe that there is to be no eternal punishment, or only a limited punishment—of the wicked in the future world, what influence will this belief be likely to exert, other than that to which I have already referred; that of quieting your fears, and encouraging you to walk the downward road? I do not say that it is not possible but that the tendency of this latter doctrine may, in individual instances, be counteracted; but we may safely say that, if such instances exist, they are exceedingly rare; and that this error has generally a most direct and visible influence in carrying the soul down to perdition.

 And is it so, my young friends, that the errors to which you are exposed—are fraught with such amazing danger? Is it so, that every effort made to corrupt your principles—is an effort to destroy your souls? Then venture not into the way of evil instruction. Regard with more horror the man who would shake your belief in the truths of true religion, than the assassin who waits to plunge a dagger into your heart! The one aims only at the death of the body, which must die soon in the course of nature. The other aims at the death of the soul—a death fraught with everlasting agony. If you are tempted to place yourself, even for an hour, in the way of hearing the truths of the bible ridiculed or opposed, yield not to the temptation, unless you have made up your mind to encounter the agonies of the lost.

 And now what remains but that I exhort you to value and love the Bible? Be not satisfied with a vague and inoperative assent to its authority or its doctrines; but let your belief in both be intelligent and influential. Study it daily with diligence and prayer. Endeavor not only to become familiar with its truths—but to become imbued with its spirit. Bind it about your heart, as the richest treasure that God has ever given to mortals. In this way, you will early become fortified against the influence of evil instruction—will have a sure guide amidst difficulties—a substantial solace in sorrow—an unfailing refuge in death. Give me the directions which the bible furnishes, and I will ask for no other guide amidst the devious paths of human life. Give me the consolations which the bible yields, and I will ask for no other staff to support me when I go down into the dark valley of death.

DANGER OF A LIFE OF PLEASURE


"Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment." Ecclesiastes 11:9

A more cutting and solemn piece of irony than is contained in this passage, is, perhaps, not to be found, either in or out of the sacred volume. The wise man, in the first part of the verse, assumes the character of a mirthful and thoughtless libertine; and in the true spirit of a libertine, counsels the youth whom he is addressing, to give himself up to an unrestrained course of amusement and dissipation. He bids him abandon all serious thoughts of God, and eternity, and true religion. He welcomes him to the joys of an irreligious and profligate life; and gives him all the liberty which any sensualist could desire.

Having so far represented the wicked seducer and destroyer of the young, he suddenly lays aside his assumed character, and with all the solemnity of a preacher from the world of spirits, closes the verse, in a style of the most impressive admonition. The same young person, whom he had just before pointed into the path of forbidden pleasure, he now points to the final judgment; and alludes, with solemn emphasis, to that tremendous reckoning, which must follow such a life as he had recommended. "Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment."

Our subject, at once, lays itself before you. In the first part of the text, there is the ironic invitation to partake of sinful pleasure: in the latter part, the solemn admonition to remember the judgment. Let us endeavor, so far as we can, to enter into the spirit of both parts of the passage.

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1. An IRONIC INVITATION  "Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see"—almost the very language by which many youth at the present day are tempted into the path of forbidden pleasure. Coming from the lips of the sensualist, it is no irony; it is the honest language of his heart; and he rejoices when it is listened to and obeyed.

Hear the sentiment contained in these words, a little expanded—"You are now in the morning of life—the season most free from worldly care, and most adapted to worldly pleasure. However it may be with middle life, or old age, when the vigor of the body is spent, or the animal spirits have grown cool—certainly your youth is not the time for true religion. You were made to enjoy life; but true religion is only a course of mortification and penance; it is the bondage both of soul and body—the grave of all that is bright and goodly in the lot of man. Resist, then, the claims of true religion, at least for the present. If you should think it fit to beckon her to you in your last hour, as a companion through the dark valley, be it so; but while these years of youthful buoyancy are passing off, make no league with this 'damper of human joy'. Come with us into these scenes of mirth and revelry, in which reflection is drowned, and restraint is not known; and here let your heart be glutted with pleasure. What if, after having devoted hours to amusement, the thought should occur to you, while in the solitude of your chamber, that all that you had enjoyed was vanity? Endeavor to convince yourself of the contrary, by thinking how happy you were while you were listening to the festive song, or while you were dancing to the sound of the music. What if the open grave of some beloved friend should bring into your mind the gloomy thought of dying? Banish it as an intruder upon the joys of life; and think how useless it is to trouble yourself about what is inevitable. What if the thought should occur to you, while at the gaming table, or in scenes of profane and boisterous riot, that you have beloved friends who would weep blood, if they should know where you are, and how you are engaged? But what right have friends to abridge your pleasure, so long as you are willing that they should judge what is best for themselves, and you attempt no interference with their plans for enjoyment? In a word, let it be your grand object to drink as deeply at the fountain of worldly pleasure, as you can; and as the hours of this golden season whirl off, let there be no inquiry agitated in your bosom more gloomy, than how you shall crowd into each hour the largest amount of careless gaiety or sensual indulgence."

But, my young friends, I dare not proceed farther in this strain of irony, which is suggested by my text, lest some of you should forget that it is irony, and should begin to think that you have found an advocate for your youthful vanities. I pass therefore immediately to the other part of the subject, in which I am to enforce:

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2. The SOLEMN WARNING  contained in the closing part of the text. "But know that for all these things, God will bring you into judgment." What an awful contrast is here presented to the language of the libertine, to which we have just been attending!

Reflect on the certainty of your being brought into judgment. "Know!" says the wise man; that is, "be assured that the fact of which I speak, shall take place, without the possibility of failure." God has not left himself without witness on this subject, either in the constitution of our nature, or in the dispensations of his providence. The doctrine of a future judgment is written more or less legibly on the conscience of every man; else, how will you account for that painful restlessness which attends the remembrance of crimes long since committed, and the record of which is kept only in the perpetrator's own bosom? Moreover, the unequal distribution of rewards and punishments in the present life, in connection with the immutable justice of God—seems to constitute a ground of necessity for a future retribution; for in what other way shall the divine character be vindicated from the charge of partiality? But if reason has not spoken with sufficient distinctness on this subject, you cannot say that of the lively oracles; for here the doctrine stands written with God's own finger in letters of light. The text is decisive on this subject—"For all these things, God will bring you into judgment." And again: "God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil." And again: "We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that everyone may receive the things done in his body, according to that he has done, whether it be good or bad."

The evidence that you are to be brought into judgment, then, is complete. Whether you take counsel of reason, or hold communion with conscience, or open the volume of God's truth, this evidence glares upon you. Forget it you may; trifle with it you may; but the solemn fact you cannot change. I charge you then to remember, wherever you go, or whatever you do—that there is a tremendous reckoning before you. Go, if you dare, into the haunts of irreligious mirth, and hear God's name profaned, and join in heaping scandal upon the cross; go and hear the scoffer ask, "Where is the promise of his coming?" and let your heart overflow with sensual joy. But remember that other scenes await you; remember that it has gone out of the mouth of Him who is "the same yesterday, today, and forever"—that you are yet to be brought into judgment!

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Contemplate the purpose for which you are to be brought into judgment—"For all these things," says the wise man; that is, the things specified in the preceding part of the verse—giving yourself up to a life of vanity and pleasure. You will be brought into judgment for the waste of your time; for every hour and moment which shall have been devoted to other purposes than those for which your time was given you. You will be brought into judgment for all your profane and idle discourse, which was fitted at once to affront your Maker, and to pollute your own mind, and close it against serious reflection. You will be brought into judgment for every scene of vain amusement; for every meeting for sensual excess; for every effort to stifle conscience and forget God. You will be brought into judgment for all that you have done in corrupting others; for the deadly poison which has distilled from your lips, and from your example, operating like the blast of death, wherever it has been communicated; for that fearful amount of sin and wretchedness which will have resulted from the accumulating influence of your life on many successive generations. In a word, for all that belongs to a life of pleasure, whether it respect action or enjoyment, its more immediate or more remote influences—you will be brought into judgment.

How differently will a life of sinful pleasure appear to you, when you come to view it in the light of the judgment, from what it does now, while your heart cheers you in the days of your youth! What you here plead for as innocent—will then be seen to have involved crimson guilt. What you here regard as fraught with no danger—will there be felt to have contained the elements of a heavy curse. What you here treat with levity as though it were a dream or a fable—will there gather all the importance that belongs to an appalling reality. How will your heart sicken, and your spirit die within you, when the light of eternity reveals your mistake in respect to the object of the present life! With what emotions will you realize that the period which you have spent in trifling—was the only period given you to escape hell and to obtain heaven!

Consider, farther, by WHOM you are to be brought into judgment. The text asserts that "God will bring you into judgment"—God, from whom came all the blessings which you have perverted to purposes of sinful pleasure; and against whom every sin that you have committed, has been an act of rebellion—God, whose heart-searching eye has always been intent upon you, noticing the birth, and progress, and accomplishment of every sinful purpose; who has been with you when you supposed yourself alone; and who has kept an exact record of all that you have thought, and spoken, and done—from the first moment of your existence—God, who, though long-suffering and gracious, is yet just and holy, and will by no means clear the guilty; who has all the means of punishment in the universe at his command, and can execute with infinite ease the penalty which his righteous authority ordains. And is this the great and dreadful Being, who is to bring you into judgment? Say, whether it will not be a fearful thing to fall into the hands of such a Judge?

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Were your final retribution to be decided by a mere man, or a mere creature, you might suppose it possible that you should escape the woes which hang over your eternal destiny. You might hope something from his limited knowledge. Possibly he might not be acquainted with all your transgressions in all their aggravating circumstances; or he might form too low an estimate of the punishment which you deserve on account of them. Or you might hope something from his limited power. You might imagine that by some combination of energy or influence which could be formed, you might either resist the mandate which should summon you to judgment, or prevent the execution of the final sentence. Or you might presume upon the triumph of mercy over justice. You might hope that some appeal could be made to the heart of the Judge, which should lead him at least to abate the severity of your doom; even though such mitigation should tarnish his character, and weaken his government.

But surely you can form no such imaginations in respect to the infinite God! You cannot hope to evade the scrutiny of his eye, or to resist the might of his arm, or to awaken a blind and indiscriminate compassion in his heart. What though you may be courageous on every other occasion, yet can your heart endure, or your hands be strong—when you shall stand before the throne of Almighty power, beneath the searching look of Omniscience, to receive a just recompense for a life wasted in sinful pleasure?

Meditate on the time of your being brought into judgment. It would seem that the day of judgment, appropriately so called—the day which is to make a full revelation of the secrets of every heart, and to pour the light of a complete vindication over the character of God—is yet comparatively distant. There are purposes to be accomplished in the scheme of providence, preparatory to that grand occasion, which may require the lapse of ages. Nevertheless, there is an important sense in which it may be said that the judgment is near. The world into which the soul passes at death, is a world of retribution. Whatever means God intends ever to employ to bring the sinner to repentance, have been employed previous to that period: the first gleam of light from the eternal world reveals to the soul its destiny, which, though not yet published to the universe, is fixed by a decree which the whole creation could not change; and whatever the soul experiences, whether of joy or of woe, subsequently to that period, belongs to its everlasting retribution.

Dream not, then, my young friend, that the period of your being brought into judgment is remote. Will you presume upon youth as a security against it? So did that young man, who, the other day, was hurried into eternity, in the fullness of youthful vigor, and the bloom of youthful hope! Will you presume upon health as a security against it? Go, then, and read a lesson from yonder tombstone; and there you will find that a protracted sickness, and a lingering death-scene, are not the necessary accompaniments of dissolution. You will find that death may overtake you, while your hands are strung with vigor; and that your passage through the dark valley of death, may be the passage of a moment.

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Or do you presume on promising worldly prospects? I could point you to many a father who would tell you weeping, that he once had a son whose prospects were, in every respect, as bright as yours; but that death had marked him as his victim, and he had sunk into an early grave.

Where, then, I ask, is your security against being early brought into judgment? When you go into a scene of amusement, how do you know, but that the summons may meet you there? When you mingle in the midnight revel, can you be certain that you are not passing the last hour of your probation? When you lay your head upon your pillow, without lifting your heart to God—who has given you the assurance that that is not the night in which your soul is to be required of you; that a voice from eternity may not break upon your ear amidst the stillness of midnight, calling you to judgment? But be it so that you should fill up seventy years—it would still remain true that you are on the threshold of the judgment. That period—long as it may now seem to you—is but as a hand's-breadth; while you are dreaming of its continuance, it will be spent, and your spirit will be rushing forth to meet its God.

And is it so, that the judgment is not only a reality—but that its amazing scenes are so soon to burst upon you? Tell me, then, O immortal soul, what account you are prepared to render of that wasted, perverted life, when you enter the invisible world, and stand before the dread tribunal?

Contemplate, moreover, the circumstances of your being brought into judgment. If you consider this expression as referring to the removal of the soul by death to a state of retribution, then the circumstances of this event must, in a great measure, remain concealed, until they are disclosed to you in experience. In respect to some of them, however, you may form at least a probable opinion. By the power of a burning fever, or the gradual inroads of some mysterious form of disease, you may expect before long to be laid upon the bed of death. It may be that, in that awful hour, you may be given up to delirium or insensibility, and may close your eyes upon the objects of sense without knowing where you are, or through what scenes you are passing. Or it may be that your rational powers will be active and bright, so that you will be conscious of all that happens to you in your passage through the dark valley. You may see around you beloved friends, who will alternately fasten upon you a look of mingled affection and agony, and turn away to smother the sobs which rise from a bursting heart. You may be sensible that the cold damps of death are already hanging upon your countenance; that the vital current is performing its last passage through your heart; that you are undergoing the convulsive struggle which is to dislodge the spirit from its clayey tabernacle.

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And supposing that your life has been devoted to sinful pleasure, how probable is it that conscience will pour its accusations into your ears, and tell you of an offended Judge, and of coming wrath, and of interminable woe! How probable that the ghosts of wasted hours, and days, and years, will come up in frightful succession before you, as ministers of wrath, when you need so much to be attended by angels of consolation! Amidst some such assemblage of gloomy circumstances as I have now supposed, you may expect that your spirit will take its flight for the eternal world. And while your body is dressing for the grave, that spirit will be mingling in scenes of new and awful interest; and though it will have done with the agony attendant on the dissolution of the body, it will be convulsed by an agony far more dreadful—the beginning of a never-dying death! Oh what a moment will that be, when you shall first know by experience—the misery of the lost!

But if you consider the text as referring immediately to the great day of final decision; the circumstances which will attend your being brought into judgment, will be of a far different character from those which we have just described; and while, in the former case, we learn them principally from observation, in the latter, we derive our knowledge solely from the oracles of God. At the hour next previous to that in which the immediate preparation for the judgment shall commence, your body, dissolved into its original elements, will be slumbering with its kindred dust; and your spirit will be mingling with other lost spirits in the region of despair. Suddenly the skies will send forth a sound—it will be a blast of the trumpet of God, which will echo from one end of the earth to the other, bursting open the doors of every sepulcher, breaking up the slumbers of all their inhabitants, and re-collecting from the earth, the ocean, the air—the scattered dust of every child of Adam that shall have died since the creation. The union between body and spirit is restored—the same body that was laid in the dust, rises up to meet the same spirit which had animated it. The Judge descends from heaven, in the glory of his Father, and with all his holy angels; and around his throne are assembled all nations, and kindreds, and tongues, and people.

The righteous are placed in open, distinguished honor, at his right hand; the wicked, as a public proof of his indignation against their character, are summoned to the left. In this latter class—you, who have been devoted to sinful pleasure, will be found. There you will be obliged to contemplate the picture of your life, drawn only in black, without one bright stroke to relieve the eye from a uniform and sickening gloom. There you will be obliged, with all others who have been "lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God," to hear the appalling sentence, "Depart, you cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels!" Oh, when that piercing sound shall enter into your ear—will it not rend your heart with agony, and open your lips in wailing? For "who can stand before his indignation? And who can abide in the fierceness of his anger?"

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Meditate, finally, on the consequences of your being brought into judgment. The consequence of your being summoned by death into a world of retribution—will be an entire separation from all the objects of sense, from all the means of grace, from all the hopes of salvation. You will remember, indeed, how you once mingled in scenes of unhallowed mirth and revelry; but with the remembrance of these scenes will be associated the reflection that they have gone by forever; while the effect of them remains to be felt in an interminable scene of anguish. You will think of sabbaths given you to prepare for heaven—but perverted to purposes of mere amusement: of invitations and warnings a thousand times pressed upon you—but as often treated with indifference or contempt; of friends who had come with the tenderest concern to speak to you of the things that belonged to your peace—but who returned to their closets mourning that they could gain no access to your heart. But you will be obliged also to reflect that there are no more sabbaths for you; that the last invitation of mercy, the last warning to repent, has died away upon your ear; that no Christian friend can come where you are, to unburden a full heart in prayers, and tears, and expostulations, for the salvation of your soul.

You may remember too, how, in all your mad pursuit of pleasure, you still clung to the hope of future repentance: but the delusion is broken up; even the atoning blood of Jesus can now no longer reach you. And while you are an exile from all the good, real or imaginary, which you once enjoyed—you will be subject to the corrosion of a guilty conscience, will be a companion of fiends and reprobates, and as you look forward into eternity, will see one woe rising after another, like the billows of the ocean, in a train that will never end!

The consequence of your being brought before the last tribunal, and of receiving a formal and final sentence from the lips of the Judge—will be still more tremendous. At the close of this dreadful transaction, you will behold, with a bewildered look of agony, all above, beneath, around—vaulted with the funereal fires of this great world! And when amidst this final wreck of nature, you look out for a refuge from the fiery storm, no refuge in the universe will be open for you, except that dungeon of woe, in which the wrath of God is to have its perpetual operation. Into that prison of the universe, that grave of lost but living souls, you will immediately enter; and there, in the hopelessness of unavailing anguish—there, amidst the curses and wailings of the lost—there, where the eye can fasten upon no object upon which the wrath of God has not fastened before it—you must run the dreary round of everlasting ages!

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The sentence was, "Depart, you cursed, into  everlasting fire." And is it so, that this prison is built for eternity—that these flames are kindled for eternity—that these bolts, and bars, and chains, bespeak an eternal residence in these vaults of despair? Will not some messenger come hither from yonder blissful regions, though it be ten thousand millions of ages hence—to tell you that this long night of suffering will yet be succeeded by a morning of peace and joy? No, sinner! There are no such tidings in store for you! You were sentenced there for a period as unlimited as the duration of God; and your sentence is irreversible!

I inquire now of the conscience of every youth present, who is devoted to sinful pleasure, whether these meditations upon the judgment, do not throw an aspect of terror over the course which he is pursuing; and whether he dare persist any longer in a course which must so certainly lead to such a dreadful result? If this life of vanity and pleasure had no connection with eternity—or if it were itself to be eternal, however pitiful a portion you might find in it—we might consent, with less reluctance, to leave you to your wretched choice. But connected as it is with a course of illimitable and unutterable suffering—do not wonder that we call upon you with pressing importunity to abandon it!

Do you ask whether you must abandon all the amusements of the world? I answer—Abandon all upon which you dare not ask the blessing of God—all which crowd out of your thoughts the realities of eternity—all which you are unwilling to think of in connection with the prospect of dying—all for which you would dread that God should bring you into judgment. Do you ask, again, what those amusements are in which you may safely indulge, while you are yet unreconciled to God? I reply—by asking what amusement you would choose if you were just ready to be enveloped in the flames of a burning house; or if you were under sentence of death, and had but one hour more, before you should ascend the scaffold? Do you spurn at the suggestion of trifling in circumstances like these? Then say not that we are superstitious when we tell you that you have no time to waste in amusement, while yet your whole work for eternity is before you, and for anything you can tell, each passing hour may be your last!

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Do you plead for a single indulgence? Do you say, let me go into one more scene of vain recreation, and cheer my heart once more in these days of my youth, and then I will abandon the vanities of the world forever? My young friend, the very resolution is a cheat: but even if it were not, who has told you that that one scene of recreation may not occupy the whole period given you to prepare for eternity; and that you are not subjected to the alternative of turning your back upon it, or of certainly losing heaven? Is it rational—rather is it not the height of madness—to waste a single moment, while you are suspended between an eternal heaven and an eternal hell?

I leave this solemn subject, beloved youth, with your consciences. I entreat you to make a serious and practical application of it. I pray the God of all grace to bring it seasonably to your remembrance, and give it its legitimate influence over your feelings and conduct. But if all which has been said shall appear to you as an idle tale; if, after having been warned of the solemnities of the judgment, you are prepared to rush back to a course of sinful pleasure—then I must leave you with the same awful irony, and the same solemn admonition, with which I began this discourse. "Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment."