The Christian Father's Present to His Children

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Youth are less hardened in sin, than people of riper years.

The depravity of our nature grows with our growth, and strengthens with our strength. Like a tree, it strikes its roots deeper, and takes a faster hold on the soil every year. You have principles of corruption already in your hearts, my children—but they have not, by long indulgence, become so stiffened into habit, as they may be at some future time. Your prejudices and biases are yet few, and feeble. As yet the sentiments of modesty and propriety, and a regard to the opinions of others, would make you blush for acts of vice, and endeavor to conceal them from the world.

In riper years you will assume a boldness in iniquity, disregard the censures of others, and cease to be restrained by them. Conscience has not yet been deeply corrupted; it still preserves something of its tremulous delicacy, and sharp sensibility; it still elevates its warning voice, and strongly remonstrates against your least deviation from the path of virtue. But in the aged sinner, weary of useless reproof, it is almost silent, or totally disregarded. We know that without divine grace, conversion, in any case, cannot take place—but we know, at the same time, by observation, that divine grace very often follows in the order of nature.

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Youth are pre-eminently encouraged to seek the possession and influence of piety.

There are many invitations, promises, and injunctions, specially addressed to them. "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth." "I love those who love me, and those who seek me early shall find me." Under the Jewish dispensation, God called for the first-fruits of all things, intending, no doubt, to teach, among other lessons, his delight in the dedication of the first fruits of our life to his service. How pleased was the Redeemer with the hosannas of the children, and how deeply was he concerned in the case of that hopeful youth, who came to inquire of him the way to life! And does not the parable of the prodigal son teach us how welcome is the return of the young to the Father of Mercies? God chose David, the youngest son of the family; and set his love upon Jacob, while Esau the elder is passed by. Among all the disciples, John was the most beloved, and he was, at the same time, the youngest.

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But still the principal design of this chapter is to set forth the ADVANTAGES attendant on the possession of early piety.

1. Of these advantages, some relate to OTHERS.

This will cause you to be a source of ineffable delight to your parents; and probably render you a blessing to your brothers and sisters. Piety in youth will render you a benefactor to your species, and a blessing to society. Instead of seducing others by a bad example, you will benefit them by the influence of a good one; instead of poisoning others by corrupt principles, you will scatter along your path the seeds of truth, piety, and morality; instead of drawing down the vengeance of God upon society by your crimes, you will bring down his blessing by your prayers. You will benefit society in the most elevated and successful manner; and by your good conduct, and the support of Christian institutions, do more, in connection with others of a similar disposition, for the good of your country, than fleets and armies can achieve.

In the memoirs of that truly apostolic missionary, Henry Martyn, occurs the following anecdote, which most forcibly illustrates the subject of the influence of filial conduct upon parental and domestic comfort and respectability. "Visited the hospital this day, and read the eleventh chapter of John to a poor man, in whose room, at the workhouse, I was struck with the misery that presented itself. He was lying with his clothes and hat on, upon the bed, dying. His wife was cleaning the room, as if nothing was the matter; and upon the threshold was the daughter, about thirty years old, who had been delirious thirteen years." What a scene of wretchedness! What a miserable group! It is a picture from which the mind turns with the deepest emotions of distressful pity. But, oh! the cause of this misery! "The dying man," continued Mr. Martyn, "was once a respectable innkeeper in the town—but the extravagance of a son brought him to poverty, and his daughter to insanity." What must have been the feelings (except, indeed, vice had turned his heart to stone) of the guilty author of this complicated misery, when he saw the consuming grief of his broken-hearted father, and heard the wild ramblings of his maniac sister, while conscience thundered in his ear, "You are the cause of this dreadful calamity!" How many broken hearts, and insane minds, has similar conduct produced! How many are at this moment bending to the grave, or shut up in the cells of a lunatic asylum, who—but for profligate children, might have been living in health, sanity, and respectability!

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2. Innumerable advantages will result from early piety to YOURSELF.

Early piety will exert a friendly influence over your temporal interests.  It will open springs of consolation all along your path through the valley of tears, whose waters adapted to every condition, shall never fail. True religion, chosen in youth as your guide, companion, and friend, will attend you through all the journey of life; will go with you where you go, and dwell with you wherever you dwell; she will accompany you when with many tears you leave the parental roof, and you go forth, a young adventurer, into the world. She will travel with you in the wilderness, or sail with you on the ocean. She will abide with you in a mansion, or inhabit with you the poor cottage. When every other friend forsakes you, she will cling to you the closer. She will smile on you, when every other face is covered with a frown. She will put forth all her energies to comfort you in the time of your humbled fortunes. In seasons of perplexity, she will guide you to the fountain of light. When oppressed with care, she will place you on the rock of ages. In the storms of affliction, she will cast forth for you the anchor of hope. And in times of dreary desolation, she will enable you, by faith, to see the land which is afar off—the land of promise and of rest.

Early piety is a distinguished honor.  If there be true honor in the universe, it is to be found in true religion. Even the heathen were sensible of this; hence the Romans built the temples of virtue and honor close together, to teach that the way to honor was by virtue. True religion is the image of God in the soul of man. Can glory itself rise higher than this? What a distinction! to have this luster put upon the character in youth. It was mentioned by Paul as a singular honor to the believing Jews that they were the first to trust in Christ; and in referring to Andronicus and Junia, he mentions it to their praise that they were in Christ before him. To be a child of God, an heir of glory, a disciple of Christ, a warrior of the cross, a citizen of the New Jerusalem, from our youth up, adorns the brow with amaranthine wreaths of fame. A person converted in youth, is like the sun, rising on a summer's morning to shine through a long bright day—but a person converted late in life, is like the evening star, a lovely object of Christian contemplation—but not appearing until the day is closing, and then seen but for a little while.

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Early piety will be of immense importance to you in the various relations of life in which you may stand.  If you are parents it will dispose and enable you to train up your children in the fear of God. It will prevent you from neglecting the immortal interests of those who are committed to your care. How many parents are accessory to the murder of their children's souls; blood-guiltiness rests upon their conscience, and the curses of their own offspring will be upon them through eternity! In those cases where people are redeemed late in life, what anguish is sometimes felt on seeing their children wandering in the broad road that leads to destruction; and on remembering that they themselves, were the means of leading them astray. "Oh, my children! my children!" they exclaim, "I wish I had known true religion earlier for your sakes. Why did I not seek the Lord in youth? Then I would have trained you up in the fear of God, and have been spared the agony of seeing you walking in the path of destruction; or, at least, have been spared the torturing reflection, that it was through my neglect you despised true religion."

Early piety will be a guard to you against the temptations to which we are all exposed in this life.  Temptations to sin, like the wind, come from every quarter. In company, in solitude, at home, abroad, in God's house, and in our own—we are always open to attack. Business, pleasure, companions—all may become a snare. We never know when, or from what, or in what way to expect the assault. At one time we may be tempted to infidelity—at another to immorality; now to licentiousness—then to intemperance. Piety is the only effectual guard of our character. Luther tells us of a young believer who used to repel all temptations with this exclamation, "Begone, I am a Christian." My children, adopt the same character, and maintain it with the same constancy and success. When Pyrrhus tempted Fabricius, the first day with threats of punishment, and the next day with promises of honor—the Roman nobly replied, "I fear not your force, I am too wise for your fraud." True religion will enable you to say the same to every one who threatens or allures. Neglect piety in youth, and who shall say how long in vice and infamy you may be found in after life? Omit to take with you this shield, and your moral character may be destroyed, or receive a wound—the scar of which you may carry to the grave.

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Early piety will thus leave you fewer sins to bewail in after life. Among other things which the illustrious Beza gave thanks to God for, in his last will and testament, was this—that he became a real Christian at the age of sixteen, by which he was prevented from the commission of many sins, which would otherwise have overtaken him, and rendered his life less happy. Every year's impenitence, must cause many years' repentance. If you neglect true religion in youth, God may give you up to the delusions of infidelity, or to the practices of immorality—and during this unhappy season—of what remediless evil may you be the occasion? How many companions may you lead astray by your crimes; who, admitting that you are afterwards reclaimed by grace, are not so easily led back by your virtues.

Instances have occurred in which young men, during the days of their impiety, have perpetrated the horrid crime of corrupting female virtue, and then abandoned the hapless victim of their passion. Cast off as a guilty worthless thing, the injured partner of his sins has added iniquity to iniquity, and she who—but for her betrayer—might have lived a long and virtuous life, has sunk amid disease, and poverty, and infamy—to an early and dishonored grave. God, in the mysteries of his grace, has, in after years, given repentance to the greater criminal of the two. But can he forget his crime? Oh no! God has forgiven him—but never, never can he forgive himself! Not even the blood which has washed away the guilt from his conscience, can efface the history of it from the page of memory; nor floods of tears deaden the impression which it has left upon the heart. He cannot restore the virtue he destroyed, nor refund the peace, which with felon hand, he stole from a pure bosom—until it knew him. He cannot rebuild the character he demolished, much less can he rekindle the life which he extinguished—or call back from the regions of the damned the miserable spirit which he hurried to perdition! Ah! that spirit now haunts his imagination, and as she exhibits the mingled agony, fury, revenge, and despair of a lost soul, seems to say, "Look at me, my destroyer!" For a while he can see nothing but her flames, and hear nothing but her groans.

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Early piety would have saved him from all this. Late piety brings him salvation for another world—but it comes not soon enough to save him from remorse in this.

Early piety will procure for you, if you live so long, the honor of an aged disciple. A person converted late in life is a young disciple—though a gray-headed man. An aged hero, who has spent all his years contending for the liberties of his country; or a philosopher, who has long employed himself in improving science; or a philanthropist, who has become old in relieving needs, are venerable sights—but far inferior, if they are destitute of true religion, to the aged Christian who has employed half a century in glorifying God, as well as doing good to man. An aged pious disciple is honored in the church, and respected even in the world. His hoary head is lifted like a crown of glory among other and younger disciples, over whom his decaying form throws its venerated shade. How rich is he in experience of all the ways of godliness! Like a decrepit warrior, he can talk of conflicts and of victories. Younger Christians gather round him to learn wisdom from his lips, and courage from his feats, and to show him tokens of respect. By his brethren in Christ he is regarded with veneration; his presence is always marked with every demonstration of respect, and his opinion is listened to with the profoundest deference. He is consulted in emergencies, and the fruits of his experience are gathered with eagerness. His virtues have been tried by time, the surest test of excellence, and they have passed the ordeal with honor.

That suspicion and skepticism, which innumerable moral failures have produced in some minds, as to the reality of true religion in general, and the sincerity of any of its professors, retire from the presence of such a man, convinced of the injustice of its surmises; and even the infidel and the profane bear a testimony to his worth, which his long-tried consistency has extorted. "There, at least," say they, "is one good man, whose sincerity has been tried by the fluctuating circumstances and varying situations of half a century. His is no mushroom piety, which springs up in a night, and perishes in a day. The suns of many summers, and the storms of many winters have passed over it; and both adversity and prosperity have assailed and demonstrated its stability. We begin, after all, from that very character, to believe that there is more in true religion than we have been apt to imagine."

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Early piety, if persisted in, prepares for a comfortable old age. The condition of an old man without piety, is wretched indeed. He presents to the eye of Christian contemplation, a melancholy spectacle. As to all the grand purposes of existence, he has passed through the world in vain. Life to him has been a lost adventure. Seventy years he has sojourned in the region of mercy, and is going out of it without salvation. Seventy years he has dwelt within reach of redemption, and yet is going to the lost souls in prison. If he is insensible of his dreadful case, he is going to ruin asleep—but if a little awakened, how bitter are his reflections. If he looks back upon the past, he sees nothing but a wide and dreary waste, where the eye is relieved by no monuments of piety—but is scared by memorials of a life of sin; if he looks at his present circumstances, he sees nothing but a mere wreck of himself, driving upon the rock of his destiny and destruction. But the future! oh! how can he look on that, which presents to him death, for which he is not prepared; judgment, from which he can expect nothing but condemnation; heaven which he has bartered for fleeting pleasure, the remembrance of which is now painful, or insipid; hell, which he has merited, with its eternity of torments, by his iniquities. The spirit of spent years and departed joys flit before him, and points to these regions of woe, where sinful delights conduct the sensualist and voluptuary.

Miserable old man! the winter of life is upon him, and he has nothing to cheer his cold and dreary spirit; nor any spring to look forward to; the night of existence has come on; not a star twinkles from heaven upon his path; nor will any morning dawn upon the gloom which enwraps him. Such is the old age of those who do not remember God in their youth—and carry on their oblivion of true religion, as such people generally do—to the end of life!

But should any one be called at the eleventh hour, such a convert will be subject, at times, to the most painful doubts and apprehensions; he questions the reality of his religion; he fears that it is the result of circumstances, not of a divine change; he is afraid that, like a half shipwrecked vessel driven into port by the violence of the storm, rather than by the effort of the crew, he has been forced to religion more by the terrors produced by approaching death, than by the choice of his own will. He often concludes that he never forsook the world, until he could no longer retain it; and that he renounced the enjoyments of earth only because, from the decay of his body, from the feebleness of his mind, and the weakness of his fancy, he is unable to indulge in them. These, and other similar fears, generally occasion, in people converted in old age, a painful hesitancy concerning the security of their state; prevent them from going on their way rejoicing, and hang like a cloud upon the prospect of immortality.

How much more cheering and consolatory are the reflections of the aged Christian, who remembered his Creator in the days of his youth. He too has arrived at the wintry days of existence—but, like the inhabitant of a well-stored mansion, he has a thousand comforts which enable him to hear the howling of the tempest without a fear, and to look on the dreariness of the scene unconscious of a need. And then, in addition to this, the days of everlasting spring approach. He too is overtaken by the evening; his shadow lengthens on the plain—but the heavens pour upon him the glory of God, while the word in which he trusted, is a lamp unto his feet—and an eternal day is about to dawn upon his soul. In the past he sees the long interval between the season of youth, and the furrowed countenance of age, filled up, in some good degree, with works of devotion, righteousness, and benevolence—whereby he has glorified God, benefited his species, and prepared a balm for his memory. No sins of youth fill his bones with pain, nor his spirit with remorse.

He has little doubt of his sincerity; for his life, though it affords him no ground of dependence for salvation, furnishes him with numerous evidences of the faith which justifies the soul, and purifies the heart. He forsook the world when most capable of enjoying it; he was not driven by force to true religion—but deliberately weighed anchor, and, with every sail set, steered for the haven of piety. He has resisted innumerable attacks upon his principles, and against every foe has held fast his integrity. On the verge of life he can say, "I have kept the faith. I have fought a good fight, I have nearly finished my course; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of life, which God the righteous Judge will bestow upon me."

Surely, surely my children, an old age thus serene and venerable, is an object worthy of your desires! Surely these peaceful recollections, these sublime prospects, amid the dreariness of old age, are deserving your exertions!

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        Early piety will have a considerable influence on your eternal felicity. In dwelling upon the two different and contrary states of heaven and hell, we are not to conceive of them as conditions of being, where all people in heaven will be equally happy—and all in hell be equally miserable. There are different degrees of glory in one, and different degrees of torment in the other. This is proved by scripture, and accords with reason. Grace is glory in the bud—glory is grace in a state of fructification. And as in the natural world, so it is in the spiritual world—where there is little blossom, there cannot be much fruit. Life is the seed-time for eternity. What a man sows, that shall he also reap, not only in kind—but in degree. Late sowings, as well as scanty ones, are generally followed with small crops. The reward of the righteous is all of grace—but then that grace which rewards the righteous rather than the wicked, may, with equal consistency, reward righteousness according to its degrees. We cannot think that the reward of the dying thief, who was converted in the dark valley of the shadow of death, will be equal to that of Timothy or of Paul, who spent a long and laborious life in the service of Christ. Nor is it to be imagined that the crown of the aged convert will be as bright, or as heavy as that of the Christian who is converted in youth, and continues, until a good old age, in a course of consistent piety.

        But there is one consideration which should come home to the bosom of young people with overwhelming force; I mean, that unless they become partakers of piety in early life, the probability is, that they will never partake of it at all. Is it of consequence that you should become pious at any time? Then does all that consequence attach to the present time? Let me sound this idea again and again in your ears—let me detain your attention upon the dreadful and alarming sentiment.

        The probability of your salvation becomes weaker and weaker as the years of youth roll by. It is less probable this year than the last, and will be less probable next year than this. I do not now argue upon the uncertainty of life, that I have considered before, I appeal to FACTS, which in reference to the sentiment I have now advanced, are of the most alarming aspect. Consider, only two individuals of the six hundred thousand, who left Egypt above the age of twenty years, entered Canaan. Of those who are converted at all, by far the greater part are brought to seek true religion in their youth; and of the few who are reclaimed in adult, or old age, how rare a case is it to find one who has been religiously educated. It is easy to observe, generally speaking, that sinners who have been brought under the means of grace, or under some new and impressive preaching, which they never enjoyed before, if they do not soon profit by their privileges, rarely profit by them at all. God's time of conversion seems to be the morning of religious privilege. The churches mentioned in the New Testament, were chiefly made up of people converted by the first efforts of the apostles. Hence, when these servants of the cross were unsuccessful in their early labors in a city, or province, they looked upon it as a bad omen and a strong indication that it would be useless to continue their ministries there. So the usual order of divine grace is, for its showers to fall on what might be called morning sowings. The seasons of youthful years, or youthful means, are the usual times of conversion; and those who misimprove either of these, are in general found to neglect true religion forever after. (See Acts 13:46, 48; 22:18; 28:23-28)

        I am aware, that instances to the contrary are sometimes found; and therefore none who are inclined to seek God at any age should despair—yet they but rarely occur, and therefore let none presume. True repentance is never too late—but late repentance is seldom true!

        It is very probable, that some who may read these pages, deliberately and sincerely make up their minds to serve God at some future time—after they have a little longer enjoyed the world. Mistaken youth! Sinful young people! Let them consider what their intention amounts to—"I will go on sinning a little longer, and then I will repent. I will serve Satan, and the world, and sin as long as I can, and when I am worn out in their service, or weary of it, I will turn to God, and try the ways of true religion. O Lord! the preserver of my days, spare my life a little longer to disobey you, to insult you—and then give me your grace to assist me to turn from my wicked ways and live." What wickedness! What shocking impiety! What daring madness! Do they not tremble? Are they not terrified at this view of their own conduct? Can they live another day in this state of mind? Can they give their eyes to sleep with such a purpose in their bosom? Let them consider how just it is that God should reserve the dregs of his wrath for those, who reserve only the dregs of their time for Him!

        NOW, now, my children, is the accepted time—this is the day of salvation. "Today if you will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." You know not what another day, hour, moment—may bring forth. Opportunity, mercy, salvation, heaven, eternal glory—are all upon the wing of the present hour! Condemnation, hell, eternal torment, and despair—may all come in the next hour! That door of grace which is open today, may be shut tomorrow; that scepter of mercy which is stretched out today may be withdrawn tomorrow. Oh the noble purposes that have withered—the sublime prospects that have failed—the millions of immortal souls that have perished by putting off the present season, for a more convenient time. "Soul opportunities," says an old author, "are more worth than a thousand worlds." And they are rapidly slipping away, with the days of your youth!

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THE INFLUENCE OF TRUE RELIGION UPON THE
TEMPORAL INTERESTS OF ITS POSSESSOR

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Godliness has the promise of the life that is to come—it conducts to glory, honor, immortality—this is its chief commendation. Scripture has drawn aside the veil which hangs over the unseen state, and urged you, my children, upon the great business of true religion—by a contemplation of the dark world of hell—and of the splendors of the celestial city. It might seem that, after such an appeal, every other were useless, and that to speak of other advantages than eternal life, were only adding a drop to the ocean—or a candle to the sun. But there are people who are more regulated by present good, however small, than any future prospect of the greatest gain—who are more governed by illustrations borrowed from things seen and temporal, than by those which are derived from things unseen and eternal. In this respect also, and on this ground, true religion can plead its advantages, for it has "the promises of the life that now is" as well as that which is to come. I do not assert, that true religion will conduct all its followers to wealth, honor, and health. No! Still, however, it exerts a friendly influence on all the temporal interests of mankind, and protects them from many evils to which, without it, they are exposed.



1. Piety exercises and improves the UNDERSTANDING.

From beginning to end, true religion is an intellectual process. Whatever raises man above the dominion of the animal senses, and renders him independent of these, as sources of gratification, must have a salutary influence upon the mind. Now the objects which true religion exhibits, are such as the mental faculties alone can converse with; and the moment a man begins to feel solicitude about spiritual things, he begins to experience a considerable elevation of character.

Also, the subjects of divine truth are of the most sublime and lofty kind. They form the Alps in the world of mind. The existence and attributes of the great God; the system of Providence, embracing all worlds and all ages; the scheme of redemption, planned from eternity for the salvation of millions of sinful creatures; the immortality of the soul; the solemnities of judgment; the everlasting states of the righteous and the wicked—these are the everyday topics of thought to a Christian. Can a man live in the daily contemplation of these vast ideas—and not feel an elevating influence upon his understanding? It will probably be said, that science will have the same effect. This is admitted in part. But how many are there to whom philosophical pursuits are utterly inaccessible! Besides this, it may be replied that nothing but true piety will infallibly guard the soul from being debased by wicked indulgences.

Read the missionary records, and learn by these interesting details, what true religion has done for the Negroes of the West Indies, the Hottentots of South Africa, the Eskimos of Labrador, the fur-clad Greenlanders of the Arctic regions, and the voluptuous cannibals of the South Sea Islands. It has raised them from savages into rational creatures; it has awakened their dormant understanding; sharpened their powers of perception; taught them the art of reasoning; and invested them with the power of eloquence.

But why do I go to distant countries, while our own furnishes illustrations so numerous, and so striking? How many people are there, who were educated in our Sunday-schools, and who are now filling stations of importance, honor, and usefulness, who—but for true religion, would never have risen in the scale of society, or ascended above the lowest level of poverty. Education, it is true, gave the first impulse to their minds—but it was an impulse which would have soon spent its force, had it not been continued and increased by true religion. It was this that gave the sober, serious, and reflective turn of mind which has led to such mental improvement; and they who but for the power of godliness, would have been still earning their bread at the plough or the anvil, are filling the place of tradesmen or clerks; or are raised to the distinction of preaching with ability and success, the truths of salvation!

As a proof of the influence which true religion has in strengthening and elevating the powers of even the most cultivated understanding, I may give the following quotation from the life of Henry Martyn, a book which I most emphatically recommend to the perusal of all young people, as one of the most interesting publications that modern times have produced. "Since I have known God in a saving manner," he remarks, "painting, poetry, and music have had charms unknown to me before. I have received what I suppose is a taste for them—for true religion has refined my mind, and made it susceptible of impressions from the sublime and beautiful. O how true religion secures the heightened enjoyment of those pleasures which keep so many from God, by their becoming a source of pride!"

And it may be fairly argued, that the sublimity of Milton's genius was owing, in no small degree, to the influence of true religion upon his mind. This is at once far more direct and obvious in its tendency, than any natural scenery, however bold and striking may be its features—since piety not only brings the mind into the region of sublime mental scenery—but fixes the eye most intently upon it.

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2. True religion guards the HEALTH.

I do not mean to say that the rose will always bloom upon the countenance of piety—but I will affirm, that where it already displays its beauty, and sheds its fragrance—true religion will prevent those vices, which, like worms at the root of a flower, consume its strength, and shorten its existence. How many diseases are generated by sin! It is calculated that even in time of war, there are more who perish by drunkenness and licentiousness than by the sword! "You victims of voluptuousness, you victims of lusts, who formerly tasted the pleasures of sin for a season—but now are beginning to feel the horrors of it forever; you serve us for demonstration and example. Look at those trembling hands, that shaking head, those disjointed knees, that faltering resolution, that feeble memory, that worn-out body—all putrefaction; these are the dreadful rewards which vice bestows now, as pledges of what Satan will bestow presently, on those on whom he is preparing to exhaust his fury."

True religion will prevent all this; that passion which wastes the strength as with a fever; that ambition which wears out the frame faster than hard labor; that malice which robs of sleep; that gambling which hurries a man backward and forward between the delirium of hope and the torture of fear; that gluttony which brings on morbid obesity; that drunkenness which preys as a slow fire on the organs of life; that debauchery which corrupts the whole mass of the blood, and brings the infirmities of age on the days of youth—are all kept off by true religion. "The fear of the Lord prolongs days—it is a fountain of life to guard us from the snares of death." But of the drunkard and the fornicator it may be said, "his bones are full of the sins of his youth, which lie down with him in the dust. He enjoyed the taste of his wickedness, letting it melt under his tongue. He savored it, holding it long in his mouth. But suddenly, the food he has eaten turns sour within him, a poisonous venom in his stomach." Job 20:11-14

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3. True religion builds up and protects the REPUTATION.

It prevents those sins which render a man dishonorable and despicable; it promotes all those virtues which raise and cherish esteem. How despised is the liar, the extortionate and deceptive tradesman, the unfaithful servant, the unkind husband, the cruel oppressive master! Who respects the individual that is notoriously addicted to vice, and flagrantly neglectful of the plainest obligations of virtue? Whereas, a man of consistent piety, who is known to be a real Christian, and whose Christianity renders him scrupulously true, honest, and upright—such a man is always universally esteemed. The wicked may laugh at a saint—but is he not the very man with whom they love to trade; in whose character they find sufficient warrant for the propriety of his conduct; and in whose fidelity they can repose unbounded confidence?

This was remarkably exemplified in the instance of the missionary Schwartz, who labored to spread the gospel in the southern part of the Indian peninsula. Such was the repute in which this holy man was held by the native princes of Hindostan, that when Tippoo Saib was about to enter into a treaty with the Company, not being disposed to place much confidence in their agents, he exclaimed, "Send to me the missionary Schwartz, I will deal with him, for I can confide in his trustworthiness."

How many people has the lack of true religion brought to an untimely end! No man would ever have been exiled as a felon, or executed as a malefactor—if he had lived under the influence of piety. No jail would have been needed, no gallows erected—if all men were pious. Godliness may not, indeed, guard us from poverty—but it will certainly save us from vice and infamy. It may not advance us to wealth—but it will assuredly raise us to respectability.

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4. True religion protects our SECULAR interests.

I do not pretend that piety bears into the church the cornucopia of worldly wealth, to pour down showers of gold on all who court her smiles and bend to her sway—but still there is a striking tendency in her influence, to improve our worldly circumstances.

It certainly prevents those vices which tend to poverty. Poverty is often the effect of vice. How many have hurled themselves and their families from the pinnacles of prosperity to the depths of adversity—by a course of wicked and profligate extravagance. Multitudes have spent all their substance, like the prodigal son, upon harlots and riotous living. Pride has ruined thousands—and indolence its tens of thousands! It is an observation of Franklin, "that one vice costs more to keep, than two children." True piety is the most economical thing in the world—and sin the most expensive thing in the world. How much do the drunkard, debauchee, and frequenter of theaters—pay for their sinful gratifications! What is spent in this nation every year in the grosser sensual indulgences, would pay the remainder of the national debt. Piety would save all this to the nation.

Piety not only prevents the vices which tend to poverty—but enjoins and cherishes the virtues which lead to prosperity. It makes a man industrious—and is not this the way to wealth? It renders him sober—and does not sobriety tend to advance our fortune? It enforces a right improvement of time—and surely this is advantageous to everyone. It prescribes frugality—which tends to increase. If a young man is in the service of another, piety, by causing him to speak the truth, and adhere to the principles of honesty—renders him trustworthy and confidential.

We have a most striking and instructive instance of this in the history of Joseph, of whom the historian thus writes—"And the Lord was with Joseph, and he was a prosperous man; and he was in the house of his master the Egyptian. And his master saw that the Lord was with him, and that the Lord made all that he did to prosper in his hand. And Joseph found grace in his sight, and he served him; and he made him overseer over his house, and all that he had, he put into his hand. And he left all that he had in Joseph's hand, and he knew not anything he had, save the bread which he did eat." This is one of the most lively and convincing cases on record of the influence of true religion on our temporal interests. It was his piety that secured to Joseph this elevation and prosperity—it was true religion that exalted him from a menial slave to a steward.

Innumerable are the cases in which people, who set out on the journey of life without property, and without support, have by the force of those virtues which true religion enjoins, risen to respectability and affluence. They were first probably in a state of servitude, where by their steadiness and good conduct they so attached themselves to their employers, as to become in their estimation almost essential to the future success of the business; and, the result has been a share, and, in some cases, the whole of the trade, which they had contributed so materially to establish.

A friend of mine was once walking in the neighborhood of a large manufacturing town on a very cold winter's morning, when he overtook a plain man, decently clad, and wrapped in a comfortable great coat. After the usual salutations, my friend said to the stranger, "I am glad to see you with such a good warm covering this cold morning."—"It was not always thus," the man replied. "I was once a poor miserable creature, and had neither good clothes nor decent food; now I have both, and surplus money in the bank."—"What produced this favorable change?" continued my friend. "True religion, sir. I used to spend half my time, and all my wages nearly at the public-house. I was of course always poor, and always wretched. By God's direction I was led to hear the gospel, when by divine grace the word reached my heart. I repented of my sins, and became a new creature in Christ Jesus—old things passed away, and all things became new. True religion made me industrious and sober—no money and time now went for sin; and the result is, that I am comfortable, and comparatively rich."

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Here then, is a proof and an illustration, that godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of the life that now is, as well as that which is to come. Nor are these proofs uncommon. Many people, now living in circumstances of high respectability, are willing to ascribe all they possess here, as well as all they hope for hereafter—to the influence of true religion.

All this is seen in the case of individuals—but if the subject be carried out to society at large, it will appear still more striking.

What but true religion can raise men from a savage to a civilized state? What else could have achieved the wonders which have been wrought in Africa—and taught the crudest barbarians to til the ground, to learn trades, to clothe themselves in decent apparel, to read, to keep accounts, to print books, to frame laws?

Godliness alone can expel from society the practice of cruelty, and introduce the reign and prevalence of mercy. The dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty. Rome and Greece in the zenith of their glory, had neither a hospital for the sick, nor an asylum for the poor; they treated their enemies with the most insolent cruelty; practiced the most vigorous slavery; instituted games, in which myriads of human beings were torn to pieces in fighting with wild beasts. What a blessing has Christianity been to the whole world—even in relation to its present comforts! It has suppressed polygamy, put a stop to the sale of children by their parents, and the abandonment and murder of aged parents, by their children; it has rescued women from their abominable degradation by the other sex, and raised them to their just rank in society; it has sanctified the bond of marriage, checked the licentiousness of divorce, destroyed slavery, mitigated the terrors of war, given a new sanction to treaties, introduced milder laws, and more equitable governments; it has taught mercy to enemies and hospitality to strangers—it has made a legal provision for the poor; formed institutions for instructing the ignorant; purified the stream of justice; erected the throne of mercy. "These, O Jesus, are the triumphs and the trophies of your gospel! Which of your enemies—Paganism, Islamism, or Infidelity—has done, or could do the like?"

Even the avowed and inveterate opponents of the gospel, have been reluctantly compelled to acknowledge, in this view, its excellence. Voltaire says expressly, "that religion is necessary in every community; the laws are a curb upon open crimes, and religion on those that are private." "No religion," says Bolingbroke, "ever appeared in the world, whose natural tendency was so much directed to promote the peace and happiness of mankind, as the Christian religion. The gospel of Christ is one continued lesson of the strictest morality, of justice, benevolence, and universal charity. Supposing Christianity to be a human invention, it is the most amiable and useful invention that ever was imposed upon mankind for their good." Hume acknowledges, "that disbelief in futurity, looses in a great measure the ties of morality, and may be supposed, for that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society." Rousseau confesses, "that if all were perfect Christians, individuals would do their duty, the people would be obedient to the laws, the rulers just, the magistrates incorrupt, and there would be neither vanity nor luxury in such a state." Gibbon admits, "that the gospel discouraged suicide, advanced education, checked oppression, promoted the emancipation of slaves, and softened the ferocity of barbarous nations; that fierce nations received at the same time lessons of faith and humanity, and that even in the most corrupt state of Christianity, the barbarians learned justice from the law, and mercy from the gospel." (See an interesting work by Dr. Ryan, entitled, "The History of the Effects of Religion on Mankind in Countries Ancient and Modern, Barbarous and Civilized." I very particularly recommend the perusal of this volume to all young people who can procure it.)

And yet with such concessions, and after having paid such a tribute of praise to the excellence of Christianity, these miserable men have been so vile and perverse as to conspire for her destruction.

Thus has it been most demonstrably proved, that godliness exerts a powerful and favorable influence over the temporal interests of mankind. Neglect it, my children, and you know not what awaits you, either in this world or that which is to come. You may imagine that, provided you are moral and steady, although you are not pious, you are far enough removed from the probability of that wretchedness which vice brings with it. But, ah! in some unguarded moment, temptation may be successful to lead you astray—one vice makes way for another; and the dreadful progress described in the chapter on the deceitfulness of the heart, may be realized by you. Neglect true religion, and you will certainly be ruined for the world to come—and maybe for the life that now is. Vice certainly brings hell in its train—and sometimes a dreadful pledge of its future torments—in present poverty, disease, and misery!

I reflect with unutterable grief, as I now write, upon many young men, who were entering life with the greatest advantages, and the brightest prospects, whom, to use a common expression, fortune favored with her brightest smiles—but, alas! they would not be happy and respectable, for taking to the ways of sin, they dashed all the hopes of their friends, and wantonly threw away the opportunities which a kind providence had put within their reach. They went first to the theater, then to the brothel, then to the tavern. They became dissipated, extravagant, idle. Unhappy youths! I know not what they might have been—respectable tradesmen, prosperous merchants, honorable members of society. I know what they are—bloated rakes, discarded partners, bankrupts, miserable vagrants, a burden to their friends, a nuisance to the community, and a torment to themselves!

Seek true religion, then; for, as Solomon says, "Happy is the person who finds wisdom and gains understanding. For the profit of wisdom is better than silver, and her wages are better than gold. Wisdom is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her. She offers you life in her right hand, and riches and honor in her left. She will guide you down delightful paths; all her ways are satisfying. Wisdom is a tree of life to those who embrace her; happy are those who hold her tightly." Proverbs 3:13-18.

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THE CHOICE OF COMPANIONS

Man was made for society, and society is thought to be essential to his happiness. Adam did but half enjoy the lovely and untainted scenes of Eden, while there was no rational companion, to whom he could impart the raptures of his soul—and Paradise was incomplete until God gave him a friend. How much more might it be expected, that now, when the human bosom is bereft of its innocence, man should look outside of himself for happiness, and endeavor to find it in society. Young people, especially, are anxious to form associations of this kind, and are in imminent danger of choosing companions that will do them no good. The design of the present chapter is to put you, my children, on your guard against this evil, and to assist you in the selection of those friends with whom you daily mingle. This subject has been already adverted to—but it is of sufficient importance to occupy a separate chapter.

It behooves you very seriously to reflect on the influence which your companions, of whatever kind they are, will certainly have in the formation of your character.

"We are all," says Mr. Locke, "a kind of chameleons, that take a tincture from the objects which surround us." A still wiser man has told us, that "He who walks with wise men shall be wise—but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." Hence he says to us; "make no friendship with an angry man, and with a furious man you shall not go; lest you learn his ways, and get a snare to your soul." These admonitions are founded on the general principle, that the example of our companions will exert an strong influence in the formation of our own character, slow and silent, perhaps—but irresistible and successful—and this influence will be in proportion to the love and esteem we cherish for them. All nations and all ages have confessed the truth of this sentiment.

The example of a beloved companion is powerful—more especially if he be a sinful one, because a bad model finds in the depravity of our nature, something that prepares it to receive the impression. One evil companion will undo in a month—all that parents and teachers have been laboring for years to accomplish. Here then pause, and consider that the character of your associates will, in all probability, be your own. If you do not carry to them a similarity of taste, you will be sure to acquire their dispositions; "for how can two walk together except they be agreed?"

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