Categories: Historical Documents

William Bourn Oliver Peabody (1799-1847) graduated from Harvard in 1816. He was a teacher at Exeter Academy (1817). Peabody was pastor of the Unitarian Church in Springfield, MA, a position he held throughout his life.

A SERMON.

Delivered January 22, 1832.

BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY,
Minister of the Third Society in Springfield.

This Sermon, suggested by a time of unusual anxiety and sorrow in this place, is respectfully dedicated to those who have suffered and those who are apprehending the loss of their children.

This was said by a Hebrew mother, whose child had but just before expired in her arms. It was taken away suddenly and without warning: but she bore it, as became one who was acquainted with Divine Providence, and knew that He who gave, had a right to take away. She was not acquainted with the disclosures of Christianity which have thrown such brightness into the far regions of death: so that in her, this God, to whom this feeling was expressed, rewarded it divinely—by restoring the child living to her arms.

There are many who are looking upon the opening promise of their children, with a joy, which none but a parent understands: and they ought never to forget, that the young human being is delicate as the flower, whose whole history is embraced in the words “the wind passeth over it, and it is gone.” It would seem as if in the ordinary course of life, this was taught them by sufficient warnings. But there are times, when the air of death breathes widely and fatally from the dark cloud: when many wither at once, as the storm is passing by: there are times when the most thoughtless parents begin to tremble, and feel as if they heard the rushing of the death-angel’s wing. It is well that they should keep before their minds, the consolations which they may need sooner than they suppose: they know not where his withering touch may fall next—but wherever if falls, the mourner will need all the comfort, which the kind Providence of God has given.

When the first born of Egypt were slain, the Hebrew children were secure with death all around them;—but there is no mark of God upon your doors. Since you may be called to mourn, come and meditate on the grave: it is the place where you may lay your treasure down to-morrow; come, and meditate on the grave: it is the place where you may lay your treasure down to-morrow; come, and meditate upon it now—not in sorrow—not in dismay—but in the preparation of the gospel of peace. Those who are familiar with death, see him without his terrors: if they lose what they love, they can say “it is well,” the Lord gave and the Lord taketh away.

It may seem to the world—the thoughtless world, as if little consolation were required in preparation for the loss of children: if they are called away, they say, they will leave no vacancy in society—there will be no loss to the world. They will say this, because they cannot look down into a parent’s heart and measure the depth of her affections: they can no more understand the anguish which she feels when her infant’s heart is cold, then they can understand the looks of unutterable delight with which she gazed upon its living features, studying their first dawnings of expression: or the intense interest with which she hung over its fainting head in its sickness, trembling every moment lest she should see the seal of death upon its brow: they cannot imagine what warm affections are broken—what towering hopes are struck down on the quenching even of the fatal spark of life in an infant’s breast:—they know not therefore the energy of submission which is required, for the parent to say, Father, thy will be done.

But they will wonder less at the sorrow—or I may rather say, they will believe in the sorrow, which such events occasion, if they will remember this—the parent loses not only all it was, but all she hoped it would have been. It was to her a subject of constant and affectionate interest: she saw in it what others could not see: she saw the revelations of mind, and the play of the affections upon its features: she felt that young as it was, it had a heart—a living heart, which beat in answer to her own. She loses this: and then her hopes! She hoped that it would be in its childhood among the beautiful and happy: she had already imagined a glorious path in which it was to travel up to life: she foresaw no disappointment—no downfall in all her visions of its future welfare: and when all this is suddenly destroyed, no wonder that for the time, the whole heart is a wild and desolate ruin.

That it is well with children when they die, we know: we will then inquire what are the designs of Providence in calling children away from their parents’ arms.

I think that you cannot possibly imagine more than two reasons why children are thus called away. The first is, to save them from the evils of the world. Far be it from me to represent this life as a vale of tears—or as a place where the miserable out-number the happy: I know that it is not so, and that the great proportion of the earth’s inhabitants want not the power but the disposition to be happy. Still, time and chance happen to them all: and if you look upon those who started together in life, with high hopes and bounding steps, you find some who are soon bent down with suffering, while others keep on successfully to the last. You find some, who midway in life, are wasted with disease, which breaks off all the purposes of life and sinks them slowly and heavily to the grave: you find some, who, without any fault of their own, are thrown into a condition in life, in which they have everything to endure, with no hope of any thing better in this world: you see the man with the crown of rejoicing taken from his head: you see the aged moving alone, unsupported and uncared for to the tomb. Such destinies in life there are: and such might have been the portion of the child who perished yesterday, to-day, or the one that shall die to-morrow: if so, the parent should thank God, who hides it from the evil, even though He hides it in the grave.

But these which I have named, are not the worst evils of life. This is a world of sin. They who come forward to bear a part in it, meet a thousand various temptations: and there are too many who yield to them and fall. The generous and high-minded youth sometimes becomes a cold, selfish and unfeeling man: the man who used to look the world in the face, becomes base and dishonorable, and either frowns in savage defiance or looks down with shame: they who were loved for their kind hearts, become slaves to their vices which make them a burden and sorrow to their friends: and very often, those whom the world accuses of no vices, are yet entirely destitute of moral principles and religious affections. If it might have been the fate of your child, to sink in any one of these snares—if there were the least danger of his becoming an alien from heaven, and self outcast from his God, what parent would not rejoice to have this child taken to a better world before it becomes deeply stained with the corruption of this? You should bless the hand that throws open a door of the grave.

No parent feels as if her child could ever have become a slave to corruption—but God knows—and if it is not to save them from the evils of life, that they are taken away, it must be for the second reason:—to place them in a condition more favorable to their improvement than this world affords.

I fear that the future life is so imperfectly realized, that this consolation loses most of its power. Why will men persist in thinking of heaven as a place of unmeaning rest?—of indolent happiness,—where the soul finds nothing but still and deep repose? They ought to reflect, that repose is not happiness to the mind—and that the enjoyment they dream of, is rather stagnation than repose—it is a state wholly unsuited to the nature of man. They ought to think of heaven, as a place where every power of every mind shall be steadily, successfully, and therefore happily exerted: where every affection of every heart shall be deeply interested, and therefore fully blessed. What the employment of that state will be, we know so far as this—it must be the employment of mind, in such researches as give the highest happiness—in discovering the manifestations of the glory and goodness of God. To think of heaven as we do, affords no comfort, no attraction;—it is like the long yellow line of a desart, seen by mariners who are looking for green hills and vallies as they draw near the shore: when, would they imagine it, as a place, where all are active, interested and happy, they would feel that when their child is gone to that world, there are some there, who will watch the flower, as it unfolds the beauty of its promise, and spreads out to the Sun of Righteousness, its leaves from which the dew of youth will never dry.

Think thus of heaven, and it will be something real and substantial to offer to the mourning heart. It is evidently a region more favorable to the growth of the immortal nature than this world: for, though in this world, there are trials and hardships, which serve to discipline some spirits and in this way to form them for heaven; there are other spirits perhaps, which are comparatively pure, and do not need them;—which are gentle, and could not bear them; which could not endure the rough climate of this world, but can grow and flourish divinely in the milder air of heaven. Such spirits, it is but reasonable to suppose, are translated, because heaven is better for them than earth—and God in his mercy, places every soul in the state, whatever it may be, which is most favorable to its growth in excellence: in our Father’s house there are many mansions—and all are open to the innocent as well as the just.

This accounts for the fact which has been so often observed, that many children of the brightest promise are removed from this world. A fact I have no doubt it is: though parents naturally esteem their own children too highly, and the lost are often the most loved, without being the best—still, it has been remarked from the earliest ages, that early death is given to the favorites of heaven. And why should it not be so? If there I a better world, for which they are better fitted than for this, why should we wish to detain them here? Why should we lament when the heavenly spirit ascends to its home in the skies? The parents should be ready to give up their child to a father, who has more right to its presence and affection than they—and, assured that “of such is the kingdom of heaven,” they should feel, that the hour cannot be untimely, which numbers it with the cherubim and all the radiant spirits round the throne.

I have mentioned the only reasons that I can imagine why children should be removed so early from the world—one is to save them from evils in the world—the other to place them in a state more favorable to improvement than this. And now we may humbly inquire why it is that parents are thus afflicted: there are reasons, which the kindness of God has graciously permitted us to know.

But first let me say, that it is not sent as a judgment, let the blow fall where it may: there is a language in use among some Christians, which ought never to be heard in the Christian world; which ascribes the misfortunes of life to divine displeasure. Can any thing be more opposed to our Saviour’s teaching? His words are almost indignant when he says to the narrow-minded Jews—What! Think ye that the murdered men were sinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such things? I tell you no! I do not fear that you will point out mourners as subjects of divine displeasure; but I do fear lest some who have heard this language in their youth, should retain so much of their early impressions as to feel, if they are called to suffer, that the mercy of God is for a season withdrawn—I fear lest they should forget that whatever he does, is done in kindness, and should be less ready, than in better days, to bend the knee in submission to his will.—If the least vestige of such delusion exists in any of your hearts, let me entreat you to cast it away. God seeks your welfare as much—yes, more than you seek it yourself; he knows what is for your welfare, and you do not; therefore he sometimes conducts you to happiness in a way which you find it hard to tread. But if that path conducts you to heaven where you may fold your lost resume to your heart again; there you will see that what men called judgments, were often the best blessings ever sent from above; and you will praise God with all your hearts, that, in those days of earthly sorrow when you half doubted his kindness, His will and not yours, was done.

But I may ask you to consider these as chastening—for we need chastening, and it is kind to give them; we do lean with wondrous confidence upon the world; we do cherish even the frailest of our blessings as if we could not lose them; and since a trust like this must fail us; since it may induce us to fix the hopes here, that should anchor to heaven, He warns us in the mildest way, that we are preparing for disappointment—that we are giving far too much to the world—that we are expecting from it a permanent happiness, which it cannot give and was never meant to give.—When we embark on the voyage of life in vessels which cannot live in the open sea—when the waves are only sleeping for an hour, and the storm is already gathered in the cloud, is it not a kind providence, which induces us to turn back and make better preparation? Would we wish it to allow us to keep blindly on till we dash upon the rock? Oh no! the chastening may be hard to bear—but it may save us from what is of all things the most dreadful—from shipwreck of the soul. But I may embrace all in one: children are taken for the parents’ sake, in order that the parents may have their thoughts carried gently, but irresistibly upward to the heaven of the blessed; the place where they who perish in their innocence, and they whose labor of life I well done, shall be happy forever. Where their treasure is, there their heart will be also: the child is the parents’ treasure, and it is lifted up, that their hearts may follow to its home in the skies. And follow it they will. Other warnings might be disregarded; they cannot be insensible to this! Other blessings might be lightly resigned; they cannot find it in their hearts to surrender this! And since there is a way in which they may make it their own again; since there is no need of giving it up forever; since they may at once arise and move forward in that way, which leads to the heavenly rest, they will feel an inspiration, to go on and secure the lost treasure in another world, if they can enjoy it no more in this. They will feel like the disciples when their Master ascended; they stood with him on their favorite hill—rejoicing that the grave had given up its dead, and he was once more with his own. He talked with them for the last time of what lay near all their hearts, and before the sound had died away upon their ears, he rose calmly to the skies and was lost in the depths of heaven.—Long did they stand gazing upward; and parents, when their child ascends, often feel an attraction to which they were strangers before, and which leads their thoughts upward as rapidly and surely, as the star led the eastern travelers to our Saviour’s feet.

You will understand the reason why I have directed your thoughts to this subject to-day: it is because the air of death is around us: because they who are just beginning to live, are marked out to die: because some have already suffered, and there is too much reason to fear that others, who little apprehend it now, must become acquainted with grief. If it must be so, do not let it come without preparation, for I do assure you, prepare for it as you may, you will find it hard to bear; to see the child in its morning beauty changed into that on which even affection dreads to look; to feel the current of life in its bosom wearing away; to see its eyes turned upon you as if you were a God—with a plaintive, beseeching expression, which seems to say to you as the sufferer did to our Saviour, ‘I know, that if thou wilt, thou canst heal me;’ to feel that you can do nothing to relieve it, and after many a change of anxiety and hope, to see the shadow of death pass over it and its features grow fixed and cold as if graven from the marble of the tombs,—this requires preparation—all the preparation which the gospel of peace can give. Do not hope to prepare when the sorrow is already come: it will then be too late—unless you prepare now—in the present—the only accepted time, the day of sorrow will not be a day of salvation to you. Let it not be so with you. If the next visitation of death shall come to you—if they shall ask of you as of the Hebrew mother, Is the child well? May you be able like her to say It is well—for it is gone to be happy with its God!

Modern Emigrant;

Or,

Lover of Liberty:

Being

A DISCOURSE,

Delivered in the city of New-York,

By The

Rev. J. M. Horner,

Author of ‘Immersion the only scriptural mode of Baptizing;’ of ‘Modern Persecution A Poem;’ and of ‘Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Collected, arranged, and composed for the use of the Union Baptists.’

O let me take my eagle flight,
Where Liberty is known and felt;
Where no despotic power can reign,
Over the souls or minds of men.
May I but scale the mountain top,
Or dwell within some humble cot,
Where I may freely write or speak,
Those thoughts which reason generate.

Introduction.

My Christian Friends, — When I was invited to address you in the character of a Minister of Jesus Christ, I thought it would not be amiss to submit to your notice my reasons for leaving the land of my nativity, my beloved relations, and my pastoral charge. If I do this, I must not only advert to the state of religion in England, but to the laws and politics of that country. I know that many professors, and some of the best Christians, are opposed to the idea of ministers introducing politics in their discourses.

I am one of those who think that Ministers should not give themselves to politics, so as to unfit them for the discharge of their more important duties. But that they should watch the proceedings of the government under which they live, make themselves acquainted with the politics of their own country, and recommend to the people of their charge good and wholesome laws, must be evident to every impartial mind.

If a Minister should see the people of his charge laden with an unjust taxation, imposed upon by a heavy tithe system and laboring under disabilities because of their religious and Christian creed, without speaking, writing or exercising his influence for their emancipation, in my opinion he would be cruel to an extreme enthusiastic beyond measure, or destitute of the common feelings of humanity. To say that the professors of religion should not concern themselves about the laws of their country, and the politics which surround them, is to say that the Dissenters of England should endure their religious disabilities, their cruel tithe system their oppressive government without speaking about them or writing on the subject or even petitioning their Legislature for their liberty and support. Were I called upon for a further justification for glancing at temporal governments in my discourses, I would do it by observing, that the prophets in their predictions, and the apostles in preaching, often noticed the governments under which they lived, and the politics which surrounded them.

A DISCOURSE.

“Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria and preached Christ unto them.” -Acts, 8,5.

SAMARIA in the original, שמרוך. The root of which is שמר and signifies to keep, watch, guard. Observe in שמרוך or Samaria, the Lord’s people were kept.

1. From the oppression of their enemies, and many of the troubles which the wars among them occasioned.

2. In that city the Lord’s chosen people had to “watch and “guard” against the encroachments of idolatry, and the influence of error.

This city stood about twenty miles north of Jerusalem, being twelve miles south of Dothan. This was a city of the Ephramites, the capital of the ten tribes of Israel : it was once wholly given up to idolatry. At that time, the Jews being afflicted with wars, fled to Samaria for shelter, and introduced their holy religion among its inhabitants.

When Philip went to preach the gospel of Christ to the Samaritans, he found them in possession of copies of the laws of Moses, which were corrupted with sundry mistakes. Not merely those which arose from the transcribers making on Hebrew letter for another, but because they were mixed with tenets in favor of idolatry.

Those two circumstances, namely, that of the Jews fleeing to Samaria from the storm of persecution, and that of Philip to preach the gospel to the Samaritans, reminds me of our venerable English forefathers, who, when the rod of oppression was shook over the English nation, and its Monarch descended from the throne of justice to exercise an undue authority, by inflicting pains and penalties, and confiscating the goods of those who dared to think for themselves in matters relative to their souls and their God, fled from the land which gave their birth, and to which they were attached by many reciprocal ties. But where did they flee? Not to any of the European nations. For by so doing they would not have bettered their condition; — not to any of the nations professedly Christian, for even there I blush to add, an intolerant spirit reigned. They fled to this country, now called the United States of America, and where they, like the Jews, or like Philip introduced their holy religion wherever they went.

Although the spirit of intolerance is in a measure subsided, and freedom of thought and the exercise of private judgment allowed yet a spirit of emigration prevails in every part of England, for her inhabitants are flocking to this country by hundreds and by thousands. It is true that these modern emigrants may not have the same reasons for leaving their native land as their forefathers, nevertheless they may have had powerful motives for taking up their abode in this country. Whether this be true or not with regard to many, it is true with regard to myself; for I can assure you that I have not given up my cottage of superfluity, my home of comforts, my house of temporal and spiritual mercies, my dearest relations, who were tied to me by the remembrance of their fostering care, my pastoral charge, who lived in my heart and partook of my homely, but I hope the spiritual productions of my study; — my native country, the inhabitants of which are as brave and famous as any in the world, who are repository of arts and sciences, and a library of intellectual wealth; — I say I have not given up all these without power inducement and reasons for taking such an important step . If I were called upon to give those reasons, I would cheerfully do so, among which the following would have a place:

1. Because of the influence of a bad Government.

You know that the inhabitants of any country are in a great measure influenced by the Government which exists among them.

You may know from history, and I know by experience, that an aristocratical government is generally, if not always, tyrannical in its enactments, oppressive in its measures and covetous in its demands. This I know to be the case with the English Government, for while it is desirous of exceeding every other country in its national splendor and ornamental palaces, it robs, plunders, and deprives the Lancashire weavers, the farmers’ laborers, and the parish paupers of the common necessities of life, by its enormous salaries and oppressive taxation., For there are taxes on the man of God, who bestows his gratuitous and theological lectures on the villagers; taxes on the widow, who consecrates her mud-walled cot to the worship of Jehovah; taxes on the house of God, which has been raised by the voluntary subscription of the poor. And what is worse than all is, that if the aged and infirm invite their minister to preach in their parlor, and if the conscience of the man of God dictates to him his exclusive allegiance to his Supreme in matters of religion, and he banishes from his creed the idea of asking man whether or not he may do his duty to his God; and should he comply with the request of those who entertain the same views and thus deliver his gospel sermon to twenty-two or more aged infirm, and worn-out pilgrims, the one must be liable to the penalty of ten pounds and the other to the penalty of forty pounds. (George III. cap. 155.)

Besides these fines and penalties on things pertaining to God, there are taxes on every article which enters the mouth or covers the back, or is placed under the foot. Taxes upon everything which is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, and taste; taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion; taxes on every thing on earth, and the waters under the earth; on every thing from abroad, or that Is grown at home; taxes on the raw material; taxes on every value that is added to it by the industry of man; taxes on the sauce which pampers man’s appetite, and the drug which restores him to health; taxes on the ermine which decorates the judge, the rope which hangs the criminal, and the brass nails of the coffin; taxes on the ribands of the bride; at bed or at board, couchant or levant, they must pay. The schoolboy whips his taxed top, the beardless youth manages his taxed horse with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road; and the dying Englishman pouring his medicine, which has paid 7 per cent. into a spoon which has paid 15 per cent., throws himself back upon his chintz bed which has paid 22 per cent., makes his will on an eight-pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, ¹ who has paid one hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then taxed from two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble, and he is then gathered to his fathers to be taxed no more.

Now when we are thus oppressed with something like Egyptian bondage, and surrounded with fallen cheeks, the impoverished circumstances, and the cries of the poor, it cannot but affect the feelings of humanity. And like a swallow, which from the laws of nature predicts the near approach of an inclement season, takes her anticipating flight to some distant region, where she may enjoy her liberty, and a full supply of the calls of nature, so humanity, affected by the heart-rending scenes of poverty, and exorbitant demands of usurpers, cannot but desire to take her flight to some distant shore, where she may not be so much annoyed. The means, too, by which that Government is formed, the materials of which it is composed, are also appalling to the reflecting mind. Here I do not allude to the majority of the House of Parliament, nor to those illustrious characters — characters to whom minds reason has dictated sound and political ideas — who are the ornaments of their country, the political lights of the world, and the Washington’s of their day, — but to those characters and that hereditary system, which makes the throne of England groan with the weight of novices, and crowds the Upper House with characters, whom nature never formed for an important office, and for whom reason never demanded enormous salaries. I cannot stay to be more explicit on these particulars; suffice it to say, that I believe the English Government to be a mixture of Heathenism, Popery, and Protestantism. Such is its nature, that I believe the present day would blush to give it birth, and that none but the dark ages of Popery could have sent it into existence.

2. Because of the state of the Church in that country.

I admit that in every corner of that country, the gospel is preached, and the number of gospel ministers is abundant, many of whom evince extra ordinary talents; but, alas! the church is afflicted with skepticism, with imbecility of faith, with a deadness of soul in spiritual matters, with divisions and subdivisions, contentions and strife. There are but a few ministers who are satisfied with them. Should a minister step out of the common formal path he is looked upon as a speckled bird, and set up as a mark to be shot at. Such a state of Christianity is sufficient to induce us to say, from such “Good Lord deliver us.” Here I would observe, that I have desired to enjoy a more pure religious atmosphere, and the friendly company of those who are more zealous in matters pertaining to God, and the salvation of men; and since American Christians have been represented to me to be such like characters, I have ventured to come home and witness their zeal for the Lord of Hosts.

3. Because of Acquaintances and Christian Friends.

Many of these have emigrated to this country, whose talents will command respect, whose pious demeanor will make them ornaments to America and whose heavenly graces will enable them to adorn their Christian profession. Do not say that this is a small inducement; for the desire to enjoy the company of pious intimate and long-tried friends, induced a Hobab and a Jacob to leave the land of their nativity. I pity the soul that is destitute of natural affection, for it betrays a littleness of mind; but I more especially pity the soul that is destitute of love, for it displays a want of that grace which is the most essential virtue to the Christian.

4. Because of the reputed and reviving state of Christianity in this country.

The revivals of religion in America, form a very general topic of conversation in England; and many a time when I have read of them, my heart has burned with sacred desire to be among them. The revival of Christianity, the political views of the people, and the constitution of the united states, have been topics of close study and deep interest to me for seven years past; and such were my views, that I consider I should have been remiss in my duty, and I pierced my heart through with many sorrows, had I not visited America.

I have now submitted to your consideration, my reasons for the important step I have taken and therefore I shall proceed to notice —

I. The time to which the text refers us.

That was a time of violent persecution to the church – a time when the political atmosphere in which they breathed, the Mosaical partialities, and the deep-rooted prejudices of the Jews, appeared to form a dark cloud, which threatened the annihilation of the church; — a time when the Sun of righteousness appeared to be sunk in his orbit, and the light of the gospel to withdraw its shining; — a time, when the powers of darkness appeared to be let loose, and to seize with a salacious and insatiable desire upon the innocent lambs of the fold of Christ; — a time, when the hope of preserving Christianity to evangelize the earth must have been faint, and when the combined circumstances, the united powers and wickedness of men, appeared to predict the downfall of the Christian empire, and the giving up of the world to heathenish superstition., But, O my friends, “be not faithless, but believing; rejoice, and be exceedingly glad;” for although this was a time of thundering Jehovah was behind the cloud, and laughed at impossibilities; and as he has loved his church with an “everlasting love,” and has promised the “gates of hell shall never prevail against it,” so will he subvert the powers of darkness, frustrate the wicked designs of the ungodly, and cause the wrath of man to praise him. Yea, God did over-rule that persecution and caused it to disperse the Apostles to disseminate the gospel, and build up his church. Through that persecution, the gospel was sent to Samaria, to the Gentiles, to Rome, to Spain, to France, and to England; and when the violent hand of persecution was raised in England against the Non-Conformists, they fled to this country, and brought with them the mild truths, the enlightening truths, the all-glorious and soul-reviving truths of the Gospel of Christ.

II. We have here a particular account of what Philip did; and, therefore, let us notice —

1. The place he chose.

It was Samaria, which, in the New Testament, signifies the territory between Judea and Galilee, and where the tribes of Ephraim, Manasseh, and Issachar, had dwelt. We might have supposed that Samaria was the last place that Philip would have visited, and that there was the least probability of introducing the gospel there, because of the deep-rooted prejudices of its inhabitants against the Jews, so much so, that they even refused civil dealings with them. (John, iv. 9) And we all know that prejudice, which is invariably connected with ignorance, forms a mighty barrier to the introduction of any doctrine, however scriptural that doctrine may be, therefore we see, that if we are desirous of being informed how necessary it is that our minds possess “Charity, — Charity, which doth not behave herself unseemly;” which deliberately meditates on every new idea which strikes the mind; — Charity, which will not allow herself to be influenced by sectarianism, nor confined within the precincts of a party spirits; Charity which always listens to the voice of Reason, and with calmness and deliberation attends to logical productions.

2. The means Philip used to gain success.

Those were not the artificial show of heathenism, nor the theatrical or priestly splendor of the Papists, which merely work upon the senses without carrying conviction to the heart; neither did he act like Mahomet, who enforced his doctrines, and imposed his dogmas by sword and bloodshed, by fines and penalties; but he gave plain statements of divine truths, accompanied with the working of miracles, which spoke volumes to every reflecting mind, and carried with them a conviction of the holy truths he preached.

See what the Gospel Word can do,
When Plainly stated, and set forth;
What mighty changes it achieves,
When’er it is received by Faith.

3. The success which attended Philip’s labors.

We may here observe that his success was very great, for the Holy Ghost has stated, “That when the people saw the miracles which Philip wrought, and heard him preach the things concerning the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus Christ they were baptized, both men and women,” which circumstance occasioned great and general joy in that city we may also consider that this great work of conversion was not confined to the metropolis of that country, but that it spread into all the suburbs and villages of the Samaritans. Thus we see that the word ran among them like fire among dry stubble, which I consider amply shows that the work was of God; so that we perceive when the gospel is preached in its purity, it is powerful and highly calculated to bring men to themselves to religion, and to God.

The Gospel is a mighty sword,
Which slays the selfishness of men;
It brings their souls to know the Lord,
And shows them how a heaven to gain.

III. There are two or three considerations, which, if noticed, will tend to show that Philips success was extraordinary; and those were

1. We may consider that many centuries prior to that time, and even down to the moment that Philip began preaching among them, they had been given up to idolatry, and that the idolaters were always prejudiced against Christianity.

2. That the minds of the Samaritans were embittered against Jerusalem in particular, and the Jews in general.

3. That at that time Simon the Sorcerer gave out that he was a great character, who mightily deluded the people by his wickedness and magic art; for him they had regard, yea he had long ascended the throne of their minds, and ruled with a mighty influence over their sentiments and conduct. Now, when we consider that those great obstacles which stood in the way to an introduction of the gospel among the Samaritans were overcome by the preaching of Philip, it will be evident that his success was extraordinary.

IV. The work in which Philip employed himself when at the city of Samaria. “He preached Christ into them;” that is, he preached the Savior unto them as an all-sufficient sacrifice to be offered to justice for the sins of his people; and, in order to do this, he must have preached —

1. Their incapacity to atone for themselves;

For they would not accept of a sacrifice on their behalf, except they were first convinced of their need of one. They would not receive such a conviction, without being shown their fallen state as sinners, their weakness and infirmity.

2. Philip must have preached Christ’s mysterious union with Deity.

If he showed them their utter incapability to atone for themselves, he must likewise have presented to their consideration a superior character, who possessed a capability to obey the Mosaical law, and who by his death could satisfy the demands of Divine Justice : therefore he preached Christ unto them as a mighty god come in the flesh to destroy the works of the Devil; as a Savior most eminently fitted; who could restore their lapsed powers, and implant in them heavenly tempers; – whose mysterious incarnation could endear them to God; – whose natural birth could procure their spiritual regeneration; — and whose unspotted life could restore them to a blissful immortality. Methinks that he would preach him as the joy of mourners, the glory of the infamous, and the salvation of the lost.

Yea, he would preach Christ as being wonderful in his prophetic, priestly, and kingly offices: — as one who had gained a triumphant conquest over death, hell, and all his inveterate enemies : as one whose doctrines would trample upon the arguments of the subtle, the power of princes, the blindness of zeal, the forced of custom, the pleasures of sin, and all the attempts of the wicked. It is easy to imagine that his extensive mind, his ardent soul, his honest heart, were all impressed with the greatness of his work, the importance of his character, and the glory of his Master.

3. Philip must have preached the manner of Christ’s crucifixion and death.

He showed them the analogy of the Predictions of the Prophets, with Christ’s life, miracles, and death; and, being near the very spot which was the stage and not the corner on which these things were transacted, he would be enabled to produce incontestable evidence of the fulfilment of those predictions.

4. Philip must have preached the triumphant resurrection of Christ;

And, to convince them of the truth of that essential doctrine, he would not have to resort to any garbled argument, nor any “cunningly-devised fable;” no, now yet to the pages of ancient or modern history, but to clear and evident facts, which transpired on the public platform of their own neighborhood, and which must have been so clear and evident to them, as to put to silence the skeptical characters, and convince the gainsayers.

5. Philip preached Christ as a King having a kingdom, and mildly swaying his scepter over the same; and, therefore, he preached

1.Christ’s capability and manner, by which he would overcome all his enemies; and here I imagine he would not need to make elaborate discourses, in order to convince them that Christ’s enemies were numerous, formidable in their strength, and terrific in their stately combinations; for they were at that time eye-witnesses of the superstitions of the Heathens, the spite of Pagans, and the malice of the Jews, all of which combined to oppose Christianity. The very first thought that impressed their minds, the first moments of reflection they devoted to the subject they would feel irresistibly convinced that Christ’s opponents were more numerous than any other principality or kingdom had to contend with. Philip, of course would take this opportunity of exhibiting the glory of Christ, by showing them how he would overcome his innumerable, combined and stately enemies; and, in doing this, he did not pretend to show them that Christ would assume any worldly grandeur to work upon the senses of his antagonists, or that he would wield a powerful sword to subdue their inveterate opposition, or command a warlike army of thousands to establish his kingdom in the world; but he would show them how that Christ had commissioned his disciples, men of no name, without any pretensions to worldly pomp and grandeur, without sword in their hand, or armies to command, should go forth and make a simple statement of facts, and preach the gospel of the kingdom of God; and that the gospel which was so generally despised, should subdue kingdoms, set men right, and convert them to its glorious truths.

O let thy kingdom come, great God
Subdue the nations round;
May the whole earth thy Gospel own,
And listen to its sound!

May kingdoms which in darkness lie,
Be brought beneath its light,
Lay down their weapons, and no more
Presume with thee to fight.

May Pagan tribes and Indian castes,
Be broken and subdued;
Give them to feel thy sovereign grace,
Constrain them by the Word.

2. Philip preached Christ unto them as a King, who had enacted laws for the government of his kingdom and also described the nature of them; and while exhibiting the goodness of those laws, he would know that they were decreed by him who had all power and that they were signed and sealed by him who had spoken, and would most assuredly bring it to pass. He would endeavor to convince them, that Christ had enacted laws for the government of nations, cities, families, masters and servants; and, that as far as they were governed by them, so should they have peace in this life, as well as an hope of that which is to come.

3. Philip preached Christ the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and therefore the best qualified to remunerate his heroes, his warriors, and all who enlisted in the glorious cause of subduing kingdoms. Promoting righteousness and evangelizing the earths. The truth of these sentiments may be shown by consulting those words, Col. 2, 9, where it is said that Christ possesses all fullness; that is, a fullness of repentance for sin, a fullness of justification for the soul, and a fullness of glorification at the right hand of the Majesty on high. When Christ spoke of his people, and the remuneration with which he will bless them, he spoke of them in the following manner: “I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” John, 10, 28.

Now unto Him who is able to enlist you in his cause, to help you to fight manfully the battle of the Lord, and to crown you with laurels that will never fade, and with glory which will never fall from your heads, be ascribed all honor, might, majesty, and dominion, now and forever. Amen.

Endnotes

1 No druggist or doctor in England can sell medicine or practice physic, without first paying one hundred pounds to Government.

Rev. Mellish Irving Motte (1801-1881) was originally from Charleston, South Carolina. He obtained a Bachelors of Arts from Harvard in 1821 and became pastor of the South Congregational Church in Boston on May 21, 1828.

In this 1840 sermon, Rev. Motte encourages Christians to fully engage the culture, especially in the political arena. He decries politicians acting out of self-interest and greed rather than making decisions based upon what is morally right and wrong. Motte insists that religious morality is the very first manifestation of true patriotism and “Public virtue is the strongest spirit of national vitality.” He reminds his listeners that nations must be judged in the present since they do not exist in eternity and national ruin awaits national unrighteousness. Rev. Motte states that America’s Fathers founded the country on Christian principles and intended for the United States to be a Christian nation. According to Motte, the realization of this goal is to be found in individual piety and allegiance to righteousness over any political party.

The Christian Patriot
A
Sermon
Delivered at the
South Congregational Church,
Boston, July 5, 1840

By M. I. Motte

Psalm 144:15
Happy is that people, whose God is the Lord

One of the most common of mistaken and false forms, into which religion is apt to run, is an isolated piety, and abstract and independent devotion; religion separated from the business of life, instead of being woven up, conscientiously, with all its concerns. For convenience’ sake, we have a particular day, and place, and order of men, and class of exercises, especially devoted to the consideration of the great topic; but it is that its influence may be made to run through all days and places, all intercourse, every subject and employment. Yet the church has every been prone, even more than it conscious of, to sever itself from the world, instead of leavening it to its own spirit; and the same man, in his church relations, is a Christian, or would grieve not to be considered and to consider himself so, who, in some of his worldly interests and pursuits, is absolutely an atheist, living without God in his thoughts.

On no subject us thus more obvious, than on the one, from which it is most unfortunate in our country religion should be driven off, seeing it is that which agitates more people here than any other, viz. the whole business of politics. Religion and politics are spoken of as opposite poles, the positive and the negative as the acknowledgment of God is concerned. We hear it said, politics are of no particular religion; and it is too often true, in a more absolute sense than is intended. It would seem, at first, as if both subject were so important, so exciting, that the human hear is hardly large enough for both. (3) When we speak of a man as a politician preeminently, one enthusiastically absorbed in the affairs of the nation, or more probably of a party, we do not expect to find him in a church. And when a zealot for churches is invited to the polls, he seems to answer to the purpose, when he replies, “My Master’s kingdom is not of this world.” If he is a clergyman, the professional response expected from him is, “I have nothing to do with politics;” and only those object to this, who suppose, if he voted at all, he would vote with them; to all others he seems to have made the natural and legitimate reply. Both of these men are wrong, but they both point the direction in which public prejudice blows.

Our festivals, again, are either political or religious; not both together. There would seem to be something incompatible and profane, or absurd, in making them both. Such an anniversary as yesterday is not strikingly a religious day; as tomorrow’s published list of its outrages and truculent mishaps in all our cities will attest. Early in the morning, trains may be seen leaving the city by every outlet, anxious to escape the celebration of the National Independence. And, when the day of the month falls upon the first day of the week, its celebration is postponed till Monday; as if confessedly impossible to bring its spirit to into harmony with the Christian Sabbath.

All this shows, not the politics and religion are necessarily inconsistent, – for the former, I suppose, is a duty as really as the latter, and all duties should be performed in the fear of God, – but it shows, that the spirit of politics which prevails is not the right one. The good of our country should be provided for, as in the sight of God, and in sacred love to our fellow-men; and then it is a holy service, and need not be dissevered from the solemnest ministrations of devotions. It is one of the modes of worship with which the Universal Father is well pleased; one of the forms of his appointed ceremonial of religion pure and undefiled, which consists in going about doing good for his sake. But, if it is only a selfish, headlong, intemperate scramble for preeminence, if it is mercenary, not moral, in its spirit, a question of interest, not of right, the Sabbath is too good a day for it, and so is every other day.

Interest is to be regarded as well as right; but do not all political parties appeal too exclusively to the former? A reverence for right is not held high enough, as the guiding polar star for the opinions of the people. The people think, morality is a matter of home and neighborly intercourse, not involved in the vote they cast, and the opinions they express, on the acts of government, encouraging or condemning. How seldom is the guilt of upholding iniquitous public measures reflected on, as good men reflect on private violations of the ten Commandments. They may do infinitely more mischief than an individual’s misdemeanor, and yet many deem it a little thing. Men seem to think they may hold what opinions, and belong to what parties they please, without regard to their truth or effects, except as affecting themselves; as if politics were a lawless region, always out of Christendom, and from which even conscious was excluded by general consent. Look through the community and the world, and see how, on almost every question, you may draw a line between parties, accurately coinciding with the line between their interests. You need not ask, on which side a man’s convictions lie, if you only know on which side his wishes lie. The coincidence is certainly remarkable; and melancholy it is to reflect on the wide heartlessness it indicates. Here we see men fair-minded in every other concern, men of severe religious sanctity, of nice honor, of scrupulous integrity in their personal transactions, where the welfare of a few immediate connections or acquaintances is at stake; but, when millions lose though the prevalence of an opinion, the first and only thought that seems to occur to them is, How will it affect us, and I our lowest interests? And, if it promise to be lucrative, forthwith they adopt that opinion, and if their soul’s salvation hung upon it.

They adopt that opinion, I said; But can it be possible, that men always do really believe as if for their interests? Can they be conscientious, in such innumerable cases, arriving, through the careful and dispassionate examination, at precisely the result that happens to favor the views and wishes? I allow a great deal for the blinding power of self-interest; but this uniform concurrence of hope and belief is astonishing still. These same people will reason as clearly as daylight on any argument which comes within the tenth of an inch of their own concerns without touching it; but, the moment it touches, their light is darkened, their logical acumen is blunted, their perceptions evince a certain unfortunate obliquity, which is sure to twist their notions in one invariable direction. Can this be right? Can it be honest? We know, or we might know, if we chose, that truth and justice cannot always, and on every accidental question and measure, be in our favor. We are bound, at any rate, not to take it for granted. Let us inquire. Let us make up our minds to lose so many dollars, relinquish a few prejudices, and partialities, and expectations, rather than lose probity, the approbation that speaks within, all generosity of soul, and the smiles of God. Let us not be satisfied to be guilty, because the guilt is shared with a multitude. Away with injustice and ungenerosity, though only in thought, however popular, however fashionable. So shall we do our part to bring into currency a more elevated and uncompromising tone of political honor and conscience; and the whole regions of politics be no longer but as the Barbary States of moral geography, outlawed lands and piratical seas, from which are excluded all faith and virtue, all laws of God and man.

Politics should be but one form of that charity which is the end of the divine law. One more of benevolence, one of the ministrations of philanthropy; and “Holiness to the Lord” be inscribed over the portals of its halls of state and the chambers of its social festivals, as over the church door. Especially with us should this be aimed at on triple grounds. For, if political parties with us cannot be Christian parties, then are we a godless nation; there can be few Christians throughout the length and breadth of the land; since he, who is no politician under our institutions, is a solitary rarity.

Then, if they believe their own declamations, puffing up so unweariedly the national vanity, we are the most favored people on which the sun shines, at least, as regards all that God has done for us; and the Giver of all good should, least of all, be ungratefully overlooked by us. All the flights of rhetoric, that yesterday glittered over this continent, all the floods of panegyric that were sounded forth upon ourselves and our institutions and advantages, should they not all reecho, at least in and undertone whisper in reason’s ear, as if saying, To whom much is given, of them much will be required?

And, then, to make all that is given to us safe for us, and to expect a blessing continuance, we must remember God, and insist on a religious morality as the very first manifestation of a true patriotism. Ay, patriotism, that most abused words. Alas! That it is every vaunted and bravadoed by the scoffer and the profligate, not knowing, that blessed is that people, and that alone, whose God is the Lord. Without him they may speak great swelling words of vanity; but bombastic professions and oratorical displays are not the disinterested self-denial and sober toils of a virtuous citizen, who fears God and honors government, and serves and saves the state without boasting. He alone is a patriot. By such alone the country stands.

The Ruler of nations hath uttered the decree. From beginning of time his world has illustrating it. As surely as he is just and the King of nations as of individuals; as surely as there is truth taught by experience, and the unvarying certainty of the same effects from the same causes, according to the natural constitution he has impressed on his universe, the past, in all quarters of the globe, bids us look well to it. You may be the traitor within the garrison, though treason to the country be furthest from your thoughts. You may invoke ruin upon it when you are shouting, louder than any, the glory of its institutions. You may be the deadly enemy, though you shed your blood for it. Look into the nature of things. When hath a righteous nation perished? Where is there one doing justice and judgment, and it is not well with it? Public virtue is the strongest spirit of national vitality; and private virtue is the life-blood, coursing through every artery and vein, large and small, of the public institutions.

On the other hand, is it not undeniable from reason, scripture, and experience, that predominance of selfish principles and corrupt morals is the unfailing cause of calamities, perplexities, and ruin in a country? Reason tells us, that the character of the Judge of all the earth is the pledged to have it so. Vice, in the individual, may not always meet its retribution, nor virtue its reward, in this world, because there is to be another, of more perfect retribution for individuals. But nations exist here alone. Unlike the soul, they are annihilated at their temporal dissolution. Therefore, if their fortunes and fate be subject of the Divine Providence, to their present existence, which is the only one, must be applied the principle of its moral rule.

The scriptures confirm this rule, and do not restrict it to the theocracy of Israel. They say; “O Israel, thou hast fallen by thine iniquity; your iniquities have turned away good things and withheld them from you.” But it is not of Israel alone, (of whom it might be said, God was, in a peculiar way, a Governor by temporal sanctions,) that he announces this principle of legislation. His declarations are general. “At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation and concerning a kingdom, to build up and to plant it; if it do evil in my sight, that it obey not my voice, then I will repent of the good wherewith I said I would benefit them. In the hand of the Lord, there is a cup, and the wine is red. It is full mixed, and he poureth out of the same. As for the dregs thereof, all the ungodly of the earth shall drink them.”

And the experience of mankind puts the impressive truth beyond dispute. What is history but, on this account, like the Prophet’s, a scroll written, within and without, with lamentation, and mourning, and woe. Pity weeps as she unrolls its venerable annals. Its oldest records present the Cities of the Plain set forth for an example of the national ruin, that full surely awaits national unrighteousness. “Ten righteous men could not be found in them,” and they perished. Even to an earlier page the genius of history points, and sighs over the ravages of the flood. “All flesh had corrupted their ways before the Flood.” And we stand aghast at the sweeping catastrophe. Turn over a few pages onward, and direct your attention to the chosen people. See them, at one time, visited with pestilence, famine, conflagration, tempest; at another, falling under the sword, or languishing in captivity, feeling before the scourge of war, or terrified with awful phenomena of nature, and all these proclaimed the retributory angels of the Lord, the ministers of his justice for their sins. The wisdom of their wise men was taken away, and the understanding of their prudent men hid; and it was moral debasement that did it. Their cities, the places of their fathers’ sepulchers, were laid waste, and the gates thereof consumed with fire; and, in all the seasons of their affliction, mark the moral shade running though the history in proportioned intenseness; mark idolatry and its bitter fruit, general profligacy, tempting them to forget their God.

Read of a later day, travel among the scenes of profane chronicles, if you would see, that national vice is national suicide. Stand upon the moldering ruins of a thousand cities, once great and fair, and seek, – you will seek in vain, – for trace or even site of many others; and ask where are they, and why have they vanished from the earth? Roam through the desolated territories of empires, once splendid and mighty, and, as you brood over the gloomy vestiges of their decay, cannot find an inhabitant for many a mile, where throngs were loud and busy once, ask yourself, if integrity, industry, humanity, temperance, piety, and purity were rife there, when the besom of destruction came to sweep a tomb under those wide-spread ruins.

Thus history or travel will conduct you over the globe, and everywhere teach the same salutary lesson. They will point to empire after empire, and dynasty after dynasty, shriveling and shrinking with the imbecility of moral corruption; and it is not more sure, that the palaces of their pride, and the monuments of their perverted might, are crumbling into dust, than that other empires and other dynasties, now treading in their steps, will follow them to decay and desolation. O that our beloved land may be wise from the lesson! And the lesson is more pertinent under our republican polity, than under any other. If righteousness exalteth a nation, and sin is a reproach and ruin to any people, most speedily of all must it prove so to a people without the restraints of a strong government. Liberty and licentiousness roll trippingly off the tongue together; they flow, unseparated, from the lips of many, with easy alliteration and commonplace proverbialness, as if they were almost the same thing, or one inevitably followed the other. But, if it does, it is as commonplace a maxim of history, that it will follow it speedily to ruin. Liberty licentiousness, – it is the tritest of proverbs, – cannot coexist lastingly. The free people is the last that can afford to be vicious. The slave may throw off the restraints of virtue, and yet be kept in order by the restraints of despotism. But, when a freeman does not govern himself, he is ungoverned, so to speak, and careering to perdition; like the uncurbed wild ass of the desert, rushing to the precipice he tosses his head too high to see.

Therefore, every immoral republican is a traitor and conspirator against his government, as much as if, being the subject of a king, he pointed a dagger against his life. He is spreading stratagems and snares for the feet of his sovereign; for public virtue is his sovereign. He is seeking to blind, and deafen, and lame, and cripple, and make wholly inefficient, and worse than inefficient, he is seeking to corrupt, into tyrannical wantonness and cruelty, the most beneficent monarch that ever sat upon a throne.

So that you see, my brethren, in addition to every other motive for being good Christians, patriotism should be one. After we have turned away from the voice of God; after we have steeled our hearts to the claims of him who died upon Calvary, the just for the unjust, the he might bring us to God; after we have besotted our minds to act the fool’s part of blindness to our own interest; there is yet one appeal which may not be lost upon our generosity, one consideration that should be sufficient; public spirit, the love of our country. Its welfare is resting on our individual virtue. For as drops of water make up the ocean, and grains of sand constitute vast continents, so the personal character of the humblest individual among us adds something, for weal or for woe, to that national character, by which the land of our love, the government which has cherished us, will stand or fall. Our native soil, the scene of our happy childhood, the land of our fathers, the land where we have enjoyed so much, where we expect so much, and from which the world expects so much, shall it realize these expectations? Shall it become, as has been so fondly anticipated, the glory of the nations, has the perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth, showing what man can do with unshackled energies and faculties ripely developed in the wholesome air of liberty? Or shall it be one more byword and mockery of the aspirations and pretensions of freedom.

Think of this, when tempted to any wicked or base act. Above all, think of it when tempted to into any of the peculiar and besetting snares, and betraying exaggerations and caricatures of liberty; to vicious license, to lawlessness and recklessness of restraint, to inebriate zeal, party prejudice, bigoted factiousness, mob-rioting, passionate reviling of the powers that be, or the powers that are to be, and all bitter or mercenary partisanship. Remember, when tempted to any of these, you are tempted then to disappoint so many noble souls, the lovers of their kind, in every quarter of the globe, the enthusiasts for the advancement of the human race to a pitch of excellence and enjoyment yet unrealized, but the guaranty for which they look for in the great experience of self-government now trying on these shores.

The old world may be said to be leaning, with feverish anxiety, over the ocean to catch every symptom of the success or failure of his experiment. Have pity on the last hopes on man. Let is not be said again, as it was by the dying Brutus, after he had sacrificed all to realize a patriot’s dream; “O virtue, I have worshipped thee as a reality, and found thee but a shadow.” Let it not be said, again, as it was by the noble-hearted Madame Roland, as, on her way to the guillotine to lose her head for continuing a virtuous enthusiast for freedom amidst the herd of vicious, she passed under the statue of Liberty; “O Liberty, how they have played thee! What crimes have been committed in the name!” Ay, how it has been played in the world, historionized, juggled! What crimes have been committed, what crimes have not been committed, in its sacred name? It is assuredly the cloak of boundless evil, when not guarded with most scrupulous probity; for the best things, corrupted, always become the worst. The precious diamond may be blackened into a worthless coal. The sweet name of liberty has become a sound of ill omen and nauseous associations to many of the readers of history, from want of virtue in its votaries. Patriotism has been characterized as the last resource of a villain. Revolutions, said Napoleon, are not made with rosewater; but it were well if blood, and seas of it, were the dearest price paid. Moral corruption is what renders revolutions worse than vain.

Our fathers have made one more trial, knowing that past failures were from want of Christian principle, and that they had settled these shores expressly in obedience to Christian principle, and therefore they might hope. In faith and prayer they struggled; for they felt, that with God all things are possible in the cause of righteousness, and they hoped their children would feel this too. From the first, they set out with the idea of making this community that happy people, whose God is the Lord, – a Christian nation, – what the world had never yet seen, but what all its experience concurred in testifying it must seem or it would never see the amount of prosperity man is capable of attaining on earth. A Christian people! Not merely a sober, industrious people, without religion, if such could be expected, but distinctively a Christian people. Bright and glorious idea, far-seeing wisdom, true friends, and see its kingdoms prospering at this time just in proportion as they come near realizing this idea, other elements of their greatness being the same. Begin from the effete East, and come to the infant West. The nominally Christian are more thriving than the Pagan Mahometan; the Protestant than the Catholic; the praying and Bible-reading, than the ceremonial and formalist; and, so long hypocrisy could be kept out, that people would prosper most, who should require, as the settlers of these New England colonies did, that none but members of the church should be rulers in the state. Such a regulation is a bait for hypocrites, a trap for the consciences of the ambitious, and, therefore, it is not to be enforced after the primitive virtues of the settlement have been corrupted. But, is there were not fear of hypocrisy, verily and indeed happy would be that people, with whom God was effectively their Lord through the strict observances of such a rule. Then might we see such a phenomenon as a Christian people.

As it is, let us, – and it seems more incumbent on us than on any nation that lives in the sun’s more expressive, than as a mere geographical term. When we are called a Christian nation, let us allow more the meant, than that we are not savages or barbarians, or only semi-civilized, as all those nations are in which Christianity is unknown. Christian should be more than European or American, as distinguished from Asiatic or African. It should be more than latitude and longitude; more than eastern or western, northern or southern; more than tropics and zones, equator and ecliptic, arctic or antarctic.

And how can we make a Christian nation? To become so, must be an individual, not a collective act. Legislation cannot do it, if legislation would. Resolves of majorities, in caucus or in Congress, in towns or by states, or even unanimous votes, is not the way to affect it. The simple and sole process is for each person privately to resolve, for his single part, no influence in legislative deliberations, no political name or fame whatever, – nay, the shrinking woman and child, whose deliberations look not beyond the homestead, or who can legislate only over their own hearts, – these can add a stone, as truly as the mightiest statesman or the loudest demagogue, to build up the national temple to the Lord. Public opinion is the life-breath of our own government, and therefore to Christianize that, we have but to Christianize ourselves. O what it is ye may achieve! No such power as this is possessed by the subjects of any government but yours. They cannot regenerate their sovereign. They cannot even pray for his conversion with hope, the assurance, of the prayer being granted if sincere, which may warm your breasts.

And is there a consideration of earth or heaven, that is not present and potent to move us to this prayer? Pour it out to God, if righteousness would have but the promise of the life that now is. If a majority of the citizens were sincere followers of Jesus Christ, is it not evident, the councils of this nation would be wiser and mightier, its progress more glorious, its dominion even more potent than any the world has ever seen? The day when it shall be resolved, that the same evangelical principles shall govern states that govern churches and gospel professors in their private relations, would be the true jubilee of freedom. That will be the mind’s and the soul’s declaration of independence. That will be breaking every yoke at length from body, and heart, and spirit. Thenceforth slavery, in any form, would be but a tradition and a name; whereas now it is the commonest of conditions, and to the mass liberty is but a name; for he that serveth any sin is the slave of sin. That day will come, when the people choose.

Choose it, resolve it, O my brethren, as the first of civil duties. Whatever your party predilections, sacrifice them all for the party of righteous men. Support no administration, and oppose none, but one the ground of moral principle. Go with them as far as Jesus Christ would go, and no further. Read the constitution by the light of the Gospel. The Savior be your paramount leader.

And now I see his communion table before me this day, and I fear all that has been said will seem out of keeping with its solemn associations; so desecrating, as I began with intimating, seems any allusion to the politician’s trade. But let me hope I have not spoken all in vain. Follow it in the spirit in which you come here to the house of the Lord himself. You are performing a solemn act of worship then, if you feel it aright. You should enter upon office, you should deposit your vote for office, with a religious sense of accountableness, like that which makes you so serious when you handle the emblems of the Savior’s body and blood.

Approach his table because you would be good citizens, among the other reasons of the act; because you love, and you serve and save, your country; because you would have it long free; because you would be truly free yourselves. Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. If his Son shall make your free, ye shall be free indeed. Where he is not the deliverer, men may clamor, and boast, and carouse, and with bacchanalian revelry call themselves free but they are the bondmen of corruption, the thralls of Satan. O be ye, unlike them, the freedmen of the Lord, whose service is perfect freedom.

This sermon was preached by Rev. William M. Rogers in 1840 after the loss of the ships Harold and Lexington.

SERMON

OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS

OF THE

HAROLD AND THE LEXINGTON,

DELIVERED AT THE ODEON,

January 26, 1840.

By WILLIAM M. ROGERS,
PASTOR OF THE FRANKLIN STREET CHURCH.

Rev. William M. Rogers,

Dear Sir,

We were so much interested in the Discourse, delivered by you yesterday, in regard to the destruction of the ‘Lexington,’ and the dreadful loss of life on that occasion, that we are anxious to have it published. We hope that our belief, that good may be done thereby, will be a sufficient reason for you to comply with this request.

With sincere regard and respect,

Your friends,

JOHN C. PROCTOR,
THOMAS A. DAVIS,
DANIEL NOYES,
HENRY EDWARDS,
JOHN R. ADAN,
WM. J. HUBBARD.

Boston, Jan. 27, 1840.

GENTLEMEN,

Agreeably to your request, I submit the manuscript to your disposal. With many thanks for your favorable judgment on my labors,

I remain, yours in the Gospel,

WM. M. ROGERS.

To Messrs. John C. Proctor,
Thomas A. Davis,
Daniel Noyes,
Henry Edwards,
John R. Adan,
Wm. J. Hubbard.

HAMATH IS CONFOUNDED, AND ARPAD: FOR THEY HAVE HEARD EVIL TIDINGS: THEY ARE FAINT-HEARTED; THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA; IT CANNOT BE QUIET.

God only is unchangeable. All else is mutable. Amidst the vicissitudes of things he sits upon the throne of his eternity, inaccessible to change and unapproached of death, the same yesterday, to-day and for ever. Pervading nature by his universal presence, and unmoved amidst all fluctuations, He controls every event, and turns every change to the accomplishment of his own sovereign purposes. There are no accidents in the government of God, no calamities which come unforeseen, unanticipated. But all is known, and predetermined, and for purposes good to man and worthy God. When calamity overtakes us, it is difficult to discern his hand in events which bring with them only unmingled sorrow. Faith is overborne, the heart is over-tasked, and the defences and refuges of piety are prostrated by the first rush of affliction. But when the soul has had time to regain her balance, it becomes her to know, that God is good in sorrow as in joy, in these fearful events which crush our hopes, as in his providential bounty and care, as in the mercies of the cross and the joys of an eternal heaven.

What then is the voice of God in this calamity? What the lesson of his mercy, taught us in blasted hopes, in the hearts broken, in homes desolate and empty? What is the teaching of God, when he makes the dead—our friends, brothers, sisters, children, fathers, to utter his truth? From the graves God hath opened for them embosomed in the waters, let the dead speak to-day, and let us hear their voice a the voice of the eternal God our Father.

There is sorrow on the sea; there are evil tidings on the land. Why is it?

I. There is sorrow on the sea.

Separation from home, parting from friends, coarsness of fare, daily toils and exposure to the diseases of other climates, with sudden death upon the deep; these are the life, not the sorrows of those who go down to the sea. Their sorrows are of a deeper cast. Who has not seen the good ship swing from her moorings, and lift her canvass to the breeze, while the pier-head was thronged with eager friends cheering her parting and waving their last kind wishes for a happy return. The flag of her country waved above her—the emblem of her power and protection, far as the wind may bear, the billows foam. But, ah, she goes where the might of a nation is powerless—among the wonders of God in the sea. How often does the sailor mark the gathering storm, and brace him to meet it with the resources of seamanship. He has seen the sea tumultuous, he has felt the blast of the tempest before, and he walks the deck, strong, in his own resources. The thunders utter their voice, the lightnings flash, deep calleth unto deep, and lift their waves like arms to embrace and engulf the ship. She bends to the tempest, and braces her yards to its blast, or flies before it with resistless speed. But how little can man do. Her canvass is rent to shreds, a rope parts, spar after spar goes by the board, the ship does not answer her helm and she is overborne by the storm, or lies upon the waters, unmanageable, the plaything of its tumultuous waves. How often are the horrors of fire or the leak accompaniments and accessories of the storm, until the good ship goes down with all her rich freight, and the waters gather over her, as if she had never been. Truly God walks the sea in fearful majesty. It may be the sturdy men that walked her deck betake them to their boats, with hope of rescue and of home yet warm about their hearts. But how often is it a living death. The night brings no rest, the sun no cheering. They look for land, and see it not; they discern a sail, and it turns to cloud. An hungered, athirst, starved to the very bone, the kindliness of nature is overpowered, and they glare upon one another with hungry and cannibal eyes. They live in their coffins and their graves are beneath them.

There is sorrow on the sea. Even within the protection of our bays and harbors, where clustering vessels had sought a refuge from the storm, God hath broken the ships of Tarshish with an East wind, and while the shores were blackened with the many who sought their rescue, ready to peril life for life, within sight of their danger, within hearing of their agony, the storm has overmastered them and given back their mutilated corpses to the land again.

There is sorrow on the sea. We have spoken of familiar and recorded sorrow. But who can measure the griefs unwritten save in the book of God; who can catch and utter again the voice of human agonies amid the waste of waters unheard but by the ever present One? Who can describe the bitterness of their death, who went down to the grave struggling hopelessly, with no eye but His upon them? There are none of you familiar with the seas, who have not often passed in mid ocean a spar, a timber, rounded with the ceaseless wash and wear of waters, barnacled and tasseled with weeds, once doubtless a portion of some noble ship. But what was she, and whence? Where are the men that peopled her? She went forth and came not again. Her history is brief. She left her port and was never heard of more. The merchant, who has freighted her deep with the abundance of his warehouse, pores over the registers of arrivals and departures—but her name and her fate are hidden. The mother, whose boy has wandered from his home to the deep, looks for his coming—but he does not come; and often she asks, are there tidings—but tidings there are none. There is unknown sorrow on the sea.

But these are the common and expected casualties of the sea. They are the history of every day and the burden of every print. We meet them without surprise and leave them without abiding impression. Indeed it has come to be accounted a natural death for the seaman to perish by the waters; and when he dies, he dies often unknown, unvalued, with but a passing sensation upon the public mind. Sometimes, indeed, one we have known, and loved, leaving a family circle bound up in his life, finds his grave in the sea, and even then the teachings of that sorrow are too much limited to the firesides which shall know him no more for ever. In such casual and insulated calamities, the public mind is moved too much as the sea, when it open to embosom the sinking ship. There is a wave, a ripple, and it flows on as before. It is moved to sympathy, but passes on uninstructed. The voice of God is hushed amid the thronging cares of life. It is under such circumstances, that our God has often broken the common order of his providences by signal and general calamities. There always has been sorrow on the sea, but now there are evil tidings on the land. It comes to every church, to every congregation, to the families and firesides of our city, and our Commonwealth. It is not the nameless and homeless sailor who has fallen; it is the known, the loved, the honored, the pride and joy of many hearts. Truly God hath spoken with fearful distinctness, and to us all.

II. There are evil tidings on the land.

The facilities of communication between distant points introduced by steam, have been accompanied with a corresponding increase in travel itself. They who seldom travelled before, except under the pressure of circumstances, now mingle in the throng crowding our great routes. The men of business are there oftener than ever, and with them the man of science, the minister of the gospel on some errand of mercy, the father, the mother with helpless infancy, drawn by the ease of transfer from a quiet home to meet and bless once more the absent and the loved. A calamity here, touches society on the nerve. The dismal history of the Home, the Pulaski, the Lexington, shows a long, sad list of the honored and loved, filling every position in human society, and touching each a thousand hearts in his fall; and so will it be in the future. The community may expect, that whenever calamities occur upon our great routes, it will not be the nameless alone who will perish, but with them, the best life society can furnish.

Who did not feel this when the evil tidings of the Lexington came upon us, and the fearful list of dead became distinct and legible? Who but shrunk from the perusal; who but denied to himself the first overwhelming tidings, and disbelieved in spite of evidence, for hope overmastered fear. And when confirmation strong blasted all hopes, with what deep horror did men look upon one another. It was felt to be and it is a public calamity. Its pressure falls heavily on many firesides, but its shadow is over all.

There are evil tidings for us, for who were there? The men of business, whose foresight and energy pushed enterprise to its utmost; they who were the authors and centres of plans branching and extending until they girdled the globe; they whose activity gave bread to hundreds, they were there. And with them the minister of the gospel, one who had found a home in a land strange to his infancy, and whose integrity, learning and worth had won a place for him in many hearts, and a position honorable amongst men, he was there. And with them, one who had crossed many seas and looked upon death right often, and whose protracted absence had given rise to sad forebodings of his fate, when the glad news of his safe arrival filled many hearts with joy, he was there, and he came to crown the hopes of years, and to meet her who was to be his bride. ¹ He hastened to his bridal, but it was with death; and she who was to be a wife was more than a widow. And they too were there who reverently took up their dead, that they might bear it to the family tomb, to rise together in the last day, and together God buried them. And helpless infancy enfolded in a mother’s arms, now first no protection, and veiled and enshrouded, the last sad office of a mother’s love, it was there. The eager crowds that thronged that boat were fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, friends, and with life vigorous at their hearts, and hope bright before them, they rushed, they knew it not, to their own graves. But could the private history of the individuals on board that boat be known, could we follow the tidings of death to each desolate home, and broken heart, there would be more of anguish in the circles of friends who live to suffer, than in the horrors of that night.

But among them never can we forget one, a brother of this church, with whom we have taken sweet counsel, and walked to the house of God in company, with whom we have broken the bread, and lifted the cup, the emblems of a Saviour’s sacrifice, with whom our prayers have gone up to God, and our labors been joined on earth;—possessed of a sweetness of temper, touched lightly by the cares and vexations of life, with a religious character ripening and maturing with great promise; loved as a son and as a brother, and loved in relations more tender than either, life was worth to him all it could be worth to any man. He entered that boat, committing himself, and the record yet remains to us, to his covenant keeping God, and his God in covenant hath taken him to join the sister and the brother, “not lost, but gone before.” And there with his God in covenant let us leave him, assured that redeeming love is a portion richer for the soul than any earthly good. ²

III. There is sorrow on the sea, and evil tidings on the land, and why is it?

In a government administered by infinite wisdom and goodness, nothing can transpire except in consistency with mercy. Sorrows come not forth of the dust; they spring not out of the ground. They have their purpose, and it is one worth the gaining, even at the price of life, and of such life. If we shrink sensitively, and who does not, from the horrors of that night, let us remember that the purpose of their death in the government of God, is as glorious as they were dreadful. In the heavens, one world calls to another to praise God, and in all their glorious circles, day to night, and night to day, proclaim him Creator. That is the voice of his majesty challenging the reverence of man. But here the dead speak to us, and from the enfolding depths where God hath them sure against the resurrection, I seem to hear them admonish us. This is the voice of his mercy—and it tells us to be ready to die at any time and in any way.

It is most solemn truth, that God has pledged himself to no man, how or when he will bring him to his grave. He has cast the shadows of futurity about it and bidden us be always ready. He will not give us this knowledge, to calculate how long we may live in sin, and when it is indispensable to become Christians. He will not sanction our being aliens while we may, and children when we must; but everywhere, in every open grave, in the common course of his providence, in unusual and marked calamities, in the warning of his word and the voice of all experience, he bids us be ready for any death at any time, for there is no safety to the Christless. This is the voice of God’s mercy to the living, coming up from those waters lit up by the fires of death. There never was a calamity so fatal, which to the eye of man seemed so needless, and so improbable; never one where the means of relief from within themselves or rescue from without so promising; and yet every hope was blasted, every expedient fruitless, and death closed the harrowing scene. It is often the case, that God leaves man to the sympathies of home, and the soothing kindnesses of affection; but often as here, he visits him in the midst of his strength, with all the appurtenances of safety about him, yes, in the very midst of his triumphs over nature, where he has imprisoned the fire, and made the air and the water, and the rugged iron toil for him like bondmen, in the very supremacy of his dominion over the elements, the hand of God is upon him and he dies. No miracle attests the present God. The fire and the waters and the air retain their nature, and, acting each in conformity with unvarying laws, they accomplish the purposes of God, and man finds his wisdom foolishness, and his strength helplessness. There is no safety to life in human devices.

And when the outcry rang through that ill-fated boat, that death threatened them in a form most appalling to humanity, how soon were the distinctions of society annulled. Poverty stood side by side with wealth, knowledge with ignorance, strength with feebleness, all were upon a common level. Of what avail was wealth? The coined silver and gold were not worth their bulk in water to quench the burning boat, but were emptied out and trodden under foot as worthless, with the life in peril. Here let the eager and the greedy for gain measure the value of their gettings. Here let them learn that gold will not save the life, though it may ruin the soul. Here let the proud take the guage and dimensions of their distinctions; they never have barred the pathway of death. Here let the vigorous, full of life, and trusting to see many years, acknowledge a mightier strength, before which theirs is but imbecility.

Oh, that was a scene of many and crowding thoughts. Home, and the hearts bound up with them in the issues of life, wives, husbands, parents, children, brothers, sisters, all were present to their thoughts. All that made life worth the having, concentred in the hour; but all that made life desirable could not make the cup to pass from them, which wrung the life from out their hearts.

That was a place of prayers. If men ever pray in earnest, it is at sea, when the help of man utterly fails, and God only can rescue. Doubtless men prayed who never prayed before. God grant their prayers were heard. And there were Christians there to test their piety, and cast themselves upon God, “for he who trusts in Jesus is safe, even amid the dangers of the sea.” But even prayer coming up amid voices of agony, and dying men, was heard unanswered, and they died. Does not God teach us to rely for life neither on human skill or strength, upon wealth or the ties that bind to life, nor even upon the piety of the Christian, for God hath richer blessings for him than life, stored up in heaven. There is assurance of existence no where. God warns us then to be ever ready to die in any way, for he has pledged himself to no man how or when he will bring him to his grave.

There is a duty which yet remains to me in closing this discourse. I address myself to those who never have professed to be Christians, and ask them,

Are you ready to die? Had your soul been in their souls’ stead, what would be now your condition? It is by the mercy of God that you are spared, and spared to the service of this day, to hear the solemn truth of this discourse, that God has not pledged himself to you, how or when he will bring you to the grave. Within the year, three members of the congregation and one of the church have found a sudden death on the sea, while a father of a member of the church has shared the same fate. Of the members of the congregation one was a child of the church, baptized and nurtured for God; the other in the vigor of manhood, generous, energetic, kind and affectionate, found his death by the burning of the Harold in mid ocean. The third in the vigor and promise of life was lost in the Lexington. These events which have filled the house with mourners, and touch every heart, are enforced and deepened by the sorrows of many bereaved by the recent calamity, teaching the same lesson in God’s providence. Be ready to die in any way, at any time. Are you ready? Men have died to teach you the lesson. Many hearts have been wrung with anguish to impress it. And while the weeds of wo are before your eyes, let the voice of the dead come to you as the voice of God, “Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.” Be in earnest in the care of your soul. Put off from you this listlessness and indifference which is stamping death upon your immortality, and robbing you of heaven. Strip yourselves of that foolish and wicked pride which fears the world more than God, and shrinks from personal and earnest thought and action in religion. You have chosen a pastor as your guide to Heaven. Make him so frankly, openly, disclosing your hopes, your fears, your doubts and difficulties, never shrinking from a manly avowal of your estate, or from the use of opportunities to know yourself and God. And above all, go to your God, for you have a soul to be saved, and he alone can save it through Christ. So shall your end be peace, and the very grave, which hath enlarged herself to enclose the coming, shall yield to you the fruits of eternal life.

Brethren of the church: A brother has gone, for God has taken him. He mingles his voice in these services no more. He will break bread with us never again on earth. It would seem more natural for the eye to rest upon him in the vigor and bloom of health, worshipping among us, than to speak of his death. But such is the inscrutable purpose of God. We yet remain, but how long? He who hath taken him alone knoweth. And are we ready? Is our work done? Could we leave the earth in peace, feeling that nothing remained for us to do? Oh, it is not so. How much is yet undone! How brief a space to finish it! As we think of the dead, let us cherish no fears for him. We may exultingly take hold upon the promise of Christ, “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” There is enough of sureness and blessedness in the promise to cheer and sustain us in this bereavement. But let us think of the living, of our duties to our own souls, to those who are without hope in the world, and to God himself. Put away the fatal sloth and inaction, which preys upon the piety of a church, like a canker. Awake to righteousness and sin not. Let us humble ourselves before God for our negligence and remissness in his work, our coldness and unbelief, and implore the aids of his Spirit in humble dependence. Let us do these things, for death cometh and afterwards the judgment.

To the bereaved of this church and congregation, we extend our sympathies in their sorrows, and implore in our prayers the blessings of the Almighty Father upon them. But look to richer consolations than are found in any human hearts. Remember that your sorrows, keen as they may be, proceed from one who has tasted death, and known its bitterness, deepened a thousand fold by the accumulated sins of a world. He who hung upon the cross, and tasted death for every man, He it is who hath permitted these bereavements to come upon you, and for the self same end for which he died. They are means to the renewal of the heart or the sanctification of the soul. They are intended to prepare for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Let not affliction fail of its end. Let it not be needful, that sorrow come again. Go then to the Saviour, who has smitten in tenderness, not in wrath, and learn to read this life in the light of heaven—and to hear the voice of God from the graves of your dead, bidding you be holy, trust in Christ, and be happy forever.

Endnotes

1. Capt. Carver, of Plymouth. After a passage so long as to excite serious apprehensions for his safety, he reached his port, and, by his request, every preparation had been made to consummate his marriage immediately on his arrival home. He entered the Lexington in that expectation, and was lost.

2. ‘Among the passengers who perished, was Mr. James G. Brown, of Boston, a young gentleman of devoted religious character, and greatly endeared to all who knew him. On the morning of the fatal 13th, he took, leave of his friends in Newark, where he had recently formed a most tender connection. Among his baggage, since found on the beach, and restored to his friends, is his pocket Bible, and a little volume called “Daily Food,” consisting of texts of Scripture for every month and day in the year. The texts for January 13th, (the fatal day) were, with singular appropriateness, these—“He that endureth to the end shall be saved.” “Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.” These passages were marked by his own hand by a turned down leaf, and from his known habits had doubtless been the theme of his meditation just before the melancholy catastrophe. The portion of Scripture marked as recently read is the 23d psalm, embracing the triumphant exclamation of David, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”’ Newark, N. J. Advertiser.

* Originally posted: December 24, 2016.

Samuel Kirkland Lothrop (1804-1886) graduated from Harvard in 1825 and from the Harvard divinity school in 1828. He was a minister at the Unitarian Church in Dover, NH (1829-1834) and at the Brattle Square Church in Boston (1834-1876). Lothrop was a delegate to the Massachusetts state constitutional convention (1853), and served on the Boston school committee for 30 years. This sermon was preached by Lothrop after the steamship Lexington caught on fire and sunk.

A

SERMON,

PREACHED AT

THE CHURCH IN BRATTLE SQUARE,

ON SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1840,

ON THE

DESTRUCTION OF THE LEXINGTON BY FIRE,

January 13th.

By. S. K. LOTHROP,
Pastor of the Church.

SERMON.

JOB 1, 19.

I only am escaped alone to tell thee.

I feel confident, my friends, that I shall be meeting the state of your minds, as well as obeying the dictate of my own feelings, if I take my subject this morning from real life, and gather my sermon, not so much from some passage of scripture, as from that sad and appalling calamity, the news of which a few days since filled all hearts with sorrow.

During the last few weeks or months, our community has borne a melancholy resemblance to the scenes connected with the text. As messenger after messenger came unto Job, bringing him tale after tale of loss and disaster, of the swift destruction of his property, and the death, violent and sudden, of those in whom his affections were bound up, even so has been fraught with some sad intelligence. Scarcely have our minds recovered from the shock of one, ere another story comes, borne on the wings of the wind, and to rend our hearts, by the fearful images of suffering and sorrow it calls up. A city in the southern section of the republic, far off in its location, yet near to us in many social and commercial relations, is visited by pestilence and fire. Even as in Egypt of old, the voice of lamentation, mourning and woe goes up from every dwelling, for in almost every dwelling is one dead; and while disease is making these dwellings desolate, a conflagration buries them in ruins. Night after night, a fire sweeps through large quarters of the city, spreading terror and dismay before it, leaving ruined hopes, and prostrate fortunes, and wide spread suffering behind it. While we are expressing our sympathy, and in the midst of our efforts to relieve and comfort, a fearful tempest sweeps over our own borders. Traces of its ravages are left in various quarters of our city, at our wharves and in our streets. But they are slight and insignificant. We think not of ourselves. Comfortably housed and guarded, we feel not the cutting blast. But as we hear, amid the watches of the night, the wild wailing of the tempest without, the rush of the angry wind, mighty and irresistible, our thoughts instinctively turn to those, who have gone down to do business on the great deep, and a fervent, earnest prayer goes up from our hearts to that God, who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand, that he would guard and preserve them. We look on the morrow for the record of disaster. We know that in that fearful war of the elements, some must have been overwhelmed. But the truth is far beyond even our worst fears. We thought that perchance some solitary bark might have been driven upon the rocks, we heard in fancy,

The solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.”

But our thoughts and our fears are but faint images of the reality. Not one or two ships, but a fleet is wrecked,—not here and there has a solitary individual perished, but multitudes. In some places, the shore is literally strewn with the bodies of the dead, the mangled, frozen, wave-tossed forms, that but a few hours before were instinct with life and health and strength, whose hearts beat warm with affection, and high with hope, and whose thoughts were dreaming of home, of wife and children, and all the kindly charities of life.

Familiar with the shore of the north-eastern coast of our Bay, I have often tried to picture to my imagination the fearful scene in and about that spot, where so many sought a harbor, but found a grave. But I cannot,—I cannot take it all in at once, and survey, as a whole, that wild scene of destruction and death. My eye involuntary turns and rests upon a single point; I see a single vessel going to pieces upon the rocks, some rods from the shore. The waves are dashing and breaking over it,—one after another is swept off, till two stand there almost alone. Of these, one is a father, far passed the meridian of life, the other a son, in all the vigor and strength of early manhood. Who shall tell the communing of that moment,—the thoughts, feelings, and memories that rushed through the mind of each? Suddenly a sound comes to us on the breath of the tempest, “Father you shall not perish if I can save you,”—and the young man redeemed the pledge. He fastens a rope safe and sure to the body of his father, and lashing the other end to himself, with one strong embrace, one fervent prayer, a blessing craved and a blessing given, he springs from the wreck. Is he not instantly overwhelmed by the waves? Can it be that man can buffet with those angry surges? There is something in his heart mightier even than the elements. It was a fearful struggle,—again and again he seems overborne, and about to resign himself in despair to a watery grave. But the image of his father,—the father that had nurtured and guarded his infancy, is in his mind, the image of his mother, left solitary in her far off dwelling, rises up before him, the filial love of a noble heart is strong within him, and through this he perseveres and triumphs. He is borne unharmed through the surf, he stands secure upon the firm earth,—the signal is given, and in a few moments, by means of the rope, the old man is brought safely to the shore, to be locked in the embrace of his deliverer and his child.

This is no fancy sketch. I have been told, my hearers, that this thing occurred; and we should find many others like it probably in effect, if not in success, did we know all the incidents of that scene of peril and disaster. Out of this full fountain of woe and suffering, therefore, we can gather at least this measure of good,—the evidence of the noble disinterestedness, the deep, enduring sympathy, that dwells in the heart of man.

But scarcely have we ceased to think and to speak of this calamity, ere another is brought to our knowledge, unexpected and unlooked for, not so general, in its nature, yet appealing to and touching the deep sympathies of all. The sky is fair, the atmosphere serene, the wind, though cold and wintry, is light and gentle, and an unclouded sun sheds over nature all the beauty and gladness than can ever dwell in a winter’s landscape. A mother’s heart is beginning to beat with joy. Her countenance, which had worn the anxiety of “hope deferred,” is lighted up with a smile, for she feels that under such a sky, even a wintry approach to our coast is safe, and that the ship, richly freighted with her maternal affections, will soon arrive. It may come tomorrow;—alas! Tomorrow dawns only to bring death to her hopes and her dwelling,—to bring us all a sad and mournful tale, how that in the wildest track of wild sea, the fire-spirit overtook that ship and the majestic bark, “that had bounded over the waters like a conqueror, became a mighty pillar of fire in the vast desert of the ocean,” and how, while some escaped, her son and others of our fellow citizens, around whom gathered the affections of fond hearts, were lost. There is, there must be, it seems to me, for I cannot speak from experience, there must be “a fearfulness in the solitude of the ocean, which every one must feel, under whatever circumstances he traverses its mighty depths. Night, with its storms and tempests, may add to the sensation; but there is in the very vastness of the waters, in the awful uniformity of their murmurs, and in their unchanging aspect, a loneliness so deep and perfect that the human heart has no passion of hope or fear, which it does not deepen or overcome. The moonlight of a desert solitude, the gloom of evening or midnight in a ruined city may carry the traveller’s thoughts through years of bygone happiness; but it is in his passage across the deep, in the hush and loneliness of the ocean that the visions and bodings of his own spirit become palpable and real.” This it is, that causes the misfortunes that happen in the heart of the seas, to awaken in our breasts the deepest sympathy with the sufferers. There complete, absolute separation from the rest of mankind, makes us feel for them, as if they had been the inmates of our own dwellings. And if they have actually been known to us, if they have lived in our neighborhood, if our hands have ever exchanged with them the warm grasp of friendship and affection, if they have mingled in our social or domestic joys, our hearts yearn in pity and tenderness, as we think of their fate. No tomb shall plead to their remembrance. No human power can redeem their forms. The white foam of the waves was their winding sheet, the winds of the ocean shall be their eternal dirge.

The news of the burning of the Harold therefore, touched the sympathies of all of us, even of those who did not personally know the sufferers. Men talked of it at the corners of the streets, and expressed to each other their sorrow and regret. In every circle, gathered around the fire-side of every dwelling in the city, it was spoken of, and trembling prayers went up from all those, who had a son, a husband, a brother, traversing the vast deep.

A few days pass, and our thoughts are yet wandering to that far off spot on the lonely ocean, where

“The death Angel flapped his broad wing o’er the wave,”

When they are suddenly called back, and called home, by a calamity which appalls and almost benumbs sensation, by its fearful nature and a magnitude not yet ascertained in its full extent. I need not name it. I need not describe it. It cannot be described. The circumstances attending it are few, but terrible. Imagination can hardly paint a scene, in its immediate aspect, or its ultimate and swiftly approaching issues, more full of horrors, to distract the calmest mind, to unnerve the stoutest heart,—“horrors which must have appeared to start up from the wild caverns of the deep itself.” No warning was given to prepare the thoughts, no omen of peril had been noticed. The tempest and the whirlwind give signals of their approach, but no signal is here to tell of coming danger. In an instant almost, that unfortunate company found themselves assailed by an enemy against which they could make no defence, and from which they soon lost all means of escape. And three “only have escaped. And three “only have escaped alone to tell” the tale, to give the brief outline of the beginning of that scene of terror and dismay. How it ended, and the details of its progress, what were the movements, the efforts and sufferings of the multitudes gathered upon that burning deck, none can tell.

The physical suffering endured in those brief hours, must have been severe, but it sinks into insignificance before the mental suffering of a situation so bereft of hope. To be shipwrecked is terrible. To be driven by the fierce hurricane upon an iron, rock-bound coast, is fearful and appalling. But in shipwreck there is room for action, and consequently for hope. There is something to be done, some effort to be made; a steady eye, a calm, self-possessed mind, a courageous heart, may avail something towards escape, and if death come at last, it comes only after noble efforts and struggles. To die in battle is terrible. Few scenes of this world’s suffering and woe, can equal the battle field,—that scene of dreadful and indiscriminate slaughter, where multitudes are assembled that death may mow them down with greater facility, that, not individuals, but thousands may be leveled at a blow, that the mighty and renowned, the young, the healthy, and the vigorous may perish in a moment, amid piercing groans, and frantic shouts, and bitter shrieks, and the roar of the deadly thunder, which strews around them companions in misery. But in battle there is action, and to the very last there is hope, a hope of success or escape. The mind is buoyed up and pressed onward to effort and endurance by this hope, and if at last death come, sudden and violent, there is, it may be, the consciousness of a noble duty nobly done, of life periled in a holy cause, and sacrificed, if sacrificed it must be, to freedom and truth.

But here, after the first few moments, there was no room for action, effort, or hope. In the wild confusion and dismay of the first outbreak of danger, the only means of escape had been utterly lost. And there they stood, the two companies, helpless and powerless, gathered on the bow and stern of that ill-fated boat,—the devouring fire raging to madness between, throwing its lurid flames to Heaven and casting a terrific brightness upon the yawning waves that stood ready to engulph them. There was no longer any help in man. None could hope to live for an hour in that wild wintry sea. They had nothing to do but to wait, to suffer, and to die. If ever any situation required manhood, fortitude and the power of religious faith, it must have been this. Let us trust, brethren, that these were not wanting. Let us trust that those brief hours were not all hours of pain, of grief, of unmitigated anguish. Let us hope that, while glad memories of the past thronged thick and fast upon their minds, and burning thoughts of home, of wife or husband, of children and kindred, no more to be seen on earth, tore with anguish their hearts, there also came in upon their souls, sweet and holy in its influences, that faith, mightier than any human affection, stronger than any mortal peril, which lifts the spirit to God, and gives it peace in death.

That this faith was present to many, with a calming and sustaining power, we have reason to hope. That it was present to one I cannot doubt; and from among the many husbands and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, who, torn from their homes on earth, have found, I trust, a home in Heaven, I may be allowed to select and notice one, the only one with whom I had an intimate acquaintance, whose unobtrusive goodness and genuine worth have won for him an abiding place, in the memory, and hearts of all, who knew him well.

Exiled from his birth place, not for any crime, but for his love of liberty, his adherence to what he thought right and truth, Dr. Follen, brought to this, his adopted country, the same principles, the same noble sentiments, the same love of freedom and of truth, the same devotion to what he deemed duty that had banished him from his home. It is now nearly twenty years since he sought a refuge in our land, bringing with him no patent of nobility, but that which God had stamped upon his soul; and he needed none other to secure him that place in society to which his worth and talents entitled him. During his residence among us, he has honorably filled some of the most important literary offices in the dwellings of the happy and the prosperous, remembering the injunction to “rejoice with them that do rejoice,” h secured to himself the love and respect of all. Even those, and I myself was among the number, who differed from him in judgment and opinion on some subjects, honored and revered the man. His character deserved and inspired these emotions. The qualities, for which Dr. Follen was remarkable, were his ardent love of truth and his fearless devotion to it, his patient perseverance, his high moral purpose, his warm and tender affections, his quick and wide sympathies with humanity, and especially and above all, the simplicity and purity that distinguished his every thought and word. He was truly an upright and sincere man, “in whom there was no guile.” In the prime of life, with a mind vigorous, active and richly stored with learning, a heart full of noble purposes and aspirations, his death is a public bereavement. From literature and religion it takes an ornament, from truth and virtue, an advocate, eloquent in character as well as speech, and from an extensive circle of friends, an object of warm and confident attachment. Upon the sanctuary of private sorrow, we cannot, we dare not intrude. There is desolation there which none but God can reach and comfort. Our sympathy is with the living,—for him we fear not. Death in however terrible a form, could have no terrors to him. It could not find him unprepared, and those who have seen his “calm look, where Heaven’s pure light was shed,” will feel assured that in that last hour of mortal agony,

“Faith o’er his soul, spread forth her shadowless, her sunny wing,
And from the spoiler plucked the dreaded sting.”

Confident that Christian faith thus calmed and sustained him, I would humbly trust that others also had a blessed experience of its power, that with many the last moment of sensation was full of that peace which no earthly vicissitude can disturb, and the gloom and darkness of a watery grave lighted by that hope, which speaks of eternal life.

I cannot but remark also, that although some families of our city are called to participate most deeply in this calamity, families for whose mournful bereavements we feel, and would express, a most tender and respectful sympathy, we have yet reason for gratitude as a community, that so few of us have a direct share in this sad event. Those who are taken from us were worthy, honorable and beloved, so far as known. To kindred and friends, their death has thrown an abiding shadow over life. Seldom, however, does a boat pass through the Sound, that is not more richly freighted, in numbers at least, with our own citizens; seldom could such an accident have happened and not have left more of our own dwellings desolate.

But though so few were connected with us, they were all connected with others. “They dwelt among their kindred.” Of that company there was not one, however humble or obscure, perfectly solitary and isolated in the world, not one, to whom the heart of some other one was not knit by some strong cord, some tender tie of interest and affection. No one dieth or can die to himself alone. He cannot, by sin or by solitude, so cut himself off from all connection or intercourse with his race, that no one shall notice or lament his death. Let him fix his residence in the wildest fastnesses of the mountains, that residence will sometimes be deserted. The strong, inextinguishable impulses of humanity will sometimes bring him back to the abodes of men. Curiosity will, at intervals, lead a stranger to his hut, and a kind providence, as many instances in the past illustrate, will so order it, that when disease finds its way to his dwelling, human aid shall follow its steps, human sympathy, unexpected yet gratefully received, shall minister to his wasting strength, and hollow in kindness, his solitary grave. Let him plunge into the abyss of sin, let him steep himself in crime, and die in ignominy, it can not be even then, that he will die to himself alone. The mother, that bore him, will mourn for the sinner because he is her son. The wife, whose love can not change, though the joy, that encircled it, is withered and crushed, will yet weep in bitterness and sorrow, and the children will lament for the father, though his memory be covered with shame. No one can die to himself. Let his age or station, his character or condition be what it may, so long as he lies, he is linked to his race, and whenever and however he may die, some heart shall hallow his memory and deplore his loss. Every individual of that company then had a home, some spot where his presence shed gladness and comfort, and where tender affections or fond hopes rested upon him. The cases, that are especially known to us, are of peculiar and distressing sadness. It may be that all are equally calamitous and mournful. Wide-spread is the sorrow then caused by this disaster; many tearful eyes and aching hearts are turned to that fearful scene. Many families are made desolate, many are left widowed and fatherless, deprived of the power that protected, the wisdom that guided, the love that blessed and made them happy. Let our hearts yearn for them, let our prayers go up for them, that God, who is as rich in mercy, as he is inscrutable in the ways of his providence, may give that support and consolation, which He only can impart.

But I confess, my friends, I hesitate not to say, that after the first emotions of horror and pity, excited by this event, the thought, the feeling that is uppermost in my own mind is, indignation; yes, I will use that word though it be a strong one, indignation at the gross recklessness or carelessness, which caused this destruction of human life and produced this wide suffering – and indignation also at the feeble and inefficient legislation, that permits, and has for years permitted, these disasters to occur throughout our waters, without a just rebuke or an adequate restraint in the laws. I have read the statement published by the agent of this ill-fated boat. I am willing to admit and believe that every word of that statement is true. I admit also that those, whose business it was to prevent by carefulness this accent, are themselves among the sufferers, and that the inference is, that they would not wantonly peril their own lives. They are dead,—I would respect the memory of the dead,—but I must plead, and I feel constrained to plead for the rights, the protection, the security of the living. Admitting all that has been, or can be said in extenuation, the simple facts of the case, so far as known, especially when taken in connection with the circumstance that this self-same boat has unquestionably been on fire once, rumor says two or three times, within the law few weeks, it seems to me, that these facts are enough to prove that a solemn duty, a fearful responsibility was neglected somewhere by some one, enough to sustain the opinion, widely prevalent, that this awful disaster is to be attributed, either to the selfishness and cupidity of the owners, who, greedy of gain, insisted upon overloading their boat with a dangerous and inflammable freight, or to the culpable carelessness, the utter inattention of the master and officers, in not stowing that freight securely, in not watching ever and constantly, with an eagle eye, the condition and safety of the vessel, to which hundreds had entrusted their lives.

The simple fact that such an accident, on such a night, occurred, is in itself presumptive evidence of carelessness or incompetence on the part of some one. At any rate, all the circumstances of the case ought to be thoroughly investigated, every thing that can be gathered, if anything can be gathered from the survivors, touching the origin and early progress of the fire, ought to be made known, to satisfy the public curiosity, to relieve the public anxiety. If this investigation makes against the owners or managers, the truth ought not to be winked out of sight. It ought not to be hushed up, and kept back, and passed over. It is a misplaced charity to do it. We are false to our own interests and safety, to the interest and safety of all, in doing it. It ought to bespoken out, to be urged and insisted upon, boldly and plainly. It ought to be proclaimed trumpet-tongued, throughout the length and breadth of the land, till it reaches the halls of Congress, calls off the members from their petty party animosities, their disgraceful personal contentions, and wakes up the government from its inertness, its epicurean repose, a repose of apparent indifference to those, whose safety it ought to guard, whose lives it ought to protect,—till it causes the supreme power of the land to legislate, wisely and efficiently, for one of the most important interests of the people, and to do, not something, but everything requisite, to check an evil that cries aloud for redress.

The destruction of human life in the United States, during the last ten years, by accidents and disasters in the public conveyances, is, I had almost said, beyond computation. It is utterly unparalleled in the history of the world. It confirms, what all foreigners and travelers assert, that there is no country upon earth, where the proprietors, managers and conductors of these public conveyances, are so little responsible, so slightly amenable to the law, so far beyond the reach of public rebuke or public punishment; and the fearful catastrophe of the past week, as well as many others that might be collected from the history of the past year, are sufficient evidence that the late act of Congress, as was anticipated, has proved utterly inadequate and inefficient, and that something more strong, peremptory and binding is necessary, to protect the immense amount of life and property, daily and hourly exposed upon our highways and our waters.

I call upon you therefore, as merchants, who have large interests at stake in this matter, I call upon you as men, and citizens, who cannot behold with indifference the sufferings of your fellow men, to let your influence be felt, let your voice be heard in this thing, let it go forth to swell the power of that great sovereign, Public Opinion, till it demands and insists upon enactments, that shall meet the necessities of the case.

But, my friends, we are Christians as well as men, believers in God and his providence, and it becomes us to look up from the secondary cause, that produced, to the great First Cause, that permitted and overruled this disaster. While it seems to us, that it may be traced to the carelessness of man, we cannot doubt that God, in the inscrutable depths of his wisdom, permitted it. The Infinite Spirit of the universe was not absent from that spot on that awful night. He, in whose hands is the breath of every living soul, who counts the hairs of our head and numbers the beatings of our pulse, He was nigh unto each and all of that suffering band,—to hear their prayers, and to receive their spirits to the bosom of his love.

We cannot comprehend all the purposes of his providence. We cannot fathom his councils, “whose ways are not our ways, whose thoughts are above our thoughts.” But we have reason to believe, that a wise and gracious design presides over every event, however dark and mysterious in its aspects; from every event also, even from that fearful scene of suffering and death, we can gather lessons of duty and instruction. It speaks to all of us all of our dependence upon God, and of the worth of that calm and holy trust in Him, which is the property only of the faithful and devout soul. It enforces also social duty. It bids us keep our hearts warm and our sympathies active, our affections strong, pure, tender, and to do what we can to make happy those, who are bound to us by close and tender ties; for we know not how soon or how suddenly they may be cut down, and placed beyond the reach of our love or our neglect.

Ah! If in that perished company there were any, who had parted in coldness or unkindness from their friends, any, who had given pain, or brought disappointment to fond and trusting hearts, by neglect or indifference, by harsh words, or selfish acts, how must the memory of these have oppressed their spirits, as they thought of passing into the presence of that Master and Judge, who has said “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have love one toward another.” What would they have given, at that moment, for opportunity to return the affection they had so often slighted, to recall every cold look, every angry word, every hour marked by a selfish indifference to others? Let this event then speak to our consciences on this point. Let there be no longer any unkindness in our hearts, or in our conduct.

“While yet we live scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us all let there be peace,”

And not peace only, but love, sympathy, kindness, a strong and abiding affection, that shall spread a joy and gladness over life and take from death all bitter and painful memories.

Let it speak to us also of that, which is so often urged, so seldom regarded, the utter uncertainty and insecurity of human life. How true it is, and how blessed for us that it is true, that we know not what a day, nay! Not what a moment may bring forth; that though there may be but a step between us and death, an impenetrable curtain, that no mortal vision can pierce, and only time lift up, conceals that step from us. Of those, whose untimely fate has excited such universal sympathy, many probably on the last Sabbath went up to the sanctuary of worship in devout gladness and gratitude. In firm health, with bright hopes, vigorous, active, useful, they anticipated death on the morrow, as little as we do now. Yet the morrow’s sun is the last which they behold on earth.

And who can tell what the morrow will bring to us? Who can say, as he passes forth, whether he shall ever re-enter these doors? Who has an armor of adamant, that death cannot pierce, or a talisman to bid misfortune stay its blow? No one!

These lips may be cold in death, the voice, that is now speaking, may be hushed in everlasting silence, ere the day returns, which gathers us within these consecrated walls. Even now the unseen arm of death, casting no fore running shadow, and known only when it falls, may be uplifted, to descend upon some one who hears me. The hoary head of age, the busy and anxious heart of manhood, or the fair cheek and persuasive lips of early beauty, may be its victim. Let us feel this uncertainty of life. The voice of God’s providence, speaking in the flames of that burning ship, is sounding in our ears “Be ye also ready,”—let it reach and touch our hearts.

NOTE.

It is worthy of record and acknowledgement, and the author of this discourse is ready to bear his humble testimony to the fact, that the steam boats on Long Island Sound have, till recently, been in general managed with distinguished skill and care, and all necessary, nay, even a scrupulous attention paid to the safety and comfort of the passengers. Of late years, however, the growing competition, and the increased facilities for carrying freight, afforded by the rail roads to Providence and Stonington, have produced an unfavorable change, and taken from the boats the high character for safety and comfort that once attached to them. They are now, it is said, almost invariably overloaded, the passengers all but crowded out by the freight, and their comfort and safety made apparently a secondary consideration. We have separate boats for freight on our waters? If steam boats, for passengers exclusively or principally, could not be supported at the present rate of fare, let it be increased. Until the fate of the Lexington is forgotten, most persons will be willing to pay something extra if they can be insured a safe, comfortable passage. It is to be hoped that this melancholy catastrophe will direct public attention to the subject, so that the reckless exposure of human life, which has marked some portions of the country, may never become one of the features of traveling in New England, and proper means be taken and efforts made, to provide against the recurrence of any similar disaster.