Sermon – Christian Patriot – Boston, 1840

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.

Sermon – Fire – 1840


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


sermon-fire-1840

A

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.

 

SERMON.
JEREMIAH XLIX. 23

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.

Sermon – Fire – 1840

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.


sermon-fire-1840-2

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.

Sermon – Christmas – 1838


Joseph Dow preached this sermon in Hampton, NH on Christmas Day, 1838.


sermon-christmas-1838

AN

HISTORICAL ADDRESS,

DELIVERED AT HAMPTON, NEW-HAMPSHIRE,

ON THE 25TH OF DECEMBER

1838,

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE SETTLEMENT OF THAT TOWN:

TWO HUNDRED YEARS

HAVING ELAPSED SINCE THAT EVENT.

BY
JOSEPH DOW, A. M.

 

ADDRESS.
As in the life of every individual, so likewise in the history of every community, there are seasons of more than ordinary interest. There are occasions, where not only individuals, but whole communities, are forcibly reminded of the rapid flight of time, and of the changes effected in a series of years. These changes are not confined to any one class of objects. They may be predicted of almost every thing around us. Many of them are so gradual, that, when viewed in relation to two successive days, they are wholly imperceptible; but they are, on this account, no less real. The countenance of a friend, whom we see every day, appears to undergo but little alteration while he is in health; but let us meet him after an absence of several years,, and the change, though no greater than before, is very apparent.

On one of those interesting occasions, when our thoughts are busy with the past, and when they also run forward to scan the events of futurity, we have this day assembled. Two hundred years have passed away since the settlement of our town was commenced, and the church that worships in this house, organized. Our thoughts revert to that period, and, in our imaginations, we hear the forests of Winnicumet, echoing, for the first time, with the sounds of civilized life. In the character and the fortunes of the little band that then came hither, we feel a deep interest, for they were our ancestors.

My object in the following remarks, will be, to give a brief account of the settlement of the town; to notice some of the more important transactions of the people, in the infancy of the settlement; to exhibit, however imperfectly, their trials, dangers, and sufferings; and then to trace, in a cursory manner, the history of the first church, through a period of two centuries.

The first permanent settlement in New-England was made near the close of the year 1620.

On the 10th day of August, 1622, a grant was made, by the Council of Plymouth, to Sir Ferdinando Gorges, and Captain John Mason, jointly, of all the land lying between the rivers Merrimack on Sagadehock, now the Androscoggin,–extending back to the great lakes and the river of Canada. This tract was called Laconia, and it was the first grant in which the territory of Hampton was included.

The next year a settlement was commenced near the mouth of the Piscataqua, and another further up the river, at the place which subsequently received the name of Dover.

The principle object in the formation of these settlements, both of which were commenced under the patronage of Gorges, Mason, and several English merchants, styled the “Company of Laconia,” was to carry on the fishing business, which, it was thought, would prove very lucrative.

May 17, 1629, a Deed is said to have been given by certain Indian chiefs, assembled at Swamscot falls, now Exeter, to Rev. John Whelewright and others, conveying to them, for what was deemed an equivalent, all the land along the coast, between the Merrimack and the Piscataqua rivers, and extending back to a considerable distance into the country. In this tract our own territory was evidently embraced.

Recently, however, the authenticity of this Deed has been denied, though it is admitted that Whelewright, several years afterwards, purchased of the Indians all the land lying within a considerable distance of Swamscot falls. A similar course was probably pursued by those who formed the first settlement in this place.

On the 7thday of November, 1629, the Council of Plymouth made a new grant to Captain Mason, of a tract of land “from the middle of Piscataqua river, and up the same to the farthest head thereof, and from thence north-westward, until sixty miles from the mouth of the harbor were finished; also through Merrimack river, to the farthest head thereof, and so forward up into the land westward, until sixty miles were finished; and from thence to cross over land to the end of the sixty miles as counted from Piscataqua river; together with all islands within five leagues of the coast.” This tract was called New-Hampshire, and it included the whole of Whelewright’s purchase, if such a purchase was ever made, and a part of the land previously granted to Massachusetts, as by the charter of that colony its territory extended three miles north of the Merrimack.

By other arrangements, made in 1630 and 1631, the settlements on the Piscataqua were divided into two parts, called the upper and the lower plantations. Captain Thomas Wiggen was appointed agent for the former, and Captain Walter Neal for the latter, which extended as far south as the stream called Little river, in the eastern part of North-Hampton.

In 1633 these two agents united in surveying their respective patents, and in laying out the towns of Portsmouth, Northam, afterwards called Dover—and Hampton; though no settlement had at that time been made at the place last mentioned.

Dr. Belknap sys, that this survey was made by order of the company of Laconia, and that these towns, together with Exeter, were named by that company. Hampton was, however, incorporated by is present name at the request of the first pastor of the church established here. Whether he chose the name in conformity to the wishes of the company of Laconia, I cannot tell.

I have been thus particular in noticing the different grants that were made of the same territory, as they gave rise to much subsequent litigation and expense, by which this town, as well as others, was exceedingly harassed.

In 1636 the General Court of Massachusetts authorized two persons, Mr. Dummer and Mr. Spencer, to erect a house at Hampton, which was then called by its Indian name, Winnicumet. A house was accordingly built by Nicholas Easton, under the direction of the two persons just mentioned, and at the expense of the Colony of Massachusetts. This house was called the Bound House, although, as Dr. Belknap observes, it was intended as a mark of possession rather than of limit.

There is no evidence that a settlement was actually made here, till two years afterwards. For what purpose, then, was the Bound House erected?

The General Court had learned, that there were in this vicinity extensive salt-marshes. These must, at that time, have been very valuable, as the upland had not been brought to such a state of cultivation as to afford a sufficient quantity of hay to winter the stock which might be kept through the summer. The court wished to secure these marshes, and, by causing a house to be erected near them, at the expense of the Colony, they virtually claimed jurisdiction over them. It was, perhaps, for the purpose of asserting such a jurisdiction, that they adopted this measure.

On what grounds could the General Court claim jurisdiction here? The chartered limits of Massachusetts extended only three miles north of the Merrimack; but the Bound House was probably much farther from that river.

That they did set up such a claim, is evident from the fact that they soon after made a formal grant of the territory to the company that actually formed a settlement here.

By a plain, natural construction of the meaning of their character, this place was, undoubtedly, beyond their limits, while it was evidently included in the grant made to Captain Mason. The charters, however, that were given by the Council of Plymouth, and also those granted by the Crown, were often worded with too little care. Sometimes, unquestionably, this arose from a want of sufficient geographical information concerning the portions of country granted, and, at other times, from sheer carelessness.

In this case, the grant to Massachusetts was of land reaching to “three miles north of the Merrimack river, and of every part of it.” Now, though that river is more than three miles south of this place, yet, if we trace it up to its source, we shall find, that it rises much farther to the north than we are, and Massachusetts claimed the land to our east and west line, passing through a point three miles north of the most northerly part of the river.

Such a construction of their charter would give the people of that Colony all the land granted to Mason, and a large part of Maine, which had been granted to Gorges; thus rendering the claims of these two gentlemen null and void, as the grants to them were made after that to Massachusetts.

The agent of Mason’s estate made some objections to the claims and the proceedings of Massachusetts, yet no legal method was taken to controvert this extension of their claim; and, as the historian of New-Hampshire very justly observes, “the way was prepared for one still greater, which many circumstances concurred to establish.”

In 1638 a petition was presented to the General Court of Massachusetts, by a number of people, chiefly from Norfolk in England, praying for permission to settle at Winnicumet. On the 7th of October their request was granted. Few privileges, however, were allowed besides that of forming a settlement. In the language of the early records of our town, “the power of managing the affairs thereof was not then yielded to them, but committed by the court to” three gentlemen, not belonging to the settlement, “so as nothing might be done without the allowance of them, or two of them.” 1

It was not till the 7th of June, 1639, that the plantation was allowed to be a town, and to choose a constable and other officers, and, as our records state, “to make orders for the well ordering of the town, and to send a deputy to the court.” Even then the power of laying out land was not granted to the town, but was left to the three gentlemen to whom I have already alluded.

At that time three men belonging to the town, viz. Christopher Hussey, William Palmer, and Richard Swaine, were appointed by the General Court, as commissioners, or justices, to have jurisdiction over all causes of twenty shillings, or under.

On the 4th day of September, in the same year, at the request of Rev. Stephen Bachelor, the name of the town was changed from Winnicumet to Hampton, and about the same time, through the influence of their deputy, the right of disposing of the land, and laying it out, was vested in the town.

The number of the original settlers was fifty-six. Rev. Dr. Appleton, in his dedication sermon, preached in 1797, says, “of the names of the first settlers of Hampton, only sixteen are transmitted to us; and but four of these names continue in the place.” 2 The same four names are still found among us, though one of them will probably soon become extinct, as it is now borne by only two individuals, both of them aged females.

The names of the sixteen persons referred to by Dr. Appleton are given in the first volume of Belknp’s History of New-Hampshire. In that list the name of only one female is found, and it is probable that most of the other settlers were members of the families of these sixteen.

Though the number of settlers was at first only fifty-six, yet large additions were soon made. At the time when the settlement became a town, the number of inhabitants had very much increased. Indeed, a writer who lived and wrote about that time, says that in 1639 there were about sixty families here. 3 It has been supposed that this writer stated the number larger than it really was. There are, however, reasons for believing that his statement is not far from the truth. In the record of the proceedings at a town meeting, early in the following year, more than sixty individuals are mentioned; and it is probable, from the great diversity of their names, that they belonged to nearly as many different families.

The historian of New-Hampshire says, that the people here began the settlement by laying out the township into one hundred and forty-seven shares. Others, relying upon him as authority, have repeated the statement. Our records, however, furnish an abundance of evidence that it is incorrect; and had Dr. Belknap, in this instance, exercised his usual caution, he would not have been led into such an error. The transaction which probably gave rise to this remark, did not occur till more than seven years after the settlement was commenced, and, even at that time, there was a division of only a small portion of the land within the limits of the township.

The course the people really pursued was far different from that which has so often been imputed to them. Soon after they were allowed the privileges of freemen, they began to exercise them. The first town meeting, of which any record remains, was held October 31, 1639. William Wakefield was chosen town clerk. The freemen, instead of proceeding to lay out the township into any definite number of shares, appointed a committee, whose duty it should be, for the space of one year, “to measure, lay forth, and bound all such lots as should be granted by the freemen there.” The compensation allowed this committee, was twelve shillings for laying out a house lot, and in ordinary cases, one penny an acre for all other land they might survey.

Only one other article was acted upon at this meeting. The object of that was to secure the seasonable attendance of the freemen at town meetings. A vote was passed, imposing a fine of one shilling on each freeman, who, having had due notice of the meeting, should not be at the place designated, within half an hour of the time appointed.

On other occasions, similar votes were passed, and rules were adopted to secure order and regularity, when the people were assembled in town meeting. I will mention the substance of several regulations made in 1641.

At the close of each meeting, a moderator was to be chosen, to preside at the next meeting.

Every meeting was to be opened and closed with prayer by the moderator, unless one of the ministers were present, upon whom he might call to lead in that exercise.

After the prayer at the opening of the meeting, the names of the freemen were to be called, and the absentees noted, by the town clerk.

The moderator was then “to make way for propositions” to be considered at the meeting. In doing this, he might propose any business himself, or he might call upon others to mention subjects to be acted upon.

When any person wished to speak in the meeting, he was to do it standing, and having his head uncovered.

When an individual was speaking in an orderly manner, no other one was to be allowed to speak without permission; and no person was to be permitted to speak, at any meeting, more than twice, or three times at most, on the same subject.

When any article of business had been proposed, it was to be disposed of before any other business could be introduced.

Penalties were to be exacted for every violation of any of these rules.

December 24, 1639, grants of land, to the amount of 2,160 acres, were made to 13 persons, in parcels, varying from eighty acres to three hundred. These were merely grants of a certain number of acres, without determining where the different lots should be located. The locations were fixed at subsequent meetings.

It is worthy of notice, that the persons who were regarded as the principal men in the town, received grants of the largest tracts of land, and so uniformly was this the case in regard to those individuals whose rank is known, that we may probably judge, with a considerable degree of accuracy, concerning the standing of others, by the grants made to them. In making the grants just mentioned, the records inform us, that “respect was had, partly to estates, partly to charges, and partly to other things.”

Town meetings were frequently holden, at which, in addition to the election of the necessary town officers, the making of regulations for the government of the people, the laying out of highways, and the transaction of such business as ordinarily comes before town meetings, at the present day, the people by vote, admitted persons to enjoy the privileges of freemen, and, from time to time, made such grants of land as they thought proper.

We come now to the transaction, alleged to have been a division of the town into 147 shares. It took place on the 23d of the 12th month, 1645; that is, according to the method of reckoning time, afterwards adopted, in February, 1646. At that time the town having previously disposed of a large portion of the land that had been surveyed, agreed to reserve 200 acres to be disposed of afterwards, and to divide the remaining part of the commons into 147 shares, and to distribute it among persons, most or all of whom had received previous grants.

There is some uncertainty as to the extent that was intended to be given to this order. It is certain that it was not designed to include all the land within the township, which had not already been disposed of, as large tracts were afterwards ordered to be laid out, and others were granted to individuals at different times. The probability is, that it was intended to embrace only such parts of the town as had been actually surveyed, but had not been granted to individuals. 4

Six years after this transaction, it was determined at a public town meeting, that the great Ox-Common, lying near the Great Boar’s Head, “should be shared to each man according as it would hold out.” It appears from the records, that in conformity to this order the common was divided into about seventy-five shares, and distributed among a portion of the people; most of those to whom any part was granted, received one share each, though a few individuals received two, or even three shares apiece.

Four years afterward, Sargent’s Island was appropriated to the use of fishermen, for the purpose of building stages and other things necessary in curing fish. There was in the grant, however, a promise, that, if the island should be deserted by fishermen, it should still remain at the town’s disposal. On the 9th of June, 1663, it was voted in town meeting, that the land in the west part of the town should be laid out to the amount of four thousand acres, extending through the whole breadth of the town along its western boundary. Subsequently it was determined that this land should be laid out, partly in hares of 80 acres each, and partly in shares of 100 acres each.

About a year afterwards, it was agreed, that each one of the inhabitants of the town, who would assure the selectmen that he should settle on these lands within twelve months, should be entitled to twenty acres for a house lot.

This land was called the New Plantation, and it extended from Salisbury to Exeter, and of course was a part of land now embraced in three or four towns.

I have mentioned these instances of grants and of laying out land, merely as a specimen of the course which our forefathers pursued. 5

When the settlement was in its infancy, it would have been very much exposed to injury if no precautions had been taken in regard to receiving inhabitants. Mischievous and disorderly persons might have come in and harassed the settlers. This was foreseen, and measures were taken to prevent it. The power of admitting inhabitants and of granting them the privileges of freemen, was strictly guarded. After the town was once organized, none were admitted from abroad without the permission of the freemen. It was voted, “that no manner of person should come into the town as an inhabitant, without the consent of the town, under the penalty of twenty shillings per week, unless he give satisfactory security to the town.”

On different occasions, votes were passed to prohibit the selectmen from admitting inhabitants. I will cite several of these, nearly in the words of the Town Records, as they will serve to show the course that was taken in regard to the subject.

The first vote of this kind, on record, is dated on the 6th of the 10th month, 1639, and is as follows:–

“Liberty is given to William Fuller of Ipswich, upon request, to come and sit down here as a planter and smith, in case he bring a certificate of approbation from the elders.”

“On the 25th of the 9th month, 1654.—By an act of the town, Thomas Downes, shoemaker, is admitted an inhabitant, who is to make and mend shoes for the town, upon fair and reasonable terms.”

“May 22, 1663. Thomas Parker, shoemaker, desiring liberty to come into the town and follow his trade of shoemaking, liberty accordingly is granted him by the town.” Ten men, however, dissented from this vote.

On the 8th of the 10th month, 1662, an order of the town was passed determining who should be regarded as inhabitants. It runs thus:–“It is acted and ordered, that henceforth no man shall be judged an inhabitant in this town, nor have power or liberty to act in town affairs, or have privilege of common-age, at least, according to the first division, and land to build upon.”

The sources of some of the troubles and perplexities of the early settlers, will next claim our attention. They were harassed by wild beasts, and by lawless men. No wonder, indeed, that they were troubled by the former. Until the English settlements were formed, the wild beasts had been free to range the country, their right undisputed, and themselves unmolested, except occasionally by the Indian hunter. It could hardly be expected that they would tamely yield to the new settlers, and acknowledge their right of jurisdiction over them. Though they did not often attack the people, yet they showed less respect for their herds and flocks. It then early became an object with the people to destroy such beasts as were found to be troublesome. Perhaps none annoyed them more than the wolves; and bounties were offered by the town, as an inducement for killing them.

In January, 1645, a bounty of ten shillings was offered for each wolf that might be killed in the town. 6 Nine years afterwards the bounty was increased to forty shillings. In 1658 it was raised to five pounds.

In 1663 a bounty of twenty shillings was likewise offered for each bear killed within the limits of the town.

The settlers were also troubled by disorderly persons. Depredations were often made upon the common lands owned by the town. The making of staves appears to have been a profitable employment, and some persons, who were engaged in this business, were not very scrupulous in regard to the means employed to procure timber. Wherever they could find any, that was suitable for staves, they took it, without inquiring to whom it belonged. The very best of the timber was thus, in many instances, taken from the commons. The town adopted various expedients to prevent such acts, but still depredations continued to be committed.

In some instances, persons, whom the town had never admitted as inhabitants, settled on the public lands. In other cases, difficulties occurred, and disputes arose, in consequence of the boundaries of the town not being well defined. There were disputes of this kind with Salisbury, and with Portsmouth.

The township extended so far north as to include a portion of the present town of Rye, and near the northern limit several persons settled without permission from the town. One of the most resolute and stubborn of them was John Locke, who settled at Jocelyn’s,–now Locke’s,–Neck. He was ordered to leave the town, but seems not to have regarded the order; and at length, a committee was chosen at a public town meeting, to go and pull up Locke’s fence, and give him notice not to meddle further with the town’s property. The difficulty with him was not settled till he, having expressed a willingness to demean himself peaceably as a citizen, was received as an inhabitant, by a vote of the town.

In speaking of the trials of our forefathers, it would be inexcusable to pass over in silence the dangers and the sufferings which resulted from the hostility of the Indians. It is uncertain how soon after the first settlement of the town they began to manifest their hostility. It is, however, evident that it was at a very early period.

In the latter part of the year 1640, the town passed a vote in relation to a watch-house, appropriating the meeting-house porch to this purpose, temporarily, till another could be procured. The object of providing a watch-house is not, indeed, stated, but we can hardly conceive of any object, unless fears were entertained from Indian hostility. That such was really the case will appear probable, if we compare this vote of the town with another passed several years afterward, at a time when it is well known that most of the settlements in this vicinity were exceedingly harassed by the Indians. The selectmen were then ordered “to build a convenient watch-house, and to provide powder, balls, watches, flints, and what else the law requires, for a town stock for the soldiers.”

Trainings were also ordered at an early period. Our records mention one that was appointed by the officers to be held on the 18th of May, 1641. Whether military duty was required by the town, or enjoined by the government of Massachusetts, is not of consequence. In either case, it shows that danger was apprehended from some source or other; but whence, except from the Indians, could the early settlers in this section of our country anticipate danger, which might be repelled by force of arms?

On the 8th of July, 1689, a vote was passed, very explicit, in regard to the town’s apprehension of danger from the Indians. The vote is as follows:–“That all those who are willing to make a fortification about the meeting-house, to secure themselves and their families from the violence of the heathen, shall have free liberty to do it.”

A fortification was accordingly built around the meeting-house, distinct traces of which remained till the academy was removed, a few years ago, to the spot it now occupies, and the land around it ploughed. I believe that, even now, a small portion of the mound may be seen, just without the east side of the academy yard.

May 17, 1692, it was voted to extend the line of this fortification, so as to enclose more space, and liberty was given “to build houses in it according to custom in other forts.”

At the same time it was voted to build within the fort, at the town’s expense, a house 14 by 16 feet, for the use of the minister, and that, when he made no use of it, it should be improved as a school-house.

About a year previous to the transaction just named, “it was voted that a committee should be chosen to agree with, and to send out two men as scouts, to see what they could discover of the enemy, so long as they could go upon the snow, or so long as the neighboring towns sent out.”

A distinguished historian says of a period a little subsequent to this, that “the state of the country at this time was truly distressed: a large quota of their best men were abroad, the rest harassed by the enemy at home, obliged to do continual duty in garrisons, and in scouts, and subject to severe discipline for neglects. They earned their bread at the continual hazard of their lies, never daring to stir abroad unarmed; they could till no lands but what were within call of the garrisoned houses, into which their families were crowded; their husbandry, lumber trade and fishery, were declining, and their taxes increasing, yet these people resolutely kept their ground.” 7

But we need not confine our attention to a recital of their fears and apprehensions, and to their preparations for self-defence. We may look at the actual loss of lives among them. How many of the early inhabitants of Hampton were slain by the Indians, we cannot confidently tell. The following facts rest on good authority.

On the 13th of June, 1677, four persons were killed in that part of the town which is now North-Hampton. These men were Edward Colcord, Jr., Abraham Perkins, Jr., Benjamin Hilliard, and Caleb Towle.

August 4, 1691, Capt. Samuel Sherburne and James Dolloff, both of Hampton, were killed by the Indians, near Casco Bay, in Maine.

August 26, 1696, John Locke was killed, while at work in his field, in the northeast part of the town, at Locke’s neck, now in the town of Rye. 8

August 17, 1703, five persons were killed between this town and Salisbury. One of them was a little boy, named Huckley. The others were Jonathan Green, Nicholas Bond, Thomas Lancaster and the widow Mussey. The last two were quakers. One of them, Mrs. Mussey, was distinguished as a speaker among the quakers, by whom her death was much lamented.

Dr. Belknap states that these persons were killed at Hampton village y a party of Indians under Capt. Tom, and further, that at the same time, the Indians plundered two houses, but having alarmed the people, and being pursued by them, they fled.

August 1, 1706, Benjamin Fifield was killed in the pasture near his house, and at the same time a boy was either killed or taken.

Having mentioned these instances of murder, nearly all of which were committed within the limits of Hampton, I will merely subjoin a brief account of an expedition, which proved fatal to Capt. Swett, one of the inhabitants of this town. He was sent by the government to assist the eastern settlements against the Indians. He was accompanied by forty English soldiers, and 200 friendly Indians. With these forces he marched to Ticonic falls, on the Kennebeck, where it is said the Indians had six forts, well furnished with ammunition. Having met the enemy, Swett and his men were repulsed, and he himself with about sixty others slain. Probably a part of this number, as well as their leader, belonged to this town.

We shall next glance at the civil and political history of the town during the early period of its existence. In doing this, it may be proper, not only to consider the connection of the town with the colonial governments of Massachusetts and of New-Hampshire, but also the policy pursued by the people, considered simply as a town.

Very soon after the inhabitants acquired corporate powers, we find them, as has already been remarked, assembled in town meeting. The transactions at the first meeting of which any record remains, have already been noticed. A town clerk, and three lot layers were chosen, the latter for the term of one year. It appears from the records that some of the town officers were from the first elected annually. Others seem to have been chosen for an indefinite period, or till their places should be supplied by a new election. The first town clerk held his office more than four years, probably without being annually reelected. His successor continued in office nearly three years before any new election was made. There is no evidence from the records that this became an annual office for more than sixty years after the settlement was commenced.

It may be well here to notice the fact, that the people of this place have not, during any period of their history, been disposed to change their town clerks frequently, there having been less than twenty during the two hundred years that the town has existed.

The duties and the compensation of the lot-layers have been already mentioned.

Another set of officers, chosen at a very early period, was that of woodwards, an office which long ago became extinct among this people. It would be very natural to suppose that when almost the whole township was a wilderness, no objection would have been made to cutting trees in any part of it; but such was not the case.

As early as 1639, three woodwards were elected, and no man was to fell any trees except on his own lot, without permission from these men, or at least two of them; and at another meeting during the same year, the town voted a similar prohibition, and also a fine for its violation. The fine was ten shillings for every tree felled without license from the woodwards.

It was further voted, that if any man had any trees assigned to him, he should fell them within one month, and make use of them within three months after felling, or the trees should be at the disposal of any two of the woodwards.

In taking a brief notice of the town officers, during the early part of our history, it will probably be expected that the board of selectmen should hold a prominent place. It does not appear, however, that such officers were elected till the settlement had been begun several years. The practice of choosing selectmen seems to have been of New-England origin, and to have grown up from the circumstances in which the early inhabitants were placed. After they had established themselves in the wilderness, far from their native land, and from the seat of that government to which they acknowledged allegiance, they found themselves under the necessity of managing their own affairs. At first these seem to have been conducted in a purely democratic way, so far at least as those who were regarded as freemen were concerned. They held frequent town meetings, and delegated power to committees from time to time, only for a specific purpose. This method of proceeding being at length found inconvenient, several persons were chosen to act for the town, as it is expressed in the records, “in managing the prudential affairs thereof.” This board of officers, to which at length the name of selectmen was given, at first, consisted in Hampton, of seven persons. The first notice of such a board is in 1644. On the 4th of May in that year, the following vote was passed—“These several brethren, namely—William Fuller, Thomas Moulton, Robert Page, Philemon Dalton, Thomas Ward, Walter Ropper, and William Howard, are chosen to order the prudential affairs of the town for a whole year, next following; reserving only to the freemen the giving out of commons and receiving of inhabitants.”

In about ten or twelve instances the number of selectmen has been seven. Generally five were chosen, till the year 1823, and from that time to the present only three have been elected annually, except in the year 1829, when the board consisted of five persons.

It is unnecessary to speak particularly of other town officers, as they were generally the same, and possessed of similar powers, with those of more modern times.

To show that the town took cognizance of some matters which at the present day are left to adjust themselves, I will mention a regulation, made in 1641, in regard to wages. From September to March, workmen were to be allowed only 1s. 4d. per day, and from March to September, 1s 8d. except for mowing, for which 2’s should be allowed. For a day’s work for a man with four oxen and a cart, five or six shillings were to be allowed, according to the season of the year. Soon after it was voted that the best workmen should not receive more than 2s. a day, and others not more than 1s. 8d.

It has already been noticed, that Hampton was settled by the authority of Massachusetts, and it was for many years considered under the jurisdiction of that colony. In 1639 the town was authorized to send a deputy, or representative, to the General Court at Boston.

This privilege was not long neglected, for about five months afterwards the town assessed a tax to pay their deputy, John Moulton, who had at that time been twice to the court, having spent twenty-seven days in the service of the town. The compensation allowed him was 2s. 6d. per day, besides his expenses.

In September, 1640, John Cross was elected a deputy to the court to be holden on the 7th day of the next month. He was the second representative chosen by the town.

Hampton was probably for a short time under the immediate jurisdiction of the courts at Boston. On the 25th of July, 1640, a “grand juryman” was chosen for the court to be holden at Boston in the following month.

The town was soon annexed to the jurisdiction of the county of Essex, whose courts were held at Ipswich.

In 1643 a new country was formed, embracing all the towns between the Merrimack and Piscataqua rivers. This was called the county of Norfolk. The number of towns within its limits however, had courts of their own, and in each of the towns there was an inferior court, whose jurisdiction extended to causes of twenty, had courts of their own, and in each of the towns there was an inferior court, whose jurisdiction extended to causes of twenty shillings and under.

The claim of Massachusetts to jurisdiction over the whole territory embraced within the county of Norfolk, was not undisputed. Mason, to whom a large part of it had been granted by charter, was dead. His heirs made some opposition, but there were at that time almost insurmountable difficulties in the way of obtaining redress by a civil process. In England, Charles and his Parliament were at variance, and civil war was raging among the people. When, after the execution of the king, Cromwell was at the head of the Commonwealth, Mason’s heirs could not hope for success in bringing an action against Massachusetts, for his family had always been adherents to the royal cause.

At the restoration in 1660, an attempt was made to influence the king to grant relief to the heir, or rather to the heir, of Mason. A petition for this purpose was presented to Charles II., who referred it to his Attorney General, and he reported that the petitioner had a good and legal title to the Province of New-Hampshire.

In 1664 commissioners were appointed by the crown to settle disputes in the New-England Colonies. These commissioners were not very favorably received, as their appointment, with such powers as were conferred upon them, was considered by the colonists an infringement of their chartered rights.

On their arrival in New-England, they made inquiries in regard to the bounds of Mason’s patent, and decided that the jurisdiction of Massachusetts should extend no farther north than the Bound House.

The proceedings of the commissioners gave umbrage to a large portion of the people. A party, however, had been previously disaffected towards the government of Massachusetts. A person by the name of Corbett, who belonged to this party, instigated, probably, by the commissioners, prepared a petition to the king in the name of the towns of Portsmouth, Dover, Exeter, and Hampton, complaining of the usurpation of Massachusetts, and praying for a release from that government. A large majority of the people, however, did not countenance these proceedings, and at their request the General Court of Massachusetts appointed a committee, before whom the people of the four towns had an opportunity to show their disapprobation of Corbett’s proceedings. Corbett himself was apprehended by warrant from the secretary of Massachusetts, in the name of the General Court, and tried and found guilty of sedition, and punished with severity.

Soon after this period the New-England colonies were involved in a general war with the Indians. Previous to that time, the wars with them had been of limited extent. For many years their minds had been full of suspicions and of jealousies. These were fanned and blown into a flame by Philip, a powerful sachem, who resided at Mount Hope, in Rhode Island. He was resolved upon a war of extermination. He sent runners to most of the tribes in New-England, and succeeded in engaging nearly all of them in an enterprise so adroitly planned.

Open hostilities commenced in June, 1675. The eastern Indians, who resided in Maine, extended their incursions into New-Hampshire. Houses were burned, and people slain, in various places. One man was killed and another captured, by a small party that lay in ambush near the road, between this town and Exeter. The one who was taken afterwards made his escape.

I shall not proceed to narrate in detail the events of this war. The dangers and the sufferings of the people of Hampton, at that time, have been already noticed. It must suffice to add, that the war terminated in the southern part of New-England, with the death of Philip, in August, 1676. In New-Hampshire, it raged two years longer, and for a time seemed to threaten the extinction of the whole colony.

During this war, the heir of Mason made another attempt in England to recover possession of New-Hampshire. Massachusetts was called upon by the crown to show cause why she exercised jurisdiction over this province. The royal order was brought to Boston by Edward Randolph, a kinsman of Mason. He soon came to New-Hampshire, and published a letter from Mason, in which he claimed the soil of the province as his own property. The people here were alarmed, and called public meetings, in which they protested against the claim, and agreed to petition the king for protection.

They stated that they had purchased the land of the natives; that they had labored hard to bring it under cultivation, and they thought it very unjust that their hard earned property should now be wrested from them.

Agents were sent over to England, after Randolph’s return, and a hearing was granted them before the highest judicial authorities. After the hearing, the judges reported that Mason’s heir had no right of government in New-Hampshire; and further, that the four towns of Portsmouth, Dover, Exeter, and Hampton, were beyond the limits of Massachusetts. In regard to Mason’s right to the soil of New-Hampshire, they expressed no opinion.

This report was accepted and confirmed by the king in council.

New-Hampshire was then separated from Massachusetts, with which it had been for so long time so happily united. The commission for the government of New-Hampshire passed the great seal on the 18th of September, 1679.

Under the new order of things, a President and six Counsellors were appointed by the crown, and these were authorized to choose three other persons, to be added to their number. An Assembly was also to be called. The powers of the respective branches of the government were tolerably well defined.

Among the counselors named in the commission, was Christopher Hussey, of this town, and one of the three afterwards chosen also belonged to Hampton, viz—Samuel Dalton.

This change of government was very far from being satisfactory to the people generally, and even those appointed to office entered upon their duties with great reluctance.

In the writs issued for calling a General Assembly, the persons in each town, who were considered as qualified to vote, were expressly named. The whole number in the four towns was 209, fifty-seven of whom belonged to Hampton. The oath of allegiance was administered to each voter. A public fast was observed, to ask the divine blessing on the assembly that was soon to convene, and to pray for “the continuance of their precious and pleasant things.”

The assembly consisted of eleven members, three from each of the four towns, except Exeter, which sent only two, that town having but twenty voters. The members from Hampton were Anthony Stanyan, Thomas Marston, and Edward Gove. The assembly met at Portsmouth, on the 16th of March, 1680. Rev. Joshua Moody, of that town, preached the election sermon.

Under the new government, the President and Council, with the Assembly, were a Supreme court of Judicature, a jury being allowed when desired by the parties. Inferior Courts were established at Dover, Portsmouth, and Hampton.

In 1682, another change was introduced into the government. Edward Cranfield was appointed Lieutenant Governor and Commander-in-chief of New-Hampshire. This change was effected through the influence of Mason’s grandson and heir. Cranfield’s commission was dated May 9, 1682.

Within a few days after publishing his commission, he began to exhibit his arbitrary disposition, by suspending two of the counselors. The next year he dismissed the Assembly, because they would not comply with all his requests.

This act of Cranfield’s very much increased the discontent of the people. In this town particularly, and in Exeter, it created a great excitement. Edward Gove, of this town, a member of the Assembly that had been dismissed, was urgent for a revolution. He went from town to town, crying out for “liberty and reform,” and endeavoring to induce the leading men in the Province to join him in a confederacy to overturn the government. But they were less rash than he was. However they might feel towards the government, they disapproved of Gove’s measures, and informed against him; upon which he collected his followers and appeared in arms; but was at length induced to surrender. He was soon after tried for high treason, was convicted, and received sentence of death. His property was confiscated. He was sent to England, and after remaining imprisoned in the Tower three years, was pardoned, and returned home, and his estate was restored to him.

Several other persons were also tried for treason, two of whom belonged to Hampton. These were convicted of being accomplices with Gove, but were reprieved, and at length pardoned without being sent to England.

Not long after, when the courts had all been organized in a way highly favorable to Mason, he commenced suits against several persons for holding lands and felling timber which he claimed. These suits were decided in his favor; the persons prosecuted, generally, indeed, making no defences. Some of the people of this town gave in writing their reasons for not offering a defence. The jury, however, gave their verdicts without hesitation. A large number of cases were dispatched in a single day, and the costs were made very great.

Still, those who were prosecuted, and against whom executions were obtained, had one consolation. When their estates were exposed to sale, no purchaser could be found, so that they still retained possession of them.

At length the grievances of the people were past endurance, and they resolved to complain directly to the king. Nathaniel Weare, of this town, was accordingly chosen their agent, and dispatched to England.

In 1684, Cranfield wishing to raise money to relieve himself from embarrassment, under false pretences induced the Assembly to pass an act for raising the money by taxation. The constables either neglected or refused to collect the tax, and a special officer was appointed for the purpose. When this officer came to Hampton, he was beaten, deprived of his sword, seated on a horse and conveyed out of the Province, to Salisbury, with a rope about his neck, and his feet tied together beneath the horse’s body.

At the time of this transaction, Weare, the agent of the people, was in England. In consequence of his representations, censures were passed on some of Cranfield’s proceedings, and he soon after left New-England and sailed to the West-Indies.

When the revolution occurred, which placed William, Prince of Orange, on the throne of England, the people of New-Hampshire were left in an unsettled state. A convention of deputies was holden, to resolve upon some method of government. Dr. Belknap says that “it does not appear from Hampton records whether they joined in this Convention.” This statement is incorrect. The town determined to unite with the other towns in the Convention, and for this purpose they chose and instructed six delegates. The persons chosen were Henry Green, Henry Dow, Nathaniel Weare, Samuel Sherburne, Morris Hobbs, and Edward Gove. 9

At the first meeting, the Convention came to no conclusion. Afterward they thought it best to become united with Massachusetts again. Massachusetts very readily agreed to receive them till the king’s pleasure should be known. In 1692, the king having refused to allow this union, sent over John Usher as lieutenant governor of New-Hampshire.

The people in general were so well satisfied with the government of Massachusetts, that they were very reluctant to be again separated from it. They, however, submitted to the king’s order, as a case of necessity.

We have now arrived at a period upon which we cannot look back without astonishment and regret, at the infatuation which prevailed in regard to witchcraft. I cannot relate, in detail, the proceedings of courts, and of churches, too, in relation to this subject. The chief seat of the infatuation was in and near Salem. Many persons were accused of being witches, were tried and condemned. Several were executed, while others were pardoned. The delusion was not confined to the vicinity of Salem. It extended to this town, and persons here fell under suspicion, and were tried for the crime of witchcraft. “In fine,” to use the language of an old writer, “the country was in a dreadful ferment, and wise men foresaw a long train of bloody and dismal consequences.”

We may wonder that the people of that period could be so deluded; but in New-England a belief in witchcraft was then almost universal. The same belief also prevailed in England, and even took strong hold of some powerful minds. It is said that several persons were tried and condemned by Sir Matthew Hale, a gentleman of noble intellectual endowments, and great moral worth, and one of the most distinguished judges that ever sat upon the English bench.

The author of the “Magnalia,” after relating several wonderful feats, said to have been performed by those who were reported to be witches, gravely adds: “Flashy people may burlesque these things, but when hundreds of people, in a country where they have as much mother wit certainly s the rest of mankind, know them to be true, nothing but the absurd and forward spirit of Sadducism can question them.”

But this feeling has passed away, and few people now fear that they shall be called Sadducees, or infidels, for maintaining the opinion that witchcraft is all a delusion.

It would be interesting to go back to our earliest history, and trace the progress of education in the town; to inquire what methods were adopted by our fathers, to instruct the young, and to notice the self-denials and the expenses to which the people subjected themselves, to afford the means of instruction to their children. A subject so important and so interesting, must, however, be passed over with a very few remarks.

It is probable that the ministers of the gospel, who were, from the first settlement of the town, stationed here as religious teachers, improved the opportunities which were afforded them, to inform the minds of those to whom they ministered, particularly the minds of the young. To judge otherwise would be derogatory to the good sense, the intelligence, and the discretion of the ministers themselves.

But straitened as were the circumstances of the people, they as a town were not unmindful of their duties to the young. Provision was early made for furnishing them with the means of acquiring knowledge. It is, indeed, uncertain at how early a period schools were established among them; probably soon after the formation of the settlement.

There is on record an agreement of the selectmen with a school-master, made in 1649, employing him, for a stipulated sum, to instruct the children of the town daily, for a whole year, when the weather would permit them to come together. 10 It is hardly probable that a contract would have been made with an instructor for so long a term, unless schools, or a school, had been previously established. It is not unreasonable to suppose that the origin of schools here is nearly coeval with the settlement of the town. While the town was under the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, the people were required by law to maintain a free school during a considerable portion of the time. Still, it is not certain that this law went into operation here till after the date of the agreement already mentioned. Since that time, there can be but little doubt that free schools have been maintained during a part at least of every year, where opportunities have been furnished for acquiring the rudiments of an education.

The next thing I shall notice, is the Ecclesiastical History of the town.

The object of the first settlers near the Piscatqua, as already mentioned, was to prosecute the fishing business. That business has undoubtedly been carried on here from a very early period; but this seems not to have been the prime object in forming the settlement. Our fathers came hither for the enjoyment of religious freedom. One of their first movements was to secure a minister, who should be to them a spiritual guide. They came hither united in church covenant, and at the very commencement of the settlement they were supplied with a pastor. It has been handed down to us by tradition, that the church was formed, and a pastor procured, before the settlement of the town was actually commenced; and the language of our early records seems to give countenance to this tradition. The records state that, “It was granted unto Mr. Stephen Bachelor and his company, who were some of them united together by church government, that they should have a plantation at Winnicumet, and accordingly they were shortly after to enter upon and begin the same.” This purports to have been taken from the Massachusetts court records.

A fair inference from this language is that the formation of the plantation was subsequent to that of the church.

It has sometimes been said that this was the second church formed in New-Hampshire,–a church having been previously gathered at Exeter. Both churches were formed in the year 1638; but I have been unable satisfactorily to determine which may justly claim priority of date; nor is it of much consequence. This church is acknowledged to be the oldest now existing in New-Hampshire, as the first church formed in Exeter became extinct a few years after its formation, when that town came under the jurisdiction of Massachusetts. The pastor of the church was under sentence of banishment from that Province, and he retired to Wells, in the Province of Main, whither he was followed by a considerable portion of his church.

In an old book, entitled “Wonder-Working Providence of Zion’s Saviour,” the church at Hampton is said to have been the seventeenth formed in the colony of Massachusetts.

The first pastor of the church was Rev. Stephen Bachelor. He was, at the time he came hither, advanced in life, being 77 years of age. He had been a minister in England for many years. In 1632, he removed to this country, and became the first pastor of the church at Lynn. In 1638 he came to Hampton with the little band that settled here. He was pastor of this church about three years, and was removed in 1641, at the age of 80. 11 He lived to a very advanced age, and is said to have died in England, in 1661, having completed a whole century.

Mr. Bachelor’s descendants are very numerous in Hampton, and in several other towns in New-Hampshire.

When the settlement was in its infancy, a log-house afforded the people a temporary place of worship. That house was located nigh the spot where here of the subsequent meeting-houses stood; very near the present site of the academy.

At the early period of which we are speaking, the people were called together for worship by the ringing of a bell, as appears from a vote of the town, Nov. 22, 1639, when one of the inhabitants was appointed “to ring the bell before the meetings on the Lord’s days and on other days,” for which he was to have a specified sum. How interesting to the settlers must have been the sound of that bell, as its peals echoed through the forest and broke the stillness of the Sabbath morning, inviting them to assemble for the worship of Jehovah; and how strange to the untutored sons of the forest, to see the settlers laying aside their implements of husbandry, and all the tools which they were accustomed to use, resting from their labors, and wending their way, along different paths, to the log-house whence the sound of the bell proceeded.

In 1639, the year after the formation of the church, Rev. Timothy Dalton was associated with the former minister, in the pastoral office. 12 Mr. Bachelor was indeed generally designated as the Pastor, and his associate as the Teacher of the church.

Mr. Dalton came to Hampton very soon after the formation of the settlement, and it is said a considerable company of settlers came with him.

After the removal of Mr. Bachelor, in 1641, Mr. Dalton was sole pastor of the church about six years, when Rev. John Whelewright, who had previously been settled at Exeter, was associated with him. How long they were thus connected does not appear from any records which I have consulted. Mr. Whelewright was at length dismissed, when Mr. Dalton was again left sole pastor of the church. He continued in the ministry till his death.

Our records do not show what compensation was made to Mr. Bachelor, nor to Mr. Dalton, in the early part of his ministry. Large tracts of land were granted to them both. At one town meeting in 1639, 300 acres were granted to each, Mr. Bachelor having a house lot before. Grants of land were also made to them, or to one of them, at other times. It is pretty evident that at first they received no stated salary. This appears from an agreement with Mr. Dalton, in 1651, when, on certain conditions, he released the town from all “debts and dues” to him, from his first coming until he had “a set pay” given him by the town. After he had been here several years, he seems to have had about L40 per annum. Mr. Dalton is called by an old writer, “the reverend, grave and gracious Mr. Dalton.” He died on the 28th of December, 1661, at an advanced age, probably about 84 years, having been here 22 years in the ministry. Our records state that he was “a faithful and painful laborer in God’s vineyard.”

Mr. Dalton, it is well known, was the minister who gave by deed to the church and town of Hampton the property from which the ministerial funds of this town, Hampton Falls, and North Hampton, have been derived.

Soon after his ministry commenced, the town adopted measures for building a new meeting-house, of framed work, to take the place of the log-house which had served temporarily as a place of worship. By vote of the town, the new house was to be forty feet in length, twenty-two in width, and thirteen in height, between joints, with a place for the bell, which was given by the pastor.

The agreement with the contractor for building this house was mutually subscribed by the parties on the 14th of September, 1640. Soon afterwards it was determined to defray the expense by voluntary contribution. The house was not wholly finished for several years. In July, 1644, persons were appointed to ask and receive the sums which were to be given towards building it, and, in case any should refuse to pay voluntarily, this committee was required to use all lawful means to compel them. The committee was farther instructed to lay out upon the meeting-house, to the best advantage, the money they might raise. When this house was first occupied as a place of worship, is not known.

In 1649, liberty was given to certain persons to build a gallery at the west end of the meeting-house, and these persons, on their part, agreed to build the gallery, provided that the “foremost seat” should be appropriated to them, for their own use, and as their own property.

The meeting-houses first built in this town were without pews. They were constructed simply with seats; and for the purpose of preventing any disorder that might otherwise be occasioned, committees were from time to time appointed, to direct the people what seat each one might occupy.

Early in the year 1647, the church and town gave a call to Rev. John Whelewright to settle as colleague with Mr. Dalton. They stated that Mr. Dalton had labored faithfully among them in the ministry, “even beyond his ability and strength of nature.”

Mr. Whelewright accepted the invitation extended to him. The agreement made with him is dated the 12th of the 2nd month, 1647. By this agreement, he was to have a house lot, and the farm which had once belonged to Mr. Bachelor, but which had been purchased by the town. This was to be given to him, his heirs and assigns, unless he should remove himself from them without liberty from the church. The church and town were also to pay some charges and give Mr. Whelewright as a salary L40 per annum. The farm was afterward conveyed to him by deed.

How long Mr. Whelewright retained his connection with this church, is uncertain. He was here in 1656, and probably left about the year 1658.

He was a person of considerable notoriety. Hutchinson, in his History of Massachusetts, calls him “a zealous minister, of character both for learning and piety.” When residing in Massachusetts, he was accused of Antinomianism, and one of his sermons was said to savor of heresy and sedition; and refusing to make any acknowledgment, when called to an account, he was banished from the province. He then came into this vicinity, and laid the foundation of the town and church at Exeter. When Exeter came under the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, as has already been stated, he retired into Maine and resided at Wells. He remained at that place till he received a all to come to Hampton, and settle as colleague with Mr. Dalton. This took place in the year 1647. Previous to this, his sentence of banishment seems to have been removed. After his dismission from this church, he went to England, where he was in favor with Cromwell, with whom he had in early life been associated at the University of Cambridge, in England. After Charles II came to the throne, Mr. Whelewright returned to New-England, and took up his residence at Salisbury, Massachusetts, where he died November 15, 1679, aged, probably, about 85 years.

It is worthy of notice that the first three pastors of this church all lived to an advanced age—one of them dying at the age of 100, and each of the others at the age of 84 or 85 years, so that the average age of the three was not far from 90 years.

Soon after Mr. Whelewright was removed from the church, and before the death of Mr. Dalton, Rev. Seaborn Cotton was settled as colleague with the latter. His settlement took place in 1660, and Mr. Dalton died the year after.

The father of Mr. Cotton was Rev. John Cotton, one of the most distinguished of the early New England divines. He was many years settled as pastor of a church at Boston, in England. Being driven thence by persecution, he sought an asylum in this country, and soon became pastor of a church at Boston, Massachusetts. Seaborn was his eldest son, and was born in 1633, during the passage of his parents across the Atlantic, from which circumstance he received his name.

He graduated at Harvard college, Aug. 12, 1651. Dr. Cotton Mather says of him, that he was “esteemed a thorough scholar and an able preacher.”

Of Mr. Cotton’s records, only a few fragments remain, so that we know but little of the state of the church while he was pastor of it. He continued in the ministry 16 uears, and died April 19, 1686, at the age of 53 years.

During Mr. Cotton’s ministry, a new meeting-house was erected, it being the third built in the town for the use of this church. It was built in the summer of 1675, and was placed near the old house then standing. By an order of the town, all the inhabitants of more than twenty years of age were required to attend and assist in the raising of this house, under a specified penalty for neglecting to do it. The house erected at that time was the one around which a fortification was made as a defence against the Indians. It is uncertain when the house was finished and began to be occupied. The old meeting-house was taken down in 1680, having stood about 40 years.

After the death of Mr. Cotton, the church was destitute of a pastor more than ten years; a period far longer than all the other periods during which it has been without a settled minister. It must not, however, be inferred that the people had no preaching during this long destitution of a pastor. The fact probably is that they were favored with preaching nearly every Sabbath during that time, and, for a considerable portion of it, by the son of the deceased pastor, the gentleman who at length succeeded his father in the pastoral office.

Nov. 28, 1687, a committee was chosen to treat with Mr. John Cotton, to ascertain whether he would be willing to be settled in the work of the ministry and to be ordained, agreeably to the desire of the town.

Mr. Cotton probably complied with this request, so far as to preach, but not to be ordained as pastor of the church. During the ten years immediately succeeding the death of his father, he received several urgent requests from the town to be ordained. For some reason or other, he declined ordination, though he continued his preaching. For some months, however, in the years 1690 and 1691, Mr. Cotton was absent from Hampton, residing in the vicinity of Boston. He also preached three months at Portsmouth, where he was invited to settle. During a portion of the time that he was absent, Rev. John Pike, minister of Dover, supplied the pulpit here, and received an invitation to become pastor of the church. He gave some encouragement that he would accept the invitation; but probably he was unable to procure a dismission from the church at Dover, as he retained his pastoral connection with that church till his death, which occurred in 1710.

The invitation to Mr. Cotton was renewed, and after much solicitation he consented to be ordained. His ordination took place Nov. 19, 1696. He continued in the ministry till his death, March 27, 1710. At the time of his decease he was fifty-two years of age. When he was ordained there were only ten male and fifteen female members, in full communion with the church. Mr. Cotton appears to have been a very worthy man, and an acceptable and successful preacher. During the fourteen years of his ministry, two hundred and twenty persons were admitted into full communion with the church.

After his death, the people were not long destitute of a stated minister. Rev. Nathaniel Gookin was ordained pastor, on the 15th of November, in the same year.

About one year after his ordination, a new church was formed in the south part of the town, and forty-nine persons, nineteen males and thirty females, were dismissed from the first church for the purpose of being organized into the new one.

The vote, dismissing these members, passed Dec. 9, 1711, and the church was organized soon after, and Rev. Theophilus Cotton settled over it as pastor. Several years afterward, that part of the town was formed into a new town, and called Hampton-Falls.

During Mr. Gookin’s ministry, the last meeting-house was erected, which stood at the meeting-house green, near where the academy now stands. The house was sixty feet in length, forty in breadth, and twenty-eight in height, between joints. It was finished with two galleries, one above the other, as many now present will recollect; for this was the same house that was taken down in 1808, having been built eighty-nine years. The frame was erected on the 13th and 14th of May, 1719, and the house was completed, so that it was occupied for the first time as a place of worship, Sabbath day, October 18th, of the same year. This house at first was finished with only one pew, and that was for the use of the minister’s family. Other pews were added at subsequent period.

In 1725 nine persons were dismissed from this church, in order to be, probably with others, formed into a church at Kingston.

It may be proper to remark, in this connection, that the charter of Kingston was granted Aug. 16, 1694, to James Prescott, Ebenezer Webster, and several other persons, belonging to Hampton. The grant embraced not only the territory of Kingston, as it now is, but also that of East-Kingston, Sandown and Danville. The first settlers there had many difficulties to encounter and hardships to endure, on account of Indian hostilities. No church was formed at Kingston till 1725.

The church at Hampton also furnished twenty of the original members of the church at Rye. They were dismissed from this church, July 10, 1726, and the church at Rye was formed ten days after. Most of these persons, however, resided within the limits of that town, which was made up of portions of Portsmouth, New-Castle, Greenland and Hampton, and was incorporated in 1719.

An event occurred during the ministry of Rev. Mr. Gookin, worthy to be noticed on this occasion, not only on its own account, but more particularly on account of circumstances connected with it. I refer to the great earthquake, October 29, 1727. This phenomenon is here associated with the name of Mr. Gookin, from his being led, in the providence of God, to preach to his people on the very day preceding the night on which the earthquake happened, a solemn discourse, from Ezekiel vii: 7. “The day of trouble is near.”

In the course of his sermon he remarked thus:–“I do not pretend to a gift of foretelling future things, but the impression that these words have made upon my mind in the week past, so that I could not bend my thoughts to prepare a discourse on any other subject, saving that on which I discoursed in the forenoon, which was something of the same nature; I say, it being thus, I know not but there may be a particular warning designed by God of some day of trouble near, perhaps to me, perhaps to you, perhaps to all of us.”

How forcibly must these solemn words have been impressed on the minds of those who heard them, when, after only a few hours had elapsed, and while the words still seemed ringing in their ears, a low, rumbling sound was heard, which soon increased to the loudness of thunder, while the houses shook from their very foundations, and the tops of some of the chimnies were broken off and fell to the ground, the sea in the mean time roaring in a very unusual manner.

Mr. Gookin labored to improve this event of Providence for the spiritual benefit of his people, and his labors were richly blessed. Within a few months after it occurred, large additions were made to the church.

On the 19th of June, 1734, Rev. Ward Cotton was associated with Rev. Mr. Gookin, as a colleague in the pastoral office. Mr. Gookin was then in feeble health, and he lived only about two months afterwards. He died of a slow fever, August 25, 1734, aged 48 years. During this time three hundred and twenty persons were admitted to the full communion of the church.

Mr. Gookin was much esteemed by his people, who, after his death, often spoke in high terms of his worth. He was regarded as a man of good learning, great prudence, and ardent piety. He ranked high as a preacher, and his opinions in ecclesiastical affairs were very much respected by contemporary divines.

Here I shall do injustice to this people, if I neglect to mention their generous provision for the maintenance of Mr. Gookin’s widow. Soon after his death the town agreed to give her L80 a year; to furnish her with the keeping of cows and a horse, summer and winter, and to give her fifteen cords of wood per annum. They also built, for her use, a house and a barn. All this they performed as a memento of their love to Mr. Gookin, and their high regard to the worth of his widow. Mrs. Gookin was a daughter of Rev. John Cotton, her husband’s immediate predecessor in the pastoral office.

The notice I shall take of the succeeding pastors of the church will be extremely brief.

The ordination of Rev. Ward Cotton has been already alluded to. He was pastor of the church more than 31 years. He was dismissed November 12, 1765, in accordance with the advice of a mutual council. He died at Plymouth, Mass., November 27, 1768, aged 57 years.

Seven persons were dismissed from this church, September 25, 1737, in order to be formed into a church in the third parish, now the town of Kensington. The same number was dismissed, one week afterwards, to be united with them. Among these was Mr. Jeremiah Fogg, who was ordained pastor of that church November 23d, of the same year.

The fourth society was formed soon after, in that part of the town then called North Hill, but which was incorporated as a town November 26, 1742, and received the name of North-Hampton. The first meeting-house was erected there in 1738, and about the same time those members of the church residing in that part of the town requested a dismission, for the purpose of being organized into a new church. Their request was not granted. The town also refused to liberate the people there from aiding in the support of Rev. Mr. Cotton. The reason is not known. It is, however, probable that the church and town considered the formation of a new church at that time unnecessary. A council was called, that, after due deliberation, proceeded to organize the church, over which Rev. Nathaniel Gookin, son of the late pastor of the first church, was ordained, October 31, 1739.

Rev. Ebenezer Thayer became pastor of the old church, September 17, 1766, and continued in that office till his death. He died September 6, 1792, aged 58 years.

A few months after Mr. Thayer’s death, the church and town invited his son, Nathaniel, to become their minister. He did not accept the invitation. About a year afterwards they gave a call to Rev. Daniel Dana. He also declined.

After this a division arose in the town and church, which resulted in leading a majority of the town and a part of the church to declare themselves Presbyterians. They invited Rev. William Pidgin to become their pastor; and he, having accepted the invitation, was ordained January 27, 1796. Mr. Pidgin was pastor of that church a little more than eleven years. He was dismissed in July, 1807.

A minority of the town formed themselves into a society, and united with the congregational church for the maintenance of public worship, and Rev. Jesse Appleton became their pastor, February 22, 1797. As the old meeting-house was occupied by the Presbyterians, the Congregationalists made arrangements for building a new house. Accordingly, the one where we are now assembled was erected, on the 24th of May, 1797, and dedicated on the 14th of November following.

In the year 1807, Mr. Appleton was elected President of Bowdoin College; and, having accepted the appointment, was dismissed from this church on the 16th of November, in the same year. He died at Brunswick, Mc., Nov. 12, 1819, aged 47 years.

After Mr. Appleton’s dismission both churches were without pastors, and it was proposed that they should be united. Articles of union having been agreed upon, the Presbyterian church was merged in the Congregational, from which it had sprung about thirteen years before, and Rev. Josiah Webster was installed pastor, June 8th, 1808, and sustained that office till his death, March 27, 1837—almost twenty-nine years. At the time of his death Mr. Webster was about 65 years old.

The present pastor of the church, Rev. Erasmus D. Eldredge, was ordained April 4, 1838.

From these remarks it appears that this church has been organized two hundred years. During that time it has had eleven pastors. Of the first ten, six died in office, and four were dismissed. The average length of the ministry of these ten was about twenty years; for although the church, since its formation, has been destitute of a pastor about fourteen years, yet it has enjoyed the labors of two associate pastors for about the same length of time.

What important and wonderful changes have taken place during the period which we have been contemplating. If we compare our condition with that of our ancestors at the commencement of this period, in almost every circumstance we shall perceive a great alteration. The same sky is indeed spread out over us, which covered them. The same sun enlightens us by day, and the same moon by night. The same stars still beautify the heavens, and the same ocean, too, extends along the eastern border of the town; but even that is viewed with very different emotions from those felt by our ancestors, when they looked upon its broad bosom. Now, many of the little eminences within our borders afford picturesque and delightful views of the ocean and the scenery near it. Pleasant roads lead to its shore; and as we stand upon this shore, and observe the waves rolling forward and dashing upon the sand, and then look abroad upon the ocean itself, our minds are filled with agreeable sensations. We see vessels moving in various directions, and occasionally a steam-boat passing rapidly along, almost in defiance of winds and currents, having its source of motion within itself. But let us go back, in our imaginations, two hundred years, and how unlike the present! Seldom was a vessel seen off our coast; but rarely was the shore itself visited by the early settlers, as between that and their settlement were fens, creeks and marshes, rendering the way almost impassable. When they did stand by the ocean and look abroad upon its mighty mass of waters, their emotions must have been very different from ours. They were undoubtedly reminded of a place beyond the ocean; of the land of their nativity. They would naturally call to mind the scenes of their infancy and childhood—the loved scenes, the kind and affectionate friends, they had left behind, and that were separated from them by the world of waters upon which they were gazing. With their other feelings, then, must have been blended those of sadness.

But suppose we go and stand upon the sea-shore during the raging of a storm, when the water is lashed into tremendous commotion by the violence of the tempest; our feelings are indeed indescribable, but those of sublimity or grandeur are predominant. With our ancestors, other feelings must have been most powerful. When they, from their log cabins, heard the noise of the tempest; when they saw the violent agitation of the forest, as the wind moaned among its branches; and when, in addition, they heard the roar of the ocean, they must have been reminded, even more forcibly than on other occasions, of the separation to which they had been called. They then felt that an almost impassable barrier was between them and their native land.

Besides these great natural objects, how few things there are in which there has not been an almost entire change. Two centuries ago nearly the whole township, except the land bordering upon the ocean, and the marshes which skirted the river, was a thick forest, the growth of ages. From the original settlement, formed around yonder common, which was early called the meeting-house green, there might indeed have been an opening in one direction, where the marshes stretch away to the south, as far as the eye can reach. With this exception, the infant settlement was hemmed in with thick woods. No path lay through them, except such as the wild beasts had formed, or the lone foot-path, made by the Indian hunter in pursuit of game, or as he bent his course to the river in search of shellfish from its banks. Where are the forests now? Almost all have been prostrated by the woodman’s axe, and in their place we find meadows, orchards, and cultivated fields. Instead of the winding footpath, and the Indian trail, we have good and convenient roads, in almost every part of the town. How different, too, is the mode of conveyance. Our fathers seldom rode; never, except on horseback. When the second minister of the town was called to Dover, to advise with other gentlemen in regard to ecclesiastical affairs, history informs us that he went on foot. How is it now? Station yourselves near one of our principal roads in a fair summer day, and let the scenes you witness, answer.

Another change we may notice. When our fathers came hither, the only dwelling they found were Indian wigwams, the smoke of which was seen here and there curling up in the very midst of the forests; their own dwellings, at first, were log-houses, rudely constructed, and few in number. Now, as we pass along our roads, we observe on either side, and, in some places, compactly situated, dwelling-houses of various forms and sizes, some new, and others exhibiting signs of age; scarcely any of them, indeed, elegant; but nearly all betokening comfort. In regard to neatness of appearance and taste in their construction and position, there is room for much improvement. Still most of our dwellings are abodes of comfort. In many of them are individuals who are by no means strangers to rural felicity. They do not, indeed, dwell in splendid domes, nor are they vexed with the cares and anxieties of those who usually inhabit such structures. Of many an individual here, may we says in the words of the poet:

“Sure peace is his; a solid life, estrang’d
To disappointment and fallacious hope;
Rich in content; in nature’s bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits.”

Within two centuries, a great change has also taken place in the inhabitants themselves. When our fathers came hither, they found no inhabitants but Indians. These have all passed away. Not one of them remains. The smoke long since ceased to ascend from their wigwams, and their wigwams themselves have entirely disappeared. Their hunting grounds have been broken up and transformed into cultivated fields, and even their graves are now unknown.

But “our fathers, where are they?” They, too, are gone. Death has been busy among them, and has swept them away. About six generations have gone down to the grave since the settlement of the town was commenced. We pass by yonder graveyards, and the stones which affection has erected in memory of departed friends, remind us of the ravages of mortality. But upon the stones themselves the hand of time has not been inactive. Many of them are fallen; some have crumbled with the dust they were intended to commemorate; from others the inscriptions are worn away, so that only the position of the stones indicates that a grave is beneath them. The graves of those who died during the first half century from the settlement of the town, are now unknown. Their inmates have mouldered to dust, and will continue mingled with other dust, and undistinguished from it, until the morning of the resurrection, when their dust, though for ages scattered abroad, shall be collected again, and the bodies, which mouldered so long ago will be reanimated, never more to decay.

If time permitted, it would be interesting to notice the changes in regard to the means of mental and of moral improvement; to point out our superior advantages, arising from the multiplication of books; from the improved character of our common schools; from the academy in our midst; and from the establishment of Sabbath schools, furnished with libraries, adapted to expand the intellect and improve the heart.

The period we have been considering forms an important portion of the history of the world. I cannot, however, even glance at the mighty political and moral revolutions which have occurred since its commencement, in different parts of the earth. To illustrate its importance, I will merely observe, that, if we go back through a little more than nine such periods since our town was settled, we shall find our Saviour on earth, “going about coing good.” And we need not go back through quite thirty such periods, to arrive at the time when “the earth was without form and void;” when God said, “Let there be light and there was light;” when “the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.”

But on this interesting occasion, it is not necessary to confine our attention to the past. Our thoughts naturally and unavoidably run forward into futurity. Let us allow them to range freely. Let us pass onward, in our imaginations, through another century. At its close, we may suppose the people here will assemble, as we have this day done, to review the occurrences of the past. And it is probable that the third century of our history will exhibit as great and as interesting changes as either of those already past? Let us, in imagination, take our stand in the assembly that will then be convened. All will be strangers to us;–not one countenance with which we are familiar. Where then will be the people with whom we are now associated? Death will have swept them all away. Yes, every individual of this assembly will then be sleeping in the dust, as our ancestors now are. Not one of us will participate in the exercises of that occasion. What other changes will take place within one hundred years, we know not. We cannot doubt that they will be great and important. Their character will, unquestionably, depend in some measure on the course pursued by the present generation. Let us, then, consider well what duties we have to perform, and pursue such a course, that “future generations shall rise up and call us blessed.”

 


Endnotes

1 John Winthrop, Jr., and Mr. Rawson—probably Edward Rawson—were two of this committee. The name of the other is gone from the records of the town.

2The names of some of the first settlers of Hampton are found in the Massachusetts Colony Records. Dr. Belknap has given them in his history. The following is his list:

Stephen Bachelor, Thomas Molton,
Christopher Hussey, William Estow,
Widow Mary Hussey, William Palmer,
Thomas Cromwell, William Sergeant,
Samuel Skullard, Richard Swayne,
John Osgood, William Sanders,
Samuel Greenfield, Robert Tucke,
John Molton, John Cross.

The four names still not found in the town, are Bachelor, Molton, Palmer, and Tucke. Three of these names are now spelled in a different manner.

3 The writer referred to, is Edward Johnson, author of a work entitled “Wonder Working Providence of Zion’s Saviour.” The following is an extract from this work: “Much about this time [1639,] began the Town of Hampton, in the County of Northfolk, to have her foundation stone laid, scituate near the Sea-coast, not farre from the famous River of Merimeck, the great store of salt marsh did intice this people to set downe their habitations there, for as yet Cowes and Cattell of that kinde were not come to the great downfall in their price, of which they have 450 head; and for the form of this Towne, it is like a Flower-de-luce, two streets of houses wheeling off from the maine body thereof, the land is fertile, but filled with swamps, and some store of rocks, the people are about 60 Families; being gathered together into Church covenant, they called to office the reverend, grave, and gracious Mr. Doulton, having also for some little space of time the more ancient Mr. Bachelor to preach unto them also.”

4 From a vote of the town passed several years afterwards, it appears, that the land divided at this time was only the Low Common, so called, lying in the northeast part of the town.

5 I have made no attempts to give a full history of the town. It is desirable, however, that some person, qualified for the undertaking, should prepare and publish such a work. Abundant materials, at present, exist; but they are every year diminishing. Hampton being one of the first settled towns in New-Hampshire, it for many years formed an important part of the Province. Its history must, therefore, be interesting and useful. Well written histories of the several towns settled at an early period, would be invaluable documents to any person preparing a history of the State.

6 The record of the first vote mentioned, offering a bounty for killing a wolf, is in the following words:

“The 27: 11 mo; 44. It is hereby declared that every townsman which shall kill a wolfe & bring the head thereof 7 nayle the same to a little red oake at the northeast end of the meeting-house—They shall have 10s. a woolfe for ther paynes out of the towne-fines; or otherwise, if noe fines be in hand.”

 

7 Belknap.

8 In Farmer and Moore’s Gazetteer, it is stated that Locke was killed in 1694. The date given here rests on the authority of Hampton Records.

9 The meeting at which these delegates, or commissioners, were chosen was held January 20, 1689-90. After a preamble, mentioning that commissioners had been chosen by the people of Portsmouth and of Dover, and that the people of Hampton had been invited to pursue a similar course, the determination of the town is expressed as follows:

“We therefore ye Inhabitants of the Towne of Hampton in answer to their request have agreed to send thes sixe persons as our comishoners to joyne with ye comishoners of ye other Towns in ye province to confer about and resolve upon a method of Government within this province—And what ye sayd comishoners of the whole province or the majer part of them shall conclude and agree upon as to ye setelment of Ensign Henry Dow, Mr. Nathaniel Wire, Capt. Sauel Sherrborne, Morris Hobs Senior, and Mr. Edward Gove, in discoursing and agreeing about ye same, if they or ye majer part of them shall se just cause to comply and agree with the other comishoners as to ye way and method of Government that shall be settled amongst us And shall subscribe thereto—We the Inhabitants of ye Towne of Hampton reposing espeaciall Trust and confidence in our sayd comishoners, what they shall agree to, or the majer part of them. We shall hould as good and valued to all intents and purposes; Hereby obleidging our Selves to yield all ready obeadience thereto, until Their Majesties Order shall arrive for ye Setelment of Government over us.”

 

10 “On the 2 of the 2 mo; 1649:”
“The selectmen of this Towne of Hampton have agreed with John Legat for this present yeare insueing—To teach and instruct all the children of or belonging to our Towne, both mayle and femaile (wch are capiable of learning) to write and read and cast accountes, (if it be desired) as diligently and as carefully as he is able to teach and instruct them; And so diligently to follow the said imployment att all such time and times this yeare insueing, as the wether shall be fitting for the youth to com together to one place to be instructed: And also to teach and instruct them once in a week, or more, in some Arthodox chatechise provided for them by their parents or masters.
“And in consideration hereof we have agreed to pay, or cause to be payd unto the said John Legat the som of Twenty pounds, in corne and cattle and butter, att price currant, as payments are made of such goods in this Towne, and this to be payd by us “John Legat entered upon scholeing, the 21 day of the 3 month, 1649.”
Town Records.

11 The Massachusetts Colony Records say that he was removed from the pastoral office for “contempt of authority.”

12 Rev. Timothy Dalton was once a minister in the church of England. Being a non-conformist, he was obliged to relinquish his office, and leaving his native land he came to New-England. About the year 1637, or 1638, he was admitted as a freeman at Dedham, Mass. Soon after he came to this town, where he was settled in the ministry in 1639.

Sermon – Giving – 1877


Luther Alexander Gotwald (1833-1900) gradated from Pennsylvania College in 1857 and the theological seminary there in 1859. He was preacher in many towns including: Shippensburg, Chambersburg, Labanon and York, PA and Dayton and Springfield, OH. The following sermon was preached by Gotwald in 1877 in York, PA.


sermon-giving-1877-1

THE

DIVINE RULE CONCERNING GIVING.

OR,

THE CHRISTIAN USE OF PROPERTY.

A SERMON,

BY

Rev. L. A. GOTWALD, D. D.,
PASTOR OF
St. Paul’s Ev. Lutheran Church,

YORK, PA.

 

I HAVE SHOWED YOU ALL THINGS, HOW THAT SO LABOURING YE OUGHT TO SUPPORT THE WEAK AND TO REMEMBER THE WORDS OF THE LORD JESUS, HOW HE SAID, IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE.

Acts 20:35.

PREFACE.
A great want in the Lutheran Church of this land is a more systematic and enlarged liberality. In purity of doctrine, in correctness of life, in integrity of character, in the graces of biblical knowledge and faith and love and holiness, she is the peer of any church upon the face of the earth. In the grace, however, of Scriptural Beneficence, she is, it must be confessed, lamentably deficient. As a church we have not yet, even approximately, come up to our possibilities, nor learned to give according to the standard of giving prescribed in the word of God. Our people, with here and there a few noble exceptions, have not yet gotten hold of the Bible truth that Christian consecration, in it full import, includes the consecration also of property to the Lord.

It is in the humble hope that it may possibly, in some slight measure, aid to correct this wrong condition of things, that the following sermon is now committed to print. It was prepared and delivered by appointment before the YORK AND ADAMS COUNTY CONFERENCE OF THE SYNOD OF WEST PENNSYLVANIA. The aim in its composition was, in the simplest possible language and in the smallest reasonable compass, to exhibit the teachings of the word of God on this Christian duty of giving. It was designed especially for the ear and heart of the laity, and with the wish, if possible, to stir up their pure minds to a realization of the great things which God, in this respect, requires from them. And with this design, and with this purpose of thus addressing the noble men and women of our churches, it is also now published.

The sermon is not “published by request,” neither of congregation nor conference nor synod. The only one who has requested its publication is the author himself. And this his own request he complies with from no other motive than the desire to help forward all he can the various benevolent activities of the church to which he belongs and which he loves as he loves his own life.

Being published and distributed gratuitously he asks only the small favor that each one to whom it may be sent will carefully read it, with a mind open to conviction, and with a heart willing promptly to comply with whatever is established from the word of God as Christian duty; for, in the language of our own precious Luther, “God has given to us the measuring line of His own word, and they that lie and do thereafter, well it is for them, for God will richly reward them both in this life and in the life to come.”

York, PA., August 23d, 1877.

SERMON.
“NOW CONCERNING THE COLLECTION FOR THE SAINTS, AS I HAVE GIVEN ORDER TO THE CHURCHES OF GALATIA, EVEN SO DO YE.

UPON THE FIRST DAY OF THE WEEK LET EVERY ONE OF YOU LAY BY HIM IN STORE, AS GOD HATH PROSPERED HIM, THAT THERE BE NO GATHERING WHEN I COME.” 1ST Cor. 16: 1-2.

This text is an expression of the Scriptural Rule of Beneficence.

Concerning this rule it may, in a preliminary way, be remarked that it is given, not as mere advice, which we are at liberty either to heed or to disregard, but that it comes to us clothed with divine authority and in the form of an emphatic and positive divine command. Paul wrote this epistle, as he wrote all his other epistles, under the direct inspiration of the Holy Ghost.—His words, therefore, are God’s words. And hence, when, in enunciating this Rule, he here says:—“I have given order or command to the churches to lay aside systematic contributions for religious or charitable purposes,” we must receive what he says as the command or order to us of God Himself, a divine law which possesses the same binding force and obligation which is possessed by any other divine law.

It may also, as a preliminary thought, be further observed, that this Scriptural Rule of Beneficence, as here stated by the Apostle, is universal in its application, or, in other words, is binding upon all Christians, and upon one church as much as it is upon another. For this epistle, it may be noticed, is addressed not alone to the Corinthian Christians, but “to all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord both theirs and ours.” Besides, the Apostle here expressly says that this same rule which he thus gives to the Corinthian church, he had also given “to the churches of Galatia.” And, in addition to all this, it might be well asked, if this rule or law is not perpetual and binding upon the present Christian churches, as much as upon those to whom the Apostle spoke and wrote, then what scriptural rule or law is thus perpetual or binding? If this rule is local and temporal, in its application, then what rule, in the whole canon of the word of God, is not? This rule of Christian beneficence, here addressed to the Corinthian Christians, we must, therefore, regard as being, also, directly and personally addressed to each one of us, and in these words we must hear not the Apostle only, but God Himself saying to us all, “at certain stated times, let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him:”

But let us now turn to an analysis and careful consideration of the Rule itself. In looking at it, I notice—

I. That it involves the element of Intelligence, or a knowledge of the specific objects claiming Christian Beneficence. The object toward which these Corinthian Christians were here asked to give was the relief of the poor saints at Jerusalem. This object the Apostle had fully explained to them; had shown them the need of these their suffering fellow Christians; had exhibited to them their obligations toward them; and had given to them such a clear and intelligent statement of the case that they fully understood all concerning it.—(2 Cor. 8: 10; 9: 2, 5.).

They were not only asked to give, but to give intelligently, and they were first thus made intelligent with regard to the object in order that they might and would cheerfully and liberally give.

This scriptural rule of beneficence, embraces, then, as a first element, intelligence. Christians, in giving to religious objects, should know what those objects are. They should be informed with regard to their precise character, their aims, their history, the extent of their operations, their success, their hindrances, their possibilities, their merits, their claims. And hence every Christian should, in every possible way, seek to make himself intelligent with regard to all church work. To this end he should study the doctrines and polity of his church. He should be familiar with her history. He should acquaint himself with all her institutions and organizations for the prosecution of the cause of Christ. He should be a student of her literature. He should, week after week, through her various journals, inform himself of what the church, both at home and in heathen lands, is seeking to do for the world’s conversion. He should also carefully read the proceedings of her Synods, and especially of her General Synod, and thus learn what the combined wisdom of the church adopts and recommends as the best methods of doing good. And to this end, also, there rests a most emphatic duty upon every minister of the church. The priests lips should keep knowledge and the people should seek the law at his mouth, for he is the messenger of the Lord of Hosts.”—(Malachi 2:7.) The minister is the people’s teacher. His duty is to instruct them. And his duty is to instruct them in respect to this grace of giving, as much as in respect to the other graces of a Christian character. “I will give you pastors according to my heart which shall feed you with knowledge and understanding.”—(Jer. 3:15.) “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee, that thou shalt be no priest to me: seeing thou hast forgotten the law of thy God, I will also forget thy children.”—(Hosea 4:6.)

It is his duty fully and repeatedly to speak to his people, both from the pulpit and in their homes, with regard to our church periodicals, our Colleges and Theological Seminaries, our system of Beneficiary Education, our struggling cause of Home and Foreign Missions, our Church Extension work, and every other good object appealing to the church for help. This, I repeat, is every gospel minister’s most sacred duty. He owes it to himself as a true man worthy of his position. He owes it to the church which has entrusted him with her interests, and ordained him as one of her helpers and leaders. He owes it to his own people who have chosen him as their religious guide and look to him for a knowledge of their duty. He owes it to his own people who have chosen him as their religious guide and look to him for a knowledge of their duty. He owes it to the world, perishing for the want of the gospel. And he owes it, above all, to Christ, whose ambassador he declares himself to be. Alas! That so many notwithstanding all these obligations, are yet so derelict in their duty in this respect!

But, I notice

II. That this Scriptural Rule of Beneficence, as here expressed, embraces, also, the element of Voluntariness. The divine command is here most clear and positive. But obedience to the command, like obedience to every other divine command, is left as a voluntary matter with us. Each one, hearing the command, is free to give or not give; and, if he gives, it is with him also to decide how much or how little he will give. God compels no one to give. Giving is every where in the Bible left as a voluntary matter with ourselves, and its moral value is, indeed, largely dependent on its being thus purely voluntary. God tells us our duty, shows us His claims upon us, asks us for our gifts, tells us that He is pleased with the grace of liberality and that He will bless us in return for it, and even commands us to bring our gifts and lay them on His altar. But there He stops. There is no compulsion to give. Our giving must be voluntary. It must be our own cheerful and self-willed act. It must come as a ready and spontaneous expression of our piety and love to God. To be acceptable giving—to be, as it should, true and scriptural and genuinely Christian giving—it must have in it preeminently the element of heartiness, of deep gratitude, of joy in giving. It must partake of the nature of worship, offering to God our gifts as an act of thankful affection toward Him, bringing them to Him as a grateful return for all the infinite goodness which He has bestowed upon us. We must give because we love to give, and feel glad that we have the privilege of giving. There must be entire voluntariness, I repeat, in it. As the Apostle says: “Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly nor of necessity; for God loveth a cheerful giver.” And so, here in our text, it is as their own unrestrained and voluntary act that the Apostle asks these Corinthian Christians to give. “Let,” he says, “every one give. Let each one, as his own free, happy Christian act, on each first day of the week, lay by him, in store, as God hat prospered him!”

I notice, however,

III. That this Scriptural Rule of Beneficence, as here expressed in our text, includes especially the element of Regularity or System. The Apostle not only here enjoins upon these Christians at Corinth to give, but to have also a specific and regular time to give. “Upon the first day of the week,” as a regular and fixed habit, attending to it as punctually and faithfully as you attend to the duty of prayer or going to God’s house or reading God’s word, attend also to this duty of giving. “As ye,” he says, “abound in faith, and utterance, and knowledge, and diligence, and love, see that ye abound in this grace of liberality also.” He does not say to them, “Wait until some agent with a subscription book visits your congregation; Or wait until some eloquent preacher occupies your pulpit and in pathetic terms forces your duty upon you and, almost against your will, persuades you to give; Or wait until I come, and with the electric force of my eloquence, backed by my apostolic authority and power, set before you the different benevolent operations of the church, and play upon your sympathies, or perhaps touch your vanity, and excite your rivalry, and thus move you to give. No! He said nothing of that kind to them. What Paul wanted was not one single large collection, extorted by eloquence or persuasion, and followed perhaps by a terrible reaction and by a long withholding of liberality from all benevolent objects. Not this did he want. On the contrary, he aimed to establish in the Corinthian church a permanent system of liberality, a conscientious habit of giving, an abiding rule of benevolence. What he wanted was that each one, as a matter of pure Christian principle, as an act of worship, (for giving is worship) without agencies or appeals or pressure from without of any kind, but moved to it simply out of love to God and desire for his glory, should upon every recurring Lord’s Day, as part of the religious service of that day, make an offering of his means towards the furtherance of religious and Christian objects, “As I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye.’ How? Why thus: “Upon the first day of the week,” upon the Lord’s Day, the day when He rose for thee from the dead and finished the work of thy redemption, upon the day when above all other days thy mind is calm and thy heart is warm under the beams of the Sun of Righteousness shining fully upon thee, upon the blessed Lord’s Day, “let every one of you,” young and old, rich and poor, male and female, parents and children, “lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come.”

Now, with the very letter of this rule some of us will, most likely, not be able to comply; and yet with the principle or spirit of it, we all both can and ought to comply. The letter of the rule demands that regularly, on every Lord’s day, we should lay aside, out of the income of the preceding week, a certain proportion for God. But, by many of us, our income is not received weekly, but monthly, or quarterly, or annually. By others their income is not fixed at all, neither in respect to time nor amount, but is entirely dependent upon the success of certain enterprises or investments. And hence with the exact and literal requirements of this scriptural rule but few of us can comply. But with the essential principle or spirit of this law we all can comply, and ought to comply. And what is the principle or spirit of this law? Simply this:—that at certain stated times, if possible on every Lord’s Day, and if not then whenever it is possible, each Christian, without exception, shall lay aside for religious and charitable purposes, a certain proportion of his net earning, profit, income, or capital, thus having a separate and sacred fund for the Lord, and thus always having something on hand to give as the various appeals for the cause of Christ and humanity are presented to him. A mechanic, e. g., one who receives his wages regularly every week, should also, according to this inspired Law of Beneficence, every week, i. e., every Lord’s Day, take out of the week’s wages which he thus receives a certain conscientiously determined portion and lay it aside, or put it away in some secure place, as the Lord’s money, to be cheerfully and liberally given, whenever called upon, for the Lord’s cause. The clerk, or mechanic, or minister, who receives his salary monthly or quarterly or semi-annually should also monthly or quarterly or semi-annually make such a deposit for the Lord. The farmer whose full returns are received only at the end of the year, should at the end of the year, or at least once sometime in the year, make such a settlement with the Lord. And the merchant, the tradesman, the banker, and others, whose incomes vary, both in time and amount, should all conscientiously determine beforehand what amount of their gains they will give to the Lord, and then, as those gains are received, honestly and faithfully, also, deposit in the Lord’s funds the exact amount which they had thus determined upon giving. In other words, this whole matter of giving ought, by every Christian, to be reduced to a regular and rigid system; prompted on the one hand wholly by love and gratitude to God, and zeal for the cause of Christ, and yet carried out on the other hand, upon the most rigid business principles. As an illustration I may here rehearse an example or two of this conception of giving from my own pastoral experience.

The first case of the now sainted Mr. W., of S., a business man, not given to much religious demonstration, but a man of eminent integrity of character, and whose memory is very precious to me. He was always a cheerful and liberal giver. I often asked him for contributions toward various benevolent objects, and was never rebuffed nor refused; his only question ever being, “How much ought I to give?” Sitting with him in his office one day, and conversing on this subject of benevolence, I said in substance to him, “Mr. W. I often ask you for money for religious and charitable purposes, and you always give and give liberally. May I ask you how you manage to be able always to do so? Have you a plan or system in your beneficence?” Turning in his chair, and pointing to one corner of the room, he said to me, “Do you see that safe? In that safe is a secret drawer. That drawer is marked “The Lords’ Drawer.” Into that drawer, at the end of each week, I deposit, as nearly as I can estimate it correctly, the one-tenth of all that I have made during that week. I do this as regularly and systematically as I attend to any other business transaction—for that I regard also as business, my business with the Lord. Having once thus deposited money in that drawer I then regard that money as no longer in any sense mine. It is the Lord’s. I am simply the custodian and disposer of it. And hence when you, or any other of the Lord’s accredited agents call upon me, and say that the Lord sent you here for some of His money in my hands, it is the easiest thing in the world, and a most pleasant thing also, to go right there to that drawer, and pay out to the Lord His own money—not mine, but His. That, sir, is my plan, and that is how I always have something to give. How much did you say you wanted to-day.”

A second case is that of a gentleman whose very initials I shall conceal, since he is still living, and with true Christian modesty prefers that his left hand should not know what his right hand does for Christ and His church. Some ten years ago he made a certain investment involving considerable financial risk. Before doing so, however, he made the whole matter a subject of earnest prayer. He also solemnly covenanted with God that the one-tenth of all that he made, whether much or little, should be given to religious uses. And to bind himself as solemnly as possible to this covenant, and to prevent his selfishness from possibly afterward gaining the mastery over him and lead him to break it, he wrote it out, and on his knees subscribed it, and then laid it away as a witness against himself in the future Eight months passed. The transaction proved eminently successful. He cleared on his investment about seventy-five thousand dollars. And so one day, he came to my study, related to me the whole matter from beginning to end, and asked me to direct him in distributing most beneficially the sum of seven thousand five hundred dollars, the one-tenth of what he had made, among the leading benevolent objects of the church. The task was a delightful one both to him and me, and one which I would love often to repeat.

Both these cases reveal the moral and spiritual sublimity of true Christian giving, and show how constant and large with God’s blessing, our benefactions may be if we learn once to give from religious principle and in rigid compliance with an intelligent system.

There being thus this necessity and obligation for plan or system in individual beneficence, it is also, of course, highly important that there should be plan and regularity with regard to it established in each of our congregations. There should in each church be some system adopted by which in turn each one of the leading benevolent objects will be brought from the pulpit to the attention of the people, and by which at certain fixed times every member will be called upon to make his contribution to these objects. And yet in most of our churches, and especially in many of our large and wealthy congregations in the country, there is no such system at all, and no attempt whatever on the part of the pastors to establish such a system. All is left to the mere chances of the passing occasion. In some of our congregations there is but one collection taken for benevolent purposes during the whole year, called the “Harvest Collection,” a collection which at best is meager enough, and which often, if the weather should chance to be bad, or from some other cause the congregation should be small, amounts to nothing at all. And that one collection, on that one day, expresses the sum total of the benevolent work and of the liberality of three or four or five hundred Lutheran Christians for one whole year!

Now, all this could easily be remedied by the introduction of some plan of beneficence such as I have suggested above. Among the various plans which have been successfully introduced in many of our churches are the following:

1. The Box System, recommended and fully endorsed by our General Synod of 1871, at Dayton, Ohio.

2. The Envelope System, which differs nothing in principle from the Box System, but only in the receptacle into which contributions are deposited.

3. The Committee System, where stated contributions are gathered regularly by a committee, being the same in principle a the Box and Envelope Systems.

And to indicate how important our General Synod regards system in this matter of beneficence, that body at its last meeting in Carthage Illinois, passed unanimously the following resolution, viz:

Resolved, That all the Synods in connection with this General Synod be, and are hereby, urged to propose some such plan as those just enumerated to every congregation under their jurisdiction, and that the chairman of each delegation now in attendance be entrusted with the presentation of this resolution to his synod.” (See Minutes, page 31.)

I notice now yet—

IV. That this Scriptural Rule of Beneficence involves the element also of Proportion according to Ability. “Let everyone,” says our text, “lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him.” And elsewhere we are commanded to give, “every man according to his several ability.” And again, “according to the ability that God giveth.” And then, once more, we are told that “if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to he hath not.

Now, in these and in similar passages of the word of God, it is implied, first, that every Christian can give something; and it is declared, secondly, that each one should give in proportion to his means or ability to give. The question, therefore, to be determined is, What is each one’s ability? How much relatively can and ought a Christian to give to the Lord?

Under the Old Testament dispensation the pious Jew was divinely required to give much. He was required to give the first fruits both of his flocks and his field. He was required, also, to ransom with money his first born child. He was required, in reaping his fields, to leave the corners for the poor. Whatever fell from the reapers hands he was also required to leave for the poor. Then, every seventh year, all his fields were to be left uncultivated, and whatever grew spontaneously he was required to give to the poor. Then one-tenth, also, of all the products of his field he was annually required to give to the Levites who had no land assigned them. Then there were trespass offerings, and sin offerings, and peace offerings, and many other costly sacrifices, all of which he was required to bring. Then, every fiftieth year, or every year of Jubilee, all debts had to be remitted. And then, also, there were frequent and costly journeys to Jerusalem which he was required to make, and various gifts to the temple which he was required to offer. Adding all of which together, each Jew must, by divine requirement, have given annually, for religious purposes, at least one-third of all his income! We may call this a large proportion. But it was the proportion, let us remember, which God Himself required. And it is remarkable that, just in proportion as the Jewish people, complied with this requirement, God also prospered them. Such was the divine standard of liberality among God’s ancient people the Jews. Taking, therefore, this Old Testament standard as the measure by which to estimate our duty, we learn from it that each one of us, ought to give, at least, one-third of all our earnings or income to the Lord.

But we are not, you say, Jews: we are Christians. Turn with me, then, to the conduct in this respect of the early Christians, or of the apostolic or primitive church. What proportion, let us ask, of their wealth or income did they give to the cause of Christ? They, I answer, gave all they had. Listen! “And all that believed were together, and had all things common, and sold their possessions and goods and parted them to all men as every man had need!” Now, I do not understand this passage to teach that each one of these early Christians literally sold all his property, and placed the proceeds in one common treasure, out of which all were then fed and clothed. No. The existence of no such community system, or common stock company, is here taught. For, as the sequel teaches, and as we are told in various other places, the early Christians, with comparatively few exceptions, continued in their own homes and retained their properties. And the Apostle expressly declares: “If any man provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel!” The passage, then, simply means that they held their possessions as dedicated supremely and first of all to Christ, and even occasionally for this purpose sold some of their property, parting sometimes, as in the case of Barnabas, with their lands and homes, in order that they might be the more able to give, feeling that their wealth was not their own but the Lord’s, and that they, as His stewards, should use what He had thus entrusted to them purely for His glory. The spirit of the early Christians, then, was a spirit of entire consecration both of themselves and their property to Christ and to the glory of God. They first gave themselves to God, and with themselves they also gave all they had to him. “Moreover, brethren we do you to wit of the grace of God bestowed on the churches of Macedonia; How, that, in a great trial of affliction, the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality. For to their power, I bear record, yea, and beyond their power hey were willing of themselves; Praying us with much entreaty that he would receive the gift, and take upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints. And this they did, not as we hoped, but first gave their own selves to the Lord, and unto us by the will of God.—(2 Cor. 8:1-5.)

And this spirit, now, of those early Christians, thus holding their wealth as consecrated to Christ, it is our duty as Christians also to possess. Not to sell all, and at once give all, and then have no more to give, but to feel that all we have is God’s, and that it is all only entrusted to our care to be used, as occasion or opportunity presents itself, for the good of our fellow men and for the glory of God. This, I say, is the view of property which every Christian now ought to take; for this is the true, the scriptural, the New Testament view of it.

Guided, then, by the requirements of God from his ancient people the Jews, and guided especially by the spirit and conduct of the early Christians and guided in addition by the entire genius of Christianity, and the universal teaching of God’s word with regard to the use of property, we may lay down for ourselves the following rules by which to determine how much each one of us is able to give to the cause of Christ. And—

a. We ought to give according to the sum total of our property or capital. This is, the rich must give a larger proportion of their income than the poor. A poor widow, e.g., with a dependent family, cannot afford, in justice to herself, to give the one-tenth of all her earnings, simply because, by doing so, she would be depriving her children of their very bread, and hence God does not require her to give that proportion. A widow’s mite, or just whatever she can, in justice to herself and children, give, that, and that only, God asks her to give. But with the rich man or the man in good circumstances, the case is entirely different, and the duty therefore is also different. He can give, not only the one-tenth of all his income, but much more. He can give the one-fourth, or the one-half, or the three-fourths, or even all of his income, beyond his expenses of living, and even part of his very capital itself, because his means of support will still be abundant. In other words, the greater a man’s wealth or capital, the larger also must be, not simply the naked amount which he gives, compared with the amount which the poor give, but the larger also must be the amount in proportion to his income, or the amount as compared with the sum total of his wealth. 1 And hence the rule which was adopted by Mr. Cobb, a merchant of Boston, whose case is familiar to us all, was eminently proper and Christian. When he became a Christian he resolved, and upon his knees solemnly pledged himself to give one-fourth of his net profits to the lord. If ever worth $20,000, he resolved to give one-half of the net profits. If ever he should acquire $30,000, he resolved to give three-fourths of his net income to the Lord. And if ever he should become worth $50,000, he resolved to give after that all his net profits to the Lord. And this resolution he sacredly kept, never allowing himself to become worth more than $50,000, always giving in proportion to his increasing wealth until it reached the sum upon which he had thus determined and then afterward, to the day of his death, giving all that he made. This, then, is the first rule by which to determine how much to give, viz: each one ought to give in proportion to the sum total of his wealth, and he ought, when once he has acquired a certain conscientiously determined sum, then afterward give all his income, above his expenses, to the Lord.

b. A second rule which we may deduce from what was said, to guide us in the duty of giving, is: That each one of us ought to give according to the amount of our income or wages. Most persons have nothing save their daily earnings. Their wages is their all. The ability of such persons to give is, of course, determined entirely by the amount of wages they receive, and the expense of living to which they are subject. The hard working mechanic, e.g., with a large family to support, and who receives only perhaps a dollar a day, is able, like the widow, to cast in only two mites into the treasure of the Lord. But, if now his wages should, in the good providence of God, is doubled, then also should his contributions be doubled. As his wages increase so also should his liberality increase. For according to his ability is also his obligation. And so with every one. Increase in salary or wages increases the ability, and, with the ability, the obligation, to give. The case often quoted of John Wesley is a case right in point. Reducing his expenses to the lowest possible figure, when his income was L30 a year, he lived on L28, and gave away L2. The next year his income increased to L60, but he still lied on L28, and gave away L32. The third year his income had increased to L120, but, still true to his plan, he lived on L28, and gave away L92. And, at the time of his death, by following out this principle of increasing his liberality with each increase of his salary, he had given away to benevolent objects the large sum of over one hundred thousand dollars in our money.

c. A third rule which we may lay down for our government in this matter is: That we ought to give according to what our ability might be by industry and economy. There are many professing Christians who lack industry, who spend much of their time in thriftless idleness, and who, in consequence, never accumulate what they might accumulate, and who therefore have not the ability to give which they might have. And so, also, with many there is a lack of the Christian grace of economy, with whom extravagance is a besetting sin, and who, on this account, lack the ability, or at least, the disposition to give to the name of Christ. Now, the scriptural idea is that a Christian is not to bury his Lord’s talent, nor is he to waste it, but, by industry or economy, he is to increase it, out of two pounds making five, and out of five making ten, and thus by increase of his wealth increase his ability with wealth to do good. And hence it is doubtful whether our Christian business men, no matter what amount of wealth they may have accumulated, have ever the moral right, for the mere sake of their personal ease, and with no necessity laid upon them by broken health or other compulsory causes, to “retire from business.” Their business knowledge and tact and capacity are talents, and these talents, as long as possible, should be used to make money for the Lord. “I have showed you all things, how that so laboring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord, how He said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35.) “Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord.” (Rom. 12:11.)

This, then, is another principle by which we may determine how much we ought to give. Our duty is, by industry and economy, to make ourselves as able as possible to give to the cause of Christ. And it is amazing how much one can save, and gather, in the course of a year, if only one has a will to do so. As an illustration, a poor shoemaker being asked how he continued to give as much as he did, replied that it was all easily done by simply heeding the apostle’s directions as here given in our text. “I earn,” said he, “one day with another, about a dollar a day, and I can, without inconvenience to myself or family, a lay by five cents a day out of it for charitable purposes; the amount of which each week is thirty cents. My wife takes in dewing and washing, and earns something like two dollars a week, out of which she lays by ten cents. My children each earn a shilling or two occasionally, and are glad to add their penny to ours; so that altogether we lay by us in store forty cents a week, which in the course of a year amounts to twenty dollars and eighty cents.” Now, this illustration shows us how much even the poorest, if they will, may gather, by industry and rigid economy, to give to the Lord.

d. But we may derive for ourselves still one other rule by which to ascertain our duty in respect to this matter of giving, viz: That each one of us ought to give all that we can possibly spare by self-denial and positive personal sacrifice! The duty to practice self-denial in order to be able to give, is taught us all through the word of God. It is taught us by example. Look at the example of God’s ancient people in the offerings they brought for the erection of the tabernacle. “And they spake unto Moses, saying, The people bring much more than enough for the service of the work which the Lord commanded to make. And Moses gave commandment, and they caused it to be proclaimed throughout the camp, saying, Let neither man nor woman make any more work for the offering of the sanctuary. So the people were restrained from bringing. For the stuff they had was sufficient for all the work to make it, and too much.—(Exodus 36:3-7.) Or look at the example of those noble Macedonian Christians to whom Paul (2 Cor. 8:2.) refers. Or look at the example of the Christians at Philippi concerning whom the same Apostle says, (Phil. 4:16.) “Ye sent once and again unto my necessity.” Or look at the example of the noble Apostles, who counted not even their live dear unto themselves, but rejoiced to suffer the loss of all things that they might save souls. (Acts 20:24.) Or look, above all, at the example of Jesus Himself, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through His poverty might become rich. (2 Cor. 8:9.) And not by example only, but by direct precept, also, is this duty taught us. For hear what the Master said to the rich young man, “Yet lackest thou one thing; sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come follow me.” (Luke 18:23.) And hear what He says to His disciples, “But rather give alms of such things as ye have, and behold all things are clean unto you.” (Luke 11:41.) “Sell that ye have, and give alms, provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth.” (Luke 12:32.) “Deny thyself, take up thy cross, and follow Me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the Gospel’s, the same shall save it.”—(Mark 8:34-35.)

And this duty, indeed, the whole spirit or genius of Christianity inculcates; for the very life of our holy religion is a life of love and self-surrender and willing sacrifice for the good of others. Self-denial for the cause of Christ, is, then, a Christian duty binding upon all who call themselves disciples of Jesus. And hence all that, in justice to certain other rightful claims upon me, I can spare by the practice of self-denial it is also my duty thus to spare. All, e.g., that I can thus spare by denying myself extravagant articles of food and clothing; all that I can spare by denying myself extravagant enjoyments and indulgence; all especially that I can spare by denying myself mere luxuries and gratifications of appetite; all this, if I would come up to the full measure of the Bible standard of my Christian duty in this respect, I must also, by self denial thus spare. I am to deny myself! I am to make sacrifices! My benevolence, like that of the Apostles, and especially like that of Jesus, is to cost me something! I must give until I feel it, and feel it deeply; give, until I can really give no more! Then, and then only, will I have given as much as I ought to give!

“Give! As the morning that flows out of heaven;
Give! As the waves when their channel is riven;
Give! As the free air and sunshine are given;
Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give.
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing,
Not a pale bud from the June roses blooming,
Give as He gives who gave thee Himself!”

This expression of each one of us ought to give towards the support and spread of the gospel all he “can” give, and that he ought to give “until he can give no more,” may possibly seem extravagant and unwarranted by the word of God, Let it only, however, he rightly understood, and it will not seem so. The claims of the gospel and of the church are not the only just claims held against us. There are, on the contrary, many other claims, claims grounded in the very constitution of our being and which we owe to ourselves, and claims springing from our relationships and surroundings and which we owe to our fellow men, and these claims it is also our duty to meet as well as those of the gospel. We possess, e. g., a physical nature, which claims from us regard for our health and which makes at certain times been costly recreation a duty; an intellectual nature which claims from us culture in the expenditure of money for education and travel and books; an aesthetic nature which claims gratification in costly objects of beauty and works of taste and art; a social nature which relates us to the community and the state and which in each of these relations lays claims upon our liberality; and a domestic nature which assigns us our place in the circle of home and brings us under obligations to those who are there dependent upon us. And this manifold nature, with which we are all thus endowed, God himself, as our creator, has given us as much as He has given to us the gospel and the church, and these also He requires us, within certain just bounds of moderation, to honor and meet as much as He expects us to honor and meet the claims of the gospel and church. Indeed, a full-orbed piety takes in all these various relations, and a truly symmetrical and well-balanced Christian is one who, guided by heavenly wisdom, has learned how rightly to adjust the claims upon him both of the things of time and eternity.

Both the ability and the obligation of the Christian, therefore, to give toward the furtherance of the cause of Christ, or, in other words, the claims upon him of the gospel, are modified by these various other claims which are thus, in the divine order of things, laid upon him. And hence the question What is the measure of my personal obligation with my means to aid the spread of the gospel, or, in other words, the question How much and in what things must I deny myself in order to be able to help onward the gospel, this, I say, is a question which must and can be determined by each individual Christian himself alone.—Its solution falls purely within the sphere of Christian casuistry. It is a matter for each one’s own conscience enlightened by the word of God and sanctified by divine grace, to decide. Weighing, on the one hand, with moderation the relative value of all earthly and merely temporal claims upon him, and weighing well, on the other, the infinite value of the gospel, the perishing world’s great need of it, the ability which God has given him to relieve this need, the mighty love of Christ in seeking and saving him, and his incalculable indebtedness to this love for all the happiness which he now enjoys and for all for which he hopes in the life to come, he must himself determine how much of his means he owes unto the Lord and how much of it he is justifiable in expending for things of earth, for his dwelling, for furniture, for dress, for recreation, for tobacco, for statuary, for paintings, for horses and carriages, for eating and drinking. All must be settled at the bar of his own enlightened individual conscience. He is God’s steward, and must give account, and it is to his own Master that he standeth or falleth. And hence, as the Apostle to the Gentiles admonishes “Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth.” Or as the Apostle John expresses it: “Beloved, if our heart (our conscience) condemns us not, then have we confidence toward God.”

And the question here also suggests itself forcibly whether more of our Lutherans who possess wealth should not also, in addition to thus giving liberally while they live, remember our various church enterprises also in their “last wills and testaments?” What munificent bequests are made, from time to time, by Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, and Episcopalians to the Boards of Missions and Education, or to the Seminaries and Colleges, or to some other enterprise of their respective churches. How rarely however, that any of our wealthy Lutherans thus leave their money, or any part of it, to aid the Lutheran Church after they are gone, in building up the Master’s Kingdom in the world! Shall it always be so?

“There are many rich men and women, some with no natural heirs, who content themselves while they live with very limited and circumscribed contributions to the Church which has reared them, and die without leaving to it a dollar of their abundant means. Surely our great cause deserves better from its own children, whom God has prospered that they might do liberal things for it. Surely also, there is need for such assistance, considering the very infirm and struggling condition of our enterprises, institutions and operations.

We therefore take occasion again to call the attention of those who are blessed with means, and whom the church has blest with all their immortal hopes, and who expect from that same church the future perpetuation of what they consider best and purest in religion and piety, not to forget the claims that are upon them from this source, and to learn to be considerate and liberal in setting apart reasonable portions of their accumulations for the Lord and His needy Church. If gifts and contributions must needs be narrowed, limited and stinted during life, let there be timely provision made that the church may not be deprived of its rightful share in these estates when their favored proprietors have gone to give an account of their stewardship to the Great Judge of all.

It is also important to remember in this connection that in some of the States, bequests to charitable or religious purposes, or institutions are null and void in the law, unless made some months previous to death. Any one, therefore, who is contemplating the devise of legacies to benevolent or church purposes should lose no time in making a will to that effect, lest the law should step in at last and completely thwart and nullify all these benevolent and pious intentions so unwisely delayed to the last extremity. It will not bring death any sooner to be ready for it, and to have all these matters duly arranged at once. Ye men and women of wealth and fortune, God expects liberal things of you. See to it that ye be not undutiful in your stewardship!” 2

May the Holy Spirit give to each one of us an instructed and honest conscience with regard to the right and true Christian use of our property, and may not, in the day of judgment, our conscience be, in this respect, a witness to testify against us!

And now, if we all were only thus willing to give, how vastly might not the benevolent contributions of each one of us be increased. How much more we all might thus give. And what abundant streams of wealth would then flow into the treasury of the Lord, and how all the various agencies of the church would then have more than means sufficient for all their needs.

This, then, is the Scriptural Rule of Beneficence! This is God’s requirement from us in regard to this grace of Christian Giving! This is our duty, as here expressed by the pen of inspiration itself; “Upon the first day of the week, let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him.” And this is the duty of all—of one as much as of another—of you, and of me, and of every one who calls himself a Christian. By the last and great commission of the Saviour bidding us go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature, by the command of God’s word repeated upon almost every inspired page, by the examples of the saints in the centuries past, 3 by the goodness to us of God, by the love even unto death of Christ, by the moral needs of the world perishing in its sins, by the welfare of the church asking and pleading for our help, by the gratitude we owe for what grace has done for us, by the ability which God has bestowed upon us, by our hope of heaven, by the value of souls, by the account we must render in the great Day of Judgment, by all these considerations, the duty is most solemnly imposed upon every one of us who loves the name of Christ, to the fullest possible extent of our ability, to give of our income toward the support and universal spread of the gospel. “The love of Christ should constrain us, and we should thus judge that if One (Christ) died for all then were all dead: and that He died for all that they who live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him who died for them and rose again.”—(2 Cor. 5: 14-15.)

And, must at this present time, is it especially our duty to give liberally of our means to the cause of Christ. For now, more than ever before in our whole history, God is giving to us, as a church, most glorious opportunities to do good. Both at home and abroad He is throwing open before us wide doors of Christian usefulness, such as the very angels would rejoice to enter. And yet now more than ever, compared with the work thus providentially assigned us, the needed means are wanting. Our various benevolent treasuries are, almost without exception, impoverished, and are hindered in their labors because of this one lack—the lack of money. Our Foreign Mission Boards are laden heavily with debt, and their appeal for relief is but slowly responded to by the churches. Our work of Home Missions is limited to the small number of only forty mission point, whereas if the means necessary were supplied the number could quickly be multiplied to ten times forty. Our Church Extension Board, for lack of means, are compelled to decline repeated and most deserving applications for assistance. Our Colleges and Seminaries all need increased endowments, and could vastly enlarge their power for good if only they had increased funds with which to carry on their operations. Our work, also, of Beneficiary Education is in the same sad condition: its treasury being already overdrawn, and pious and talented young men who offer themselves to the church to study for the ministry are turned away, for the mere want of money. And so is it with almost all our church enterprises. They all need money!—They are all standing still, or going back, or even dying out, and all only because of this one ever present lack—the lack of money! Cry after cry comes up for help! Appeal upon appeal, pressing and tender and touching, from Africa and India and Japan, and from all the Great West and the vast South of our land, fill and crowd the columns of each number of our religious journals. Oh, our Lutheran church has, in the orderings of Divine Providence, opened up to her to-day an almost boundless field of opportunities. Here are grand possibilities. The field is white unto the harvest, and God is calling to her loudly and bidding her enter it, and save the golden grain by garnering it for Him. And as I have already said, there is but one lack which stands as a hindrance to the accomplishment of it all: the lack of money. Oh what a humiliating spectacle! What a mortifying confession this is to make. The world everywhere ready to be brought to Christ, and the church of Christ clutching her gold, and because of the cost refusing to heed the divine voice which thus summons her to her duty!

But, there is a cause for all this. Back of this lack of money there is another and a more vital lack, and the source of all this lack of liberality which is thus, to day, everywhere hindering and crippling and killing the activeness of the church. It is the great lack of real and supreme Christian Love. There is not in our hearts, as there should be, an over mastering love for souls, for the church, for Christ. We have not yet come under the full expulsive power of the gospel, driving the world as an object of supreme affection out from the temple of our souls, and enthroning Jesus there as our one and only Lord and King. Oh, this is our one vital want, as a church, to-day. We want a more fervent and all consuming and all-controlling love for Christ. We want more love for perishing souls. Were this ours, did this pure flame of Christian love thus burn as it should upon the altar of our hearts, there would be no such reluctant giving of our wealth as there now is. Our love for Christ would consume our sinful love of gold. Our riches would then be laid, in thousands of dollars, at the feet of Jesus. Our silver and gold would then all be consecrated to Him and cheerfully used for His glory. The treasuries of the church would then overflow with gifts. And instead of our present impotence and feebleness of activity, because of our lack of means, the means would then soon be abundant, the church would then be clothed with new aggressive power, and millions would then soon be gathered into the kingdom of Christ. “The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious. The sons also of them that afflicted thee shall come bending unto thee: all they that despised thee shall bow themselves down at the soles of thy feet; and they shall call thee, The city of the Lord, The Zion of the Holy One of Israel.” (Isaiah 60: 13-14.) Pray then, ye that have power with God, to baptize our Lutheran church of this land everywhere with a new baptism of this grace of a supreme Christian love; a love that will melt off these chains that bind our souls down as slaves to our gold and will lead us to lay our wealth with ourselves upon the altar for Christ.

Thus consecrating our property to the Lord, He also will richly, as He has promised, bless us in return. He will do so in things spiritual. Our churches almost everywhere are mourning over a spiritual deadness which has settled down upon them. The word preached lacks power. The youth of the church are swept away by the waves of temptation surrounding them. Few are asking after the way of salvation. The love of many has waxed cold. Revivals of pure religion are rare. God appears to have withdrawn himself from us. And the lamentation of Isaiah goes up to-day from many a discouraged pastor’s heart, “Lord who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed.” And is there not a cause for all this? Are we not possibly by this sin of illiberality grieving away God’s Spirit from among us? Are we not possibly repeating the crime of His ancient people in the days of Malachi? “Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse: for ye have robbed me, even this whole nation.”—(Mal. 3; 8-9.) And even in things temporal we shall not be the losers by giving liberally of our means towards the cause of Christ. For it is He who has said: “The liberal soul shall be made fat, and he that watereth shall be watered also himself.” (Proverbs 11: 25.) “Honor the Lord with thy substance, and with the first fruits of all thine increase, so shall thy barns be filled with plenty and thy presses shall burst out with new wine.” (Prov. 3: 9-9-10.) “Give, and it shall be given unto you, good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, shall men give unto your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you again.” (Luke 6:38.) “But this I say, He which soweth sparingly, shall reap also sparingly; and which he soweth bountifully shall also reap bountifully. (2 Cor. 9:6.)

Oh, Thou Divine Master! Help us to believe these Thy promises. Give us grace to trust this Thy word. And aid us all henceforth, as Thou dost command, to bring the tithes (the tenths) into Thy storehouse, and prove Thee, and experience the truthfulness of declaration, that thou wilt open the windows of heaven and pour out upon us such a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it? Amen!

 


Endnotes

1. A gentleman called upon a wealthy friend for a contribution. “Yes, I must give you my mite,” said the rich man. “You mean the widow’s mite I suppose,” replied the other. “To be sure I do.” The gentleman continued: “I will be satisfied with half as much as she gave. Now how much are you worth?” “Seventy thousand dollars,” he answered. “Give me, then, a check for thirty-five thousand: that will be just half as much as the widow gave, for she gave all she had.” That was a new idea to the wealthy merchant, so he contributed liberally.

2. Lutheran and Missionary, August 30, 1877.

3. The People of Israel (Exodus 36:5;) Princes of Israel (Num. 7:2-3;) Boaz (Ruth 2: 8-17;) David (2 Sam. 9:7-10;) Barzillai and others (2 Sam. 17: 27-28;) Araunah (2 Sam. 24:22;) Shunamite (2 Kings 4: 8-10;) Judah (2 Chron. 24: 10-11;) Nehemiah (Neh. 7: 70;) Jews (Neh. 7: 71-72;) Job (Job 29: 15-16;) Joanna and others (Luke 8: 3;) Zaccheus (Luke 19: 8); Primitive Christians (Acts 2: 45;) Barnabas (Acts 4: 36-37;) Dorcas (Acts 9: 36;) Cornelius (Acts 10: 2;) Church of Antioch (Acts 11: 29-30;) Lydia (Acts 16: 15;) Paul (Acts 20:34;) Stephana and others (I Cor. 16: 17;) Poor Widow (Mark 12: 42-44;) Churches of Macedonia (2 Cor. 8: 1-5.)—(Bates’ Cyclopedia p. 61.)

Sermon – American Institutions & the Bible – 1876


Jeremiah Eames Rankin (1828-1904) was ordained in 1855 and pastored churches in New York, Vermont, Massachusetts, Washington, D.C., and New Jersey. He became president of Howard University in 1889. Rankin preached this sermon in 1876 in Washington, D.C.


sermon-american-institutions-the-bible-1876-1

The Bible the Security of American Institutions.

A SERMON.

Preached in the First Congregational Church, Washington, D.C., January 16th, 1876, by the Pastor.

J. E. RANKIN, D. D.

 

I wish to speak, this morning, upon “The Bible and American Institutions,” and I have chosen my text from Deut. Xxxii. 46, 47: “Set your hearts unto all the words which I testify unto you this day; which ye shall command your children to observe to do; all the words of this law. For it is not a vain thing for you; because it is your life; and through this thing ye shall prolong your days in the land, whither ye go over Jordan to possess it.”

Has it ever occurred to us to ask why a volume like the Bible, intended for all the human family, in all its generations, for different individualities, for different types of civilization, for people under different systems of government; should be so largely occupied with the rise, growth and decline of one single nation; and that, one of the narrowest and most exclusive that ever existed upon the face of the earth? To ask what common property and interest all periods of time, all nations, and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues can have in the history of a nation occupying so small a territory, so isolated, so short-lived; intellectually, commercially, politically exerting so little influence upon the other nations of the earth?

There is only one answer to this question. There was one respect in which this nation was unlike all that ever went before it, and is unlike all that ever will come after it, to the end of time. It was raised up to be among the other nations, what the model-school is to those who are learning how to teach; to be under the dissecting knife of the student of human history, just what the subject is to the student in anatomy and physiology. In a word, the history of the Hebrew nation, as recorded by the national annalists, prophets, poets; as illustrated in laws and institutions, in subjects and rulers, and especially as it lays bare the secret relations of this nation to the living Jehovah and to His government; the real King of Kings and Lord of Lords; the history of the Hebrew nation in all these respects—being the only truthful history ever written—was intended to teach the founders of other nations what foundations to lay, and the conservators and guardians of other nations what safeguards to insist on, in order that these nations might be successfully established, in order that they might be perpetuated to the latest generation of time.

If by giving us the biography of individuals such as Abraham and Isaac and Jacob; such as Joseph and David and Daniel; such as Peter and John and Paul, God intends to teach us by the example of men of like passions as we are, to give us the benefit of their wisdom and experience in the conduct of our private affairs, in our relations to men, and in our relations to God; so by giving us the biography of this single, this peculiar, this elect nation, He intends to give all future nations the benefit of the wisdom and folly of the successes and disasters, of the rise, the culmination and decline of the Hebrews as a Commonwealth, as an Empire, as the fragments of an Empire; rounding out their history from the captivity of Egypt, until they were scattered as an astonishment, a proverb and a byword, among all the nations of the earth.

The Old Testament, the old Hebrew Scriptures, outgrown are they? Just as much as are the foundations of the earth. They contain the patterns and the prototypes of all human history. They are to human life, to society, to government, to institutions, to laws, to the life and well-being of man, to the life and well-being of nations, just what the earth’s frame-work—the slow product of those countless geologic periods—is to the earth’s herself, the only sure foundation upon which to build, the only grand treasure-house in which to mine, for great principles of truth and justice and honor; as the text has it, they are a nation’s life, and through them shall a nation prolong its days. They teach us that there is a grander figure in human history than great lawgivers like Moses; than great captains like Joshua; than great poets like David; than great prophets like Isaiah; that God is there, though men know it not! In Hebrew history He is discerned there before the history. He calls Abraham from a land of idolators; He leads Israel out of Egypt like a flock; He builds up a great Hebrew dynasty which culminates in the reign of Solomon. His servants, the prophets, minutely predict all the prosperous and adverse events in the perspective of Jewish history. In other history He is recognized only after the event; unless the prototypes of Hebrew history have furnished us with discernment to anticipate the event. And this is precisely what they are for. Emerson says: “The student of history should read it, actively and not passively; should esteem his own life the text, and the books the commentary. Thus compelled, the muse of history will utter oracles.” And so of the history of nations. A man who can read the history of the American people, from the landing of the Pilgrims to the destruction of slavery, when the nation came up out of the Red Sea of civil war, and not see the living God there; who can review the Colonial period; the period of the revolution; the period of national consolidation; the anti-slavery struggle; the Rebellion; without recognizing after the event, if not in the event, the same majestic movement of a Divine purpose as called Abraham and his descendants and gave them the Land of Promise, driving out the heathen before them; as broke the fetters of the bondmen in Egypt, and overwhelmed their pursuers in the Red Sea; the man who can read the past one hundred years of our national history, collating and comparing it with the great events in Jewish history, without seeing the foot prints of the same majestic Being who takes the wise in their own craftiness; who makes the wrath of man to praise Him; who brings good out of evil, and light out of darkness; who made a pathway for His own people, and troubled the chariots of the Egyptians, must be in a kind of moral idiocy!

“History,” says the Greek historian, Thucydides, “is philosophy teaching by examples.” But in Bible history we have the living God as His own interpreter. He tells us why He selects such a man as Saul for the first king of Israel; why He sets aside Saul for David; why He permits the dismemberment of the Hebrew nation; why He sends His people away into their captivities; why He recovers them. He unrolls scroll after scroll of Jewish history, pointing out its signification as the nation lives it. Now, when Robert Walpole says of all uninspired human history, that “it is a lie;” when Napoleon I asks, “What is history but a fable agreed upon?” when by confession of all, such history is full of mistakes and prejudices and discolorings; its facts are often manufactured, and its philosophies often false; when frequently great villains are painted like great men, and the world’s real benefactors often unnoticed; and yet uninspired history is put into the hands of our children and youth in our public schools; I would like to know what reason any reasonable or patriotic man can give why Bible history should be excluded; why those who are to be our future citizens and rulers; why those who are to keep pure and to perpetuate our free institutions should not be taught from living examples in Hebrew history, the principles of God’s dealings with nations; why and how He raises them up; how they break with Him, and why He lets them go down to swift destruction.

But, if the Old Testament tells us how to build up and make prosperous a great nation, on what foundations to set it, how to secure the smiles and favor, how to avoid the displeasure of the living Jehovah in public administration; gives us, in the Hebrew nation as a prototype and example, the great principles of national weakness and strength, we have only to turn to the New Testament, to discover man’s duty as a man; as a citizen; to discover the kind of citizens that will perpetuate a nation; the units of which the great aggregate must be made up. The Lord Jesus says that His kingdom is not of this world. And yet, in His kingdom here, and in fitting men for His future kingdom, He trains up men and women and children who make the best citizens of earthly kingdoms. He loans to temporal kingdoms the citizens of eternity. In this discussion I shall hold myself to the boundaries of time and sense. In its effects upon individuals, by teaching men to love the Lord their God, with all their hearts; by teaching them to love their neighbors as themselves; by teaching them to pay tribute to whom tribute is due, and honor to whom honor; by teaching them self-restraint and industry and temperance; by teaching them to provide for their own; parental love, filial love, conjugal love, Christian love, the gospel of the Lord Jesus provides the most conservative influence that ever was planted in earthly kingdoms; puts leaven into every one of them, such as tends to make model citizens, model men.

Where has the decadence of nations usually begun? It has begun in the decline of individual virtue. In their early struggles, when the strong oppress the weak, and the weak are pushed out to shift for themselves; when men are encountering the hardships of frontier life; when they are putting in place foundation-stones, nations, like emigrant families, are comparatively secure from temptation from within. The manhood of such men as founded this Republic never had the temptations which have fallen to the manhood of the public men of our own time. The first one hundred years of a nation’s life are not the most perilous. Then, men are occupied with fundamental things; have a deep sense of public responsibility; seem to themselves to be making history; to be acting in the eyes of the nation and for the life of the nation; to be doing work for posterity. And they are. And the dignity and pressure of the part which they are enacting keep them from ease-taking and frivolity; keep them from flinging themselves away in indolence and luxury and corruption. But when a nation has been thoroughly established; when she becomes preoccupied with manufactures and commerce; when no danger threatens her from without, individual virtue becomes more and more imperiled. And the only method of preventing the decline of the nation, through the decline of the individual citizen, is by bringing that citizen under the influence of the principles of a pure morality. And this is done by the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ; by teaching them to love God with all their hearts, and their neighbors as themselves. Let it be understood that all questions relating to another life are here thrown out of the account; that man actually dies, as the brute dieth; yet, for him to bring his whole nature, his whole life, individual, domestic, social, private, public, under the power of the Gospel, will make him the best possible kind of a citizen. And this is what every State wants.

Who constitute the dangerous classes in a republic? They are men and women and children who are kept from the Bible and the power of the Bible. You may tell me that some of them are very religious. I admit it. And yet many of them do not understand the first principles of a true Christian morality; are ready upon an emergency to break any commandment of the Decalogue, think themselves doing God service; love neither their neighbors nor themselves; fear not God, regard not man.

I do not speak against them. They are the legitimate fruit of a system. I speak against the tree which bears such fruit; against the system that makes them what they are; that must make men like them; a system which effaces and confounds the distinction between right and wrong; which substitutes the traditions of men, human legends, myths and chronicles, for the sublime oracles of God; which shuts up the Word of God; which dares to bring the sanction of God’s authority to enforce the commandments and devices of men; a system which claims not only ecclesiastical, but civil allegiance from all its votaries in whatever land, whose Head does, in the thought of all his loyal subjects, wear all crowns. I know that it is often said, “Well, if no religion, it is a good police system.” And what could we do, with the influx of such material into our population, without the restraints which spring from it, as a system of police? It has made its votaries what they are. It keeps them what they are. If it had given them the Bible, if it had taught them the principles of religious liberty, if it had trained them to think for themselves, as directly accountable to God and not to the representative of the system, it would not be required for the purposes of police. That was a fair retort to a priest who returned a piece of stolen property taken by a servant girl, with the word: “There, if the girl had been a Protestant you would never have regained this property.” “Ah, if she had been a Protestant, she never would have stolen it.” The system creates the necessity.

And who are the conservative classes in our civilization? They are the families which are under the influence of the Bible; the men and women who are under training of the truth as it is in Jesus; who study the Bible for themselves; who reject tyranny in things ecclesiastical just as emphatically as they do in things civil! You cannot make a free man in things temporal, of one who in things spiritual does not think for himself, is a slave. Bind a man’s conscience in the church, and you may soon gag his mouth and bind his hands in the State.

“What constitutes a State?
Men, high-minded men!
Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain.”

And, if it can be made to appear that nothing is so good as the Bible, to bring men into such relations to God and man, as will make them “high-minded men,” safe citizens; safe for a republic; that nothing is so well suited to make our population such that they will keep the peace with the God of nations, and not bring themselves under His judgments; as will make them know their duties and their rights, and knowing, dare maintain; then the highest of all laws, the law of self-preservation, makes it incumbent on the State; makes it not only the right, but the duty of the State, not only not to permit the Bible to be crowded out of the place it has occupied in the fundamental instruction of American children, but even to make it the corner-stone of their education; to begin with it, to end with it; to make it a text-book in all our schools.

The first duty of this Republic is that of self-preservation. We have these free institutions to have and to hold, and to transmit. Here comes a gigantic system, magnificent, seductive, subtle, dying in individual men, but living in the generations and ages; the enemy of civil and religious freedom the world over; chameleon-like in its hues, having an insinuating aspect, even in a free land, but unchanging in its nature and essence; claiming supreme authority over every citizen of every nationality under the sun; every one of whose subjects must swear a modified allegiance to all earthly kingdoms; the fosterer of human ignorance and superstition and crime; in the year of grace, 1875, driving Bible-missionaries out of Spain; mobbing and murdering them—American citizens too—in Mexico; admitting through its own organs that if it ever becomes supreme in this land, there will be an end to all religious freedom: stabbing to the heart in the street a little boy in Oviedo, Spain, because he had joined a Protestant church; in this country, refusing burial rites to children who have attended Bible Sunday schools, and doing similar things to grown-up men in Canada; in short, through the Syllabus of the Pope, its infallible Head, stigmatizing and condemning at one breath all the grand characteristics of American civilization, and openly challenging them before the world as ruinous to the true progress of humanity; here comes this system, in its very nature inimical to individual freedom and advancement , and insists that we modify some of our fundamental things; some of the things that Washington, and Jefferson, and Adams, and Webster, and a hundred years of experience have taught us to be essential to our very life as a nation, to accommodate it; to help it keep its votaries in chains of darkness, under the domination of priestcraft; taking the money of the people to found sectarian institutions of its own, and yet denying the right of a great people to keep the simple, unadulterated Word of God in her Common Schools! Known in all history as giving no recognition to the rights of conscience; having the blood of almost every martyr to religious freedom in its skirts; having invented its thumb-screws and racks, and other instruments of torture, having kindled its flames, and dug deep its dungeons, if it were possible, to exorcise from humanity all sense of individual right as between man and God; to exalt itself into God’s place over man; and yet, urging its plea against the Author of the Bible, and the Author of the conscience, and the time-sanctioned usage of the Republic, upon the ground of conscience! What answer shall we give it?

Our answer is this, that the life of a nation is its supreme law. We must have a free, intelligent, moral population, or our doom is sealed. No man can have rights under the Constitution of the United States—call them by whatever name you may please—to undermine this Government, or to plot its overthrow, or to make its future impossible. It is a contradiction in terms. For nearly a half century this country was engaged in throwing sops to the Cerberus of slavery, to keep his bark quiet. He made way with the sops and kept barking. Here were men who claimed that they owed primal allegiance to their separate States, who took their oaths to the United States Constitution with that reservation; who insisted upon this compromise and that compromise, upon this settlement and that settlement, and when they had secured all they could get in the Union, then they determined to break it up! What did the country do? She rose up and stood for life! Nor did she unsheathe her sword in vain. She nerved herself to cut that cancer of slavery out of her own body, and throw it back to the dark ages, where it came from and where it belonged! It was that or annihilation! What became, then, of all the reserved rights of States; of all the compromises: of all the pacific legislation of the past? They were not worth the paper they were written on. And let it be once understood by the American people—as it is becoming understood—that under the specious plea of rights of conscience, this great Ecclesiasticism, hoary with age and crime, whose adherents owe their first and supreme allegiance to him who sits upon the Seven Hills of Rome, and whose temporal power has been sloughed off by the modern nations just in proportion to their vigor and manhood, proposes to sap the foundations of our free institutions; proposes to make an intelligent, moral population in this country an impossibility; proposes to train up within our borders, and to make a portion of our political system, citizens educated at the feet of Jesuits; citizens whose consciences are held in the right hand of their Father Confessors: then there will be another uprising of a great people. And shall we wait for a half century of compromises, before we make ready for it?

But I am asked, Has not a man a natural right to dictate how his children shall be educated, or whether they shall be educated at all? Every child born in this Republic is destined to become an integral part of it, has upon him responsibilities which he cannot meet, which he cannot bear with safety to the Republic, without an education, without moral education. And if parents will not educate their children, then will the State, just in proportion as it is true to its own life, either see them educated in its own schools, or abridge to them the right of suffrage, the right of citizenship. You do not call in an ignorant quack to treat your child when he is in danger of death. And will the State allow that man to tamper with great questions vital to its existence and perpetuity who in morals knows not his right hand from his left, who cannot read, who cannot write? Compulsory education! Education, whether the parent wills it or nills it, and especially if he nills it; education in morals; the imparting of the sanctions of human and divine law against the common tendencies and crimes of human nature, against all those courses which unfit a man for citizenship; education in American history; education in that which makes American citizenship peculiar as a heritage of the fathers; this has come to be a national necessity, and is one of the questions with which the General Government must have to do.

Let a man insist upon his right to educate his child as a thief, or let him come up a thief, will society, will the State recognize this right? The State will punish both him and his child if he undertake it. The State guarantees “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” to its citizens upon this single condition, that they will not use these blessings to undermine its foundations. And I have not the least doubt that if it be the judgment of a Great People that ignorance of the historical records of the Bible; ignorance of the law of God and the precepts of the Lord Jesus, is incompatible with citizenship, it is within its legitimate prerogative, from this time forth, to have the Bible taught in every school, public and private, in the whole land. I speak here of right, not expediency; though it be right and wise, it must be expedient; how can it be otherwise? The Bible is not a denominational work. The Bible is not a sectarian work. It is the centre and source and standard of all religious truth. As against the Bible, and the Author of the Bible, there are no rights of conscience. It is like talking of the rights of the eye against the light, or of the lungs against the air. And if any system is afraid of it, wants to temper its clear light; wants to filter the very water of life as it comes from under the throne of God, so much the worse for that system!

But in this discussion I do not urge the claims of the Bible on religious grounds. In passing I simply call attention to this anomaly: that an institution professing to be founded by the Lord Jesus Christ, who spoke the very words recorded in the New Testament to the common people, and they heard them gladly; who commended the Scriptures to our diligent study; an institution claiming to be the true church of the living God, to which has been given the duty of preaching the Gospel to every creature; that such an institution shall shrink from the light of the Bible, whatever the version! And I say that such an institution cannot expect the confidence of any thinking people. It is too late in the world’s history for this. It is too free a country for it.

It is also too late to pretend that this great ecclesiastic-political system is not hostile to the Word of God. It reckons among its converts from heathenism portions of more than sixty different nationalities. And into the language of not a single one of them has it ever translated the Bible. When was Bible translation or Bible distribution ever undertaken by it? The Psalmist says: “The entrance of thy Word giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.” But Pope Leopold III warns all people against Bible Societies, and Pope Pius VII quotes his words with approval. Gregory XVI was in sorrow, night and day, because of them. And the present Pope regrets the recent improvements in the art of printing, which so greatly facilitate the free distribution of the Bible and other dangerous books. It is not the Bible in the schools merely, it is the Bible, anywhere and everywhere, against which this system lifts up its voice. It is the light of the Bible which it fears. It is the freedom of the Bible before which it cowers. Shall we not meet it in defence of what it most dreads? Shall we weaken our cause by forsaking the pivotal point on which the issue must be made up: on which the battle must turn?

How to maintain the life of this free nation against ignorance and superstition and crime is come to be the great problem of the hour. For a half century we argued and compromised and debated in a vain endeavor to live at peace with a system with which in a free government there was no peace; which tyrannized over men’s bodies; which put manacles on their limbs, and sold them upon auction blocks; and at last we had to go down to the field of death and cross swords with its defenders before it was exterminated. This work is hardly over, when as though all the great rights of man were to be here tried before the Judge of all the Earth, now rises up this great rights of man were to be here tried before the Judge of all the Earth, now rises up this great ecclesiastical tyranny; this tyranny over men’s consciences and souls; this buyer and seller of men’s souls, and this buyer and seller of men’s souls, and flings itself across the pathway of our progress; brings upon us its entail of ignorance and poverty and crime, imported, created here; seduces our legislators into granting it subsidies and endowments; and then arrays itself against the Bible in our common schools—against the schools themselves; striking a double blow at the very citadel of our freedom; and when we remonstrate, it pleads the rights of conscience! Have we another half century of conflict before us before we open our eyes to the truth, that this is one vast political system, even more than that of slavery; all the more dangerous, all the more insidious, because it bears an ecclesiastical name, and pleads for church rights; that it is a system never to be satisfied until it names for us our law-makers and judges and executives; until it has its foot upon our necks?

We say to the adherents of this system, that in the matter of freedom of worship, of propagating their views, they shall be undisturbed, even though all history has shown the system itself to be hostile to human freedom and human progress; and we know it to be. But when its leaders undertake to brake down the common school system itself, we charge them with being the enemies of our free institutions, and we call upon all the friends of civil liberty to rally against them; to come to some understanding how to check their progress. It is a saying of Edmund Burke that “when bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall, one by one, an un-pitied sacrifice, in a contemptible struggle.” Here is a system that is a permanent, undying combination. It is its very instinct to break down all individual freedom. It moves as an army. It is an army. And its leaders, as history knows them, are so crafty and insidious, that having chosen as their appellation the name of Jesus—the purest and most guileless of Beings who ever lived upon earth—in 335 years they have wrought in its derivative, Jesuit, this etymological change; that while Jesus means “holy, harmless, undefiled and separate from sinners,” Jesuit means just the opposite; just the very contrary qualities; means treachery, craft, intrigue; means the wisdom and subtlety of the serpent, with the serpent’s fangs. Can such a well-drilled combination be resisted without a common understanding and a common movement on the part of the friends of civil and religious liberty?

You may tell me that it is inexpedient to agitate this question. That is just what the Pope thinks. He says: “Act, but do not agitate.” That is his policy. Our policy is to agitate. “For,” as Milton asks, “who ever knew truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?” And if we agitate we shall get a free and open encounter; we shall get a thorough discussion of the subject. It is for the majority of this nation to determine whether, at the dictation of this most tyrannical of all tyrannies, of this bitterest and most unscrupulous enemy of civil and religious freedom, the Book which links men and nations directly to God; which gives man an open horizon toward eternity, is to pass out of our common schools. And let us remember this: that it is not a mere question of political expediency; of present policy. It is a question that strikes down into the very foundations of our civil and religious liberty. For s sure as the Bible is the book of God, He has so constituted society and governments that if it be the chart by which we manage our public affairs, the standard by which we determine the character of our civilization, our future is secure; we shall walk upon the high places of the earth; while if we do otherwise, if we discard it or dishonor it, He will turn us into Hell, with all the other nations that have forgotten Him! For if the salt shall lose its savor, wherewith shall it be salted? It is henceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out and trodden under foot of men!

Sermon – Memorial Day – 1875

Below is a Memorial Day sermon by Rev. Jewell, preached in San Fransisco on May 29, 1875. See additional sermons on Memorial Day here and here.


sermon-memorial-day-1875-1


THE NATION’S DEAD

CELEBRATION OF

MEMORIAL DAY, SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1875,BY THE

GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC.

THE DECORATION OF SOLDIERS’ GRAVES,
SERVICES AT THE CEMETERIES – PRAYERS AND ORATIONS,
THE EVENING AT PACIFIC HALL,

ORATIONS BY GOV. PACHECO AND REV. DR. JEWELL.

SAN FRANCISCO:
ALTA CALIFORNIA BOOK AND JOB PRINTING HOUSE,
No. 529 California Street.

REV. MR. JEWELL’S ORATION.

 

Mr. President and Fellow Citizens:  Words never seem more meaningless and feeble, than on an occasion like the present, yet are never consecrated to holier uses, than when they embalm such deeds, as we today are seeking to communicate.  Yet we find encouragement in that.  Historic precedent, declares the value of speech, and its power in reproducing the heroism, in which the nations of the past have gloried.  It was thus that Marathon became the mother of Thermopylae.  Thermopylae of Salamis, and Salamis of Platea.

It has been said that the tomb of Leonidas as long as an annual oration was delivered from its side, produced a yearly crop of heroes.  It was thus that the dead body of Lucretia brought forth the liberators of Rome.  Romans begat Romans, not more by raising triumphal arches to her victorious Consuls than by the constant recital of their glorious history.

Egypt not only reared obelisks and monuments to her braves, but on them carved the history of their bravery.

Greece enacted that her heroes slain should have an honored sepulture, amid imposing rites.  She encased their ashes in cypress and gold, and after leaving them in state for four days, bore them to their resting place, amid fountains, and walks, and stately columns, amid groves sacred to Minerva, their tutelary Goddess, made doubly  beautiful by monuments and statues carved by her illustrious masters.  And here standing upon some lofty platform, her most eloquent orators would pronounce their valor in words of thrilling pathos.

Germany embalms the heroism of her sons in grateful sons and story, and makes their children feel, “’Tis sweet to die for Faderland.”

France not only confers her Legions of Honor, but chronicles the act of her heroes in fitting words.

England confers her titles of nobility, and grants her chieftains an honored sepulture in Westminster Abbey.

If these have thus sought to perpetuate the memory of their heroes slain, and thus reproduce their lofty example, what shall Americans not do to honor the resting place and memory of her fallen braves, of more than Roman or Spartan valor?  Ours is indeed a nobler tribute, because it springs not from a monarch’s edict, but from millions of grateful, loyal hearts.  Less demonstrative and imposing, it is true, but more heartfelt and appreciative – the simple commemorative services by which a nation saved, would tell the story of its gratitude.  It sweeps the heart-strings with a touch of tenderness unknown to nations of the past, for it tells of privileges more exalted preserved to us; it tells of a patriotism more lofty and of heroism more sublime than was ever known by any nation of the world.

How thrillingly beautiful and touching the incipient history of this day, and the peculiar nature of the memorial offerings then made!

The ceremony is said to be older than the organization by whom it is chiefly superintended now.

In 1864, thousands of our sons and brothers who had worn the blue were sleeping in soldiers’ graves all through the Southern States, and those who would could not and those who would not visit them or do them honor.  Amid the beauties of the vernal bloom, the women of the South went forth to strew flowers on the graves of their slain.

Immediately those whose dusky brows had been baptized with the sparkling dews of Freedom, and knowing to whom they owed their emancipation, anxious to recognize their obligations to the vicarious sufferings, toil and death of those who slept in the unhonored graves, and with a love and devotion as lofty as ever thrilled a human heart went forth to field and wood, and gathered the wild flowers in their beauty.  Under the cover of a darkness, only relieved by the twinkling stars, they stole softly and silently to the slighted graves of our fallen heroes; and bedewing them with tears and breathing benedictions over them, reverently and tenderly laid thereon their humble floral offerings.

Beautiful and fitting initiation of a custom which is now fully enshrined in the hearts of us all, and shall be continued by our children’s children to the end of time.  As beautiful and touching and well-nigh as religiously sacred as the offerings of the women who came to the sepulcher, very early in the morning, while it was yet dark, for fear of the Jews, bringing spices with which to anoint the body of their Lord.  Each recognized in the one whose grave they blessed; a Savior, from degrading chains, to a heritage of manhood.  But what is it that we celebrate, and why do we feel called upon to continue this beautiful and touching observance?  Like those who originated the custom, we feel that we are debtors to those who, living or dead, became a part of that great holocaust of blood which stained so many fields of our land, and made so many decks slippery with human gore.  It is ours equally with them to sing:

“Four hundred thousand men,
The brave and good and true,
In tangled wood, in the mountain glen,
On battle plain, in prison pen,
Lie dead for me and you.Four hundred thousand of the brave
Have made our ransomed soil their grave,
For me and you.In many a fevered swam
By many a black bayou,
In many a cold and frozen camp
The weary sentinel ceased his tramp,
And died for me and you.From Western plain to ocean tide,
Are stretched the graves of those who died
For me and you.In treason’s prison hold
Their martyr spirits ‘grew
To stature like the saints of old,
While mid dark agonies untold
They starved for me and you.The good, the patient and the tried,
Four hundred thousand men have died,
For me and you.
[Edward C. Porter,”The Nation’s Dead,” Round Table, September 9, 1865.]

 

How unquestioning and unhesitating the patriotism, and how awfully sublime the uprising!  The war took the Nation by surprise.  The chief conspirators thought they had effected their object fully.  In four years of assiduous care, they had stripped the Northern arsenals and conveyed the arms to the South.  They had sent the Navy to the ends of the earth, so that at the critical moment it was good as no Navy.  They had reduced the Treasury to bankruptcy, and destroyed its credit , as they thought, hopelessly.  They had compelled a weak-spined President to say in his annual message, and contrary, we believe, to his convictions, that the Union was going to pieces and he had no authority to interfere.

We stood watching and trembling as one.  State after another declared itself out of the Union.  One after another of the Southern forts and arsenals were appropriated.  One after another of those educated to the arts of war, in our military schools, joined themselves to the Rebels.  A deep and ominous silence seemed to settle down upon us, of the North.  It was mysterious, and unintelligible.  Some thought it meant distrust of our forms of government.  Some even interpreted it as a sympathy with the Southern uprising.

It was as the silence of Nature in the torpid Winter.  It was as the hush of life in the darkness of night.  It was as the stillness of earth and sky, that precedes the breaking of the tempest.

But no seer could divine what that waking would be.  The silence was deep and awful.  Men began to feel that the sentiment of loyalty was wanting in American hearts that ours was not a style of nationality to inspire that lofty sentiment.

But we soon learned better.  The silence was broken and interpreted.  The suppressed fire flamed out.  In that mysterious silence the fires of a holy patriotism were nursing themselves, and the glow was becoming hotter and whiter.  The pent up forces were moving and accumulating, like the meeting and commingling elements of subterranean fires before the mountain’s summit opens, or the earthquake rocks a continent.

Oh how grand was the bursting forth.  It was deeper and broader than the “father of waters.”  It was more forceful and impetuous than the gushing life of Spring.  It was like the rushing mighty wind, in which was the sounding beat of celestial pinions, and which filled Jerusalem on Pentecost, crowning each mute disciple with cloven tongues of fire.[Acts 2:1-3]  No sooner did the electric current smite us with the intelligence that on that April morn the old flag had been dishonored and trailed in Southern dust, than up went the Stars and Stripes hillside of the loyal North, and thousands sprang forth as one man to defend that which had made America tremble as a magic word of hope, among all the down-trodden nationalities of the world.

Then it was, as our noble chief began to speak, the long columns began to move.  Soon as the voice was heard, thousands of those who seemed wholly absorbed in industrial pursuits, sprang to arms.  At the first call seventy-five thousand responded HERE.  Again the call was made, and the answer was in fact and in song,

“We are coming, Father Abraham, our nation to restore
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.”
[Robert Morris, “We Are Coming Father Abraam,” New York Evening Post, July 16, 1862.]Our foreign-born sons, God bless them, stood side by side with those born on American soil.The Irishman followed Sheridan, and the Dutchman “fought mit Sigel.”

Partisanship gave way to patriotism.  Douglass, the defeated Presidential candidate, all honor to his memory.  Dickinson and Dix stood side by side with those who had been their political antagonists, and from every shade of political complexion came declarations of unconditional loyalty to country.  When the war broke out, the London Times predicted that the Rebellion could not be subdued without extreme conscription, and in enforcing this, none could be forced into the service who did not vote for the existing administration.

They knew not the intensity of American patriotism.  They forgot that each man here is a sovereign; an integral part of the nation, and calls no man lord and master.  That each was striking the blow for himself, and felt the greatness and responsibility of American citizenship.  That no man regarded the payment of any sacrifice or treasure too great which was required to perpetuate the Republic in the consummation of her missions as the political and civil evangel of the nations.

Men were there as privates in the ranks who were fit to be Presidents and Ministers of State; and men there died whose ashes are worthy of sepulture in Westminster Abbey nay, more, that are worthy of being buried in American soil and have their graves annually showered with the floral offerings of their surviving comrades-in-arms.  Oh, how sublime was the scene.  Souls took fire with the holiest patriotism.

Mothers, hiding the starting tears, sent their sons to battle, with tender benedictions; wives, and sisters, and maiden lovers, girding themselves with womanly fortitude to meet an hour awful with anguish, bade adieu to the young and brave, who were to return no more.

Fathers forced back the manly tenderness that choked in their words of inspiring counsel, and little children clung with indefinable forebodings to loved papas they should never embrace again.

Our streets echoed to the soldier’s tread, and “God bless you” was breathed in accents tremulous with hope and fear.

Our army was the wonder of the world.  Over 2,600,000 soldiers entered the ranks, and the heroism which sent them forth remained with them to the last.

How bright seem today the examples of illustrious daring which then fascinated the gaze of an admiring world.

A Sherman mowing a swath thirty miles wide through the very center of the rebellious territory,  and he serried ranks of the protesting chivalry.

A Hooker charging the enemy above the clouds on Lookout Mountain.

A Sheridan streaming through forty miles of foam and dust, and bringing order out of chaos and organizing victory out of defeat.

A Farragut lashed to the mast-head of the Hartford, and amid the storms of shot and shell, winning immortal triumphs.

A Grant holding on like a bulldog to the throat of the Rebellion, even when Lee sent his Generals with an army to the very gates of Washington.

Come with me for a moment and let me lift the curtain, and take a look into the tent of the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Potomac.  It is past the hour of midnight.  Sad hearts are entering there, for it is a gloomy hour in the great campaign of the Wilderness, a night following a day of disaster.  The army was fearfully hewn in pieces, and it seemed almost inevitable that the morrow would find our battered, bleeding regiments, reeling and staggering toward Washington.  Hard by them on the gory field lay fifteen thousand of our noble braves, wounded, dying, dead.

A file of noble officers, one by one, reach the door of that tent, give a silent salute, and pass in, and as silently take their seats.

Meade, Sedgwick, Hancock, Warren, and others, make up the circle.  For thirty minutes not a word is uttered.  It is an awful silence, which at length is broken by the most reticent man among them.  The question passes from one to another, “General can you tell me what is to be done?”  A sad and tremulous “No!” came from the lips of each.  The Chieftain seized a pen, hastily passed it over a fragment of paper, and passing it to Meade, and, “Break the seal at four o’clock and march.”

He did the same for each of them, and each retired ignorant of what was ordered, but anticipating a retreat.  Anything else seemed madness run mad.  Had they known that the orders were to advance a possible mutiny had followed.

The next morning, before 5 o’clock, the army moved and within an hour Lee’s scouts stood before him, disclosing the state of affairs.  He read the dispatch; he tore it in fragments – and, stamping vehemently, he exclaimed: “Sir, our enemy have a leader at last, and our cause is lost, sir, lost!”

He supposed us hopelessly hewn in pieces, and had ordered that his men be allowed to take a long rest that morning; but awoke to see the army he thought demoralized, flanking him and cutting off his base.  He fought and retreated and acknowledged his doom was sealed.  Who but the man of iron nerve could have met the responsibilities of that midnight hour?  I confess to a liking of that kind of Caesarism it be.

It is recorded of a French soldier of many battles that although offered promotion, he persisted in remaining in the ranks.  His admiring and grateful sovereign sent him a sword inscribed, “First among the Grenadiers of France.”  When he fell on the field of glory, the Emperor ordered his heart embalmed and placed in a silver case, and passed into the keeping of his company, with the command that his name be called at each roll-call, and the oldest grenadier respond, “Dead upon the field of honor.”  Oh, how many names are left to us, upon the mention of  which the response should ever be: “DEAD UPON THE FIELD OF HONOR.”  When in reverential love, as this anniversary returns, and floral wreaths shall fall from comrade hands upon the honored graves of many a hero slain, shall not angels, who keep the camp-fires along celestial heights, hear a million throbbing hearts bearing gratefully the answer to the roll-call of our heroes, BAKER – Dead upon the field of honor.  LYON – Dead upon the field of honor. MITCHELL – Dead upon the field of honor.  RENO, KEARNEY, MANSFIELD, WADSWORTH, SEDGWICK, McPHERSON – all dead upon the field of honor.  “Probe a little deeper,” said a wounded soldier to the surgeon feeling for a ball in the region of the heart, “Probe a little deeper, Surgeon, and you will find the Emperor.”

Oh, how many an idolized commander is enshrined in the hearts of comrades her tonight.  Well may you lead us to these sacred shrines, and allow our tears to mingle with yours as you pay them you undying homage.

They sleep well, and henceforth their names belong to American history.  These mounds will never cease to preach liberty and heroism more eloquently than the living orator.  It is well that comrades move in garlanded processions to the shrines of deeds so immortal.  It is a pageantry burdened with honors which can find no other adequate expression.

But we are not to forget that it is not alone the personal heroism manifested, that justifies these memorial demonstrations.  It was not a mere match of prowess or display of personal courage.  It was not a mere exhibition of matchless endurance and patient suffering for championship.  It was not a a mere gladiatorial combat for the entertainment and admiration of the on-looking Nations.  It was an issue between right and wrong; between political truth and heresy; between preservation and destruction.  It was a conflict for the life of our nationality, “the green graves of our sires, God and our native land.”  In vain all the struggles of the past; in vain all the sufferings of the heroes of the Mayflower; in vain the struggles of our Revolutionary sires; in vain the blood that crimsoned Bunker Hill and Lexington, Monmouth and Yorktown, had not America’s sons shown themselves worthy custodians of freedom’s lofty heritage.

It was the last great conflict for freedom, the point of history upon which hung the hopes of freedom’s lovers among all nations.  It was the culmination of a conflict of a thousand years.

Other lands had struggled for freedom.  Greece struggled long and bravely, and come short of the goal.  Poland and Hungary in their turn had grappled with the oppressor, and again been ground into the earth.  Again and again had our exalted guest, the Goddess of Human Rights, come from dungeons with the dust of ages on her garments – from chains which had eaten into her soul – from scaffolds, with the blood of martyrdoms on her forehead – from attics, where she had drunk her tears in the bitterness of her soul, and looked in among the nations for a place where she might remain as a presiding genius.

I see her in the forests of Germany, away back before the Christian era proper, as is her swathing bands she lay nursed by those liberty-loving tribes.

I see her as she comes to England, and in her childhood asserts herself, as with Magna Charta in her grasp, she resisted Absolutism through so many eventful years.  I see her in her youth, standing with Cromwell, and uttering her protest against the Norman-French idea of sovereignty.  I see her, finally, as she came across the sea to find in our loved land a broader field and a more congenial clime.  I see her, as she stands with our fathers at Yorktown, Monmouth and Bunker Hill.

I see her breathing on that noble assembly in old Independence Hall, as one by one, with trembling hand, they pledge their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor.

I see her as she smiles and weeps at Valley Forge.  I see her as she bends over a Washington as he prays, and says, “We must, we shall prevail.”

I see her, as afterward she presided over a history, which, verified before a wondering world, had all the charms of romance.

But did we not also see her, as on our National Birthday Anniversary we read our “Bill of Rights,” which pronounced all men free and equal, bring a tear from her fair cheek, as she caught the echo of that disrespectful titter which ran around the world, as four millions, bearing the image of their Maker, clanked their chains and groaned for freedom?

Of heroes of the Blue, we say: “Your devotion not only bound the Union, but unbound the slave and buried beyond the hope of resurrection, the shameful relic of a barbarous age.”

For this all nations thank you, and shall continue to thank you to the end of time.

And may we not rejoice that in that fiery ordeal the pestilent heresy of State Rights was burned up? And hereafter we are to be known as an absolute organic unity?  Woe, unmingled woe, to the profane hand which shall ever seek to sever us.  No North, no South, no East, no West!

A union of lakes, and a union of lands
A union of principles none may sever,
A union of hearts, and a union of hands
The American Union Forever.
[George Pope Morris, Poems (New York: Charles Scribner, 1860), pp. 68-69, “The Flag of Our Union.”]

The war and its attendant history has made us more capable of self-government.

The fundamental principles of our institutions have been made clearer and dearer to us.

The whole people have accepted as never before, the whole democratic theory of nationality.  “For weal or for woe,” our future is the future of a consistent and inexorable democracy.

To the comrades of the Grand Army of the Republic here gathered, allow me a parting word.  To the life-long enjoyment of the peaceful heritage your valor helped to win – to our sanctuaries, our homes, our hearts, we receive and welcome you.  Never was the Angel that records the deeds of true heroes made busier than when your brave hearts and strong hands furnished him employment.  Your bravery challenged and received the homage of the world.  Great interests confided to your hands were not betrayed, and a grateful nation shall continue to pay you honor.  Our children shall be taught to lisp your names with reverence, and our children’s children shall moisten your resting places with their tears.  Ye heroes of many a hard and well-fought battle, we will never, never forget the story of your heroism.  Our youth shall emulate your virtues.  Future generations shall study your record, and transmit to others the story of your sacrifice; and those who, in after years, shall join in the services of the Soldiers’ Memorial Day, inspired by your glorious example as they drop the garland upon your patriot grave, shall lift the hand to Heaven and say, “THIS SHALL BE LIBERTY’S HOME FOREVER.”

At the conclusion of the exercises, one of the Brothers of the Grand Army sang “John Brown.” Being accompanied by the band and a chorus of the entire audience, after which the meeting was adjourned, satisfied with the days’ good done.

Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1864 Connecticut


A sermon preached by Reverend Charles Little on the day of a National Thanksgiving. Rev. Little uses Titus 3:1 as the basis for his sermon.


sermon-thanksgiving-1864-connecticut-1


Relation of the Citizen to Government.

A

Discourse

Delivered on the Day of

National Thanksgiving,

November 24th, 1864.

By

Rev. Charles Little
Pastor of the Congregational Church,

Cheshire, Conn.

“Put them in mind to be subject to principalities and powers, to obey magistrates, to be ready to every good work.” Titus iii, 1.

The subject which I present to you today, is one authorized by the text and demanded by the times. It is the relation of the citizen to the government. Civil government, like the family and the church, is a Divine institution. Ordained of God, whosoever resisteth it, reisteth the ordinance of God.

If any think that an apology is needed for the discussion of this subject in the pulpit, they will find one in its gospel associations. Paul made no mistake when he linked this subject with some of the grandest truths of God’s word. If an inspired Apostle thought it worthy to be classed with such topics—as free grace, the love of God, regeneration, justification, the Saint’s blessed hope, the coming of Christ to judge the world, and the inheritance of life eternal; if he, when commissioning Titus to ordain elders and perfect the churches, commanded him to instruct the converts on their duties to the government, who can claim that pastors are forbidden to speak of these things to their people from the pulpit?

Two preliminary inquiries demand our attention: What is the life of a nation? We hear it said—“The life of the nation is in danger”—“the nation is decaying.” What is meant?

The life of a nation is something more than the aggregate, or united, or concentrated life of its people. It is that which gives it vitality, which secures growth and greatness. It consists, if I mistake not, of three different elements combined and assimilated into that one mysterious principle, which we call life.

The first is found in its civil institutions, its constitution, laws, and the modes of their administration.

The second is in its physical resources, embracing climate, soil, minerals, facilities for manufactures and trade, and perfection of the mechanic arts.

The third is in the industry, intelligence and virtue of its people.

The nation which has the largest share of these in their greatest perfection, will enjoy the most vigorous and the longest life. Its influence will predominate in the counsels of the nations.

What is government? It is that form of fundamental rules and regulations by which a nation is governed, which are embodied in its constitution and laws, written and unwritten. This is the true meaning, though in common language, the right to govern, and the person or persons governing are called the government.

What, for example, is the government of these United States? Is it the President and his cabinet? Is it the congress? Is it the judiciary? Or is it all these combined? Neither. The Constitution of the United States and the laws made in conformity therewith constitute the government of this country. For the administering of this government, legislative power is vested in the congress, judicial power in the courts, and executive power in the President. This government was made by the people and for the people. This is evident from the Preamble to the Constitution:
“We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, * * * * and secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and our children, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States.”

This government is also supreme. In the sixth article you will find these words:
“This Constitution and the laws of the United States, which shall be made in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made, or which shall be made under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme law of the land, and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, anything in the constitution or laws of any State to the contrary notwithstanding.”

Thus, in imperishable letters engraven on the foundation of our government, are recorded the important truths that—it was framed by the people of the whole country, not by the separate States, and that is supreme over all—a true sovereignty, not a collection of sovereignties.

Do we not see here, standing out in bold relief, the fallacy of the much vaunted doctrine of State rights—the doctrine that each state may secede at pleasure?

Though the people reserved to their respective State governments all rights not specified in the Constitution, did they not explicitly say that that should be supreme? But if the general government is supreme, what are the others but subordinate.

The dogma that each State may secede at pleasure, if true, would destroy our government superstructure and foundation. Our constitution and laws would be as worthless as the waste and sand thrown up by the ocean in a storm.

What now is the relation of the citizen to the government; a citizen of our country to our general government?

This is three-fold. First.—He is an elector, charged with the high duty of giving his suffrage for those who are to make or to execute the laws. The distinguishing feature and crowning glory of a republican government is the right of suffrage, the proper use of which, in this country, will solve the problem whether such a government can be permanent.

If, as we believe, a republican form of government will most effectually secure the good of the people, and will the soonest elevate the nations to the highest civilization; if, as we are assured, the oppressed of the world are now looking to the success of our government as their chief hope, and if the failure of free institutions here will roll back the sun of liberty beneath the horizon, and give to decaying despotisms a new lease of life for centuries to come, is it not evident that the right of suffrage involves momentous responsibilities?

The citizen who violating his solemn oath to vote for those men whose election he believes will be for the best good of the nation, gives his suffrage for men whom he knows to be unworthy, is he not largely guilty of the curse which such rulers bring upon the land? And does the citizen who refuses to vote, escape his responsibility or materially lessen his guilt?

Every elector is bound to study and understand, as far as him lies, the nature of our government, and the principles which will best sub serve its high ends—he is bound, so far as possible, to qualify himself for the selection of suitable men for office. Especially is he under obligation to acquire that virtue which will lift him above bribery, fraud, and every dishonorable motive. And the fact that many unworthy men have received this inestimable privilege, increases the obligation of every true citizen to use his right more intelligently and conscientiously.

Again, the citizen is a subject bound to obey the laws. The laws made according to the collective will of the electors are obligatory upon all alike.

The obligation to obedience is two-fold. It exists in the nature of things. A nation cannot live without government, and government cannot continue without obedience. Without this there will be speedy anarchy and ruin.

This obligation arises also from the will of God. He commands obedience. Government is His institution; rulers are his ministers; obedience to them He regards as to Himself.

Therefore, every citizen is bound to obey the laws. The only exception is when a person believes that compliance with a particular requisition will violate his conscience. He may then disobey, but must submit to the penalty. It has also been held that when the laws become cruelly oppressive, and there is no remedy, if a majority of the people believe that success is probable, they may unite in resisting the laws.

Happily, under our constitution there is a peaceable remedy for all oppressive laws and therefore, a justifiable revolution in this country is hardly within the limits of possibility.

Once more the citizen is eligible to office. Hence, it is the duty of each elector, so far as his opportunities will allow, to qualify himself for office, and when this is tendered to accept, unless other duties prevent. True loyalty and patriotism require some persons to make sacrifices in this service of their country. Whoever accepts an office, high or low, should remember that he is the minister of God, that he is to labor in it with fidelity, seeking, alike, the glory of God, the safety of the government, and the welfare of the people.

Besides the peculiar obligations which spring from these three special relations of the citizen to the government, there are others more general, yet too important to be overlooked.

By a decree of the ancient Roman Senate, the Consuls were commanded to see that the republic received no detriment. This duty is now laid upon every American citizen. Providence, philanthropy and true self-interest, make each elector a conservator and defender of our country. Each one is bound to aid in the enforcement of the laws, for laws unexecuted are a source of weakness and of danger. Personal obedience is not enough, we must do what we can to secure the obedience of others. We are bound therefore, to labor for the extension of right principles, for the creation and sustaining of a public sentiment, which will frown down all violations of law, which will demand and ensure the punishment of criminals of every grade. Each elector is also obliged to give his effective influence against all practices which tend to increase ignorance and vice, and for every institution which will promote knowledge and virtue.

These duties, comprehensive and important, follow necessarily form the text and other scriptures, and are as binding upon us as any Divine precept.

In view of the truths thus set forth, in view of the probable future of our country, the glorious possibilities before it, are we not constrained to acknowledge that, in this land, citizenship with the elective franchise is one of the highest earthly distinctions, and when worthily worn, is more honorable than the monarch’s crown?

A prophet’s vision only could picture that future.

Its possibilities appall us. Seven hundred millions of people might dwell here and not equal in proportion the population of Great Britain and Ireland.

Its probabilities oppress us. We expect that there hundred millions will by and by reap the results of this war, in the enjoyment of earth’s richest treasures.

Its certainties surpass belief. One hundred millions are soon to bless God for a home in this land. And then with every material resource developed, every mental gift employed, a government, free and perfect, and these all sanctified; this nation shall be the power and glory of the world; the white robed angel of peace shall continually hove above and guard this land, while rays of light and life shall spread over the earth, hastening the true millennium of the ages.

My subject furnishes some important practical inferences. It affords a triumphant justification of those who have supported the government in this war. It has been thought strange that good men, and especially the ministers of Christ, should be so strenuously earnest in advocating the putting down of this rebellion by force of arms.

In view of the truths presented above, the answer is obvious. Good citizenship required this, good citizenship made this a religious duty. The nation must attempt to conquer the rebellion or give up its life. If, without a struggle, it had permitted one third of its subjects to revolt, and take with them its ships, forts and arsenals, what prestige or power would have remained? It was, undoubtedly, incumbent on those who administered the government to conquer the rebellion, if possible. What other course was open? Negotiations? Who negotiates with armed traitors? Arbitration? When a burglar opens your safe and takes your valuables, do you leave it to referees to decide what part he shall restore? What trust could we have placed in those who had violated their oaths of allegiance? Would they have abided by any arbitrament, if opposed to their wishes?

Again—could we not have granted the traitors all which they wished, and so have allowed them to remain? There was no desire on the part of the leaders to remain, they sought occasion to rebel. No terms would have kept them in the Union except those which would have made the mass of Northern freeman the subjects of a Southern oligarchy.

But you might have let the seceding States go in peace. Yes! And then, where would have been the oath of the President, who had solemnly sworn to “faithfully execute the office of President of the United States,” and to the best of his ability, to “preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States?” Where would have been the oaths of office holders and electors, those oaths by which they all had sworn to be faithful to the Constitution, that Constitution which declares—that it and the laws made in pursuance thereof, shall be the supreme law of the land, anything in the Constitution or laws of any State, to the contrary notwithstanding? These solemn oaths would have been, where? Broken, violated, trodden in the dust. And then the guilty violators, office holders, electors, all, would they not have stood forth before the world, their fair fame blackened and disgraced, their meanness despised of men, and abhorred of God, themselves worthy of the infamy which would have immortalized their names? Would not the very statutes and portraits in our national halls have blushed for shame?

Let the seceding States go in peace, and you destroy the government; for then other States may separate when they shall please. Let Oregon and California request it, the Western Empire rises upon the shores of the mighty Pacific. Let the ingathering crowds of hardy adventures demand it, the Rocky Mountain Empire exists, the Switzerland of America, rich beyond estimate, in mines of gold and silver. Let the dwellers in the great valley wish it, the Mississippi Empire, with its teeming multitudes will claim supremacy over the continent. Let the Middle States agree, the Central Empire is before you bidding for the trade of the world. Where then will be the Union, where the boasted government of our Fathers—the glory of the people and the fear of despots? Where?

New England will indeed remain, the last to abandon, as she was the first to inaugurate the ancient honored Republic. New England will remain intact in her resources of granite and ice, safe in the knowledge and virtue of her people. She will remain with a record honorable above others, marred only by the memory of a few degenerate sons who would not sacrifice themselves to save their country. She will remain with a future, noble, prosperous and worthy of her origin and her history.

Let the seceding States go, and you invite anarchy and despotism to run riot in our hitherto happy land. Think you that these various empires can be established, consolidated and perfected in peace? Will there be no sub-secessions, no counter rebellion, no disputes respecting boundaries, extradition treaties, division of public property, duties on exports and imports? Will these questions be settled peacefully? As well might you expect that the planets, broken loose from their central sun, and whirling uncontrolled through space, would find their way back in safety to their former orbits.

No! Let the general government be destroyed, and in the view of right reason, there will be wars on this continent, of which the present is but a dim shadow. There will be long years red with human blood and gore, before the angel of peace shall again spread her blessed wings over the land. With such facts and probabilities before them, how could religious, thoughtful, loyal men, refrain from giving their influence for the speedy and utter destruction of the rebellion?

Did not their cheeks blanch and their hearts beat wildly while they beheld the vials of Jehovah’s wrath pouring their dread contents upon the guilty land, filling it with these gory battle fields, these groaning hospitals, these shrouded homes and crushed hearts? At such a sight could they remain unmoved? Could they fail to pray for the shortened time, for speedy peace? Having prayed, must they not work?

Moses prayed, but deliverance came not till “he stretched his hand over the sea.” So these true men have prayed and labored till now the nation is walking on dry land, through waters which soon are to whelm the rebel leaders in remediless ruin.

Another inference from my subject, and following necessarily from the last, is this:
It is now the duty of every citizen to use his utmost exertions in sustaining the government and in aiding the administration to subdue the rebellion. Obedience to God requires this, for He commands you to be subject to principalities and powers, to obey magistrates, and to be ready for every good work.

Fulfillment of oaths requires this: Is that man true to his oath, is he faithful to the Constitution, who, when he sees the Constitution violated, and the beautiful flag, emblem of its power, shot down with rebel bullets, sits in silence, caring not and rebuking not the traitor? Justice to a large portion of the Southern people demand this. They did not vote for secession, they did not wish it. They do not today enjoy that which the General Government is bound to secure to every State, a republican form of government. The safety of your children demands this. Let the Government be destroyed and where is you assurance that they will pass safely through scenes of anarchy and blood?

Once more, the welfare of the world demands this. Without doubt, the existence on this territory of on united, free, powerful Republic, firmly grounded in the knowledge and virtue of the whole people, would be the hope, the joy of the oppressed everywhere. This nation would then become the beacon light of the world, before whose brightness the chains of the oppressed, and the sword of the oppressor would disappear.

Under the pressure of these motives, Divine and human, personal and philanthropic, can we hesitate to labor with our might for the entire subjugation of the rebels, which is the only practicable way for the speedy return of peace. And when peace shall come with healing in her wings, by the blessing of God, no more to depart; when peace shall come, filling the expanding hearts of the people with intensest joy, holding in store blessings, unmeasurable and invaluable for the hundred millions yet to dwell on the mountains, in the valleys, and by the shores of this one blessed land, will it not add infinitely to your satisfaction, if you can then feel that, in the hour of her peril, you were faithful to your country, and to you God?

This subject, my friends, sheds a brilliant light upon the grounds of our Thanksgiving, today.

Where are we? On the road to ultimate victory—past the middle mile-stone—within sight of the enemies’ capital—within hearing of their despairing groans.

What have we escaped? The wreck of our Government, the ruin of our nation, the reproach of the world.

What have we saved? Our country’s honor, our self-respect, our power and place among the nations.

What are our hopes? Bright, beautiful as the rainbow tints. Beyond the dark dread path which now we tread, we discern the open plain. Beyond the tide of blood which yet for a time must flow, beyond the burden of debt which, for a little while, must still increase, we behold the early dawn which heralds the rising sun of peace. Even now we seem to see his beams, gilding with gold and purple, the upper edges of the black sulphureous clouds which obscure our lower vision.

There is confidence in the cabinet, confidence in the army, confidence in the hearts of the people.

What are our hopes? They are strong, they energize, they prolong endurance, they produce strength, they give power.

What are our hopes? They are firm in the wisdom of our officers, civil and military, firm in the strong arms and hearts of our patriotic soldiers and sailors, firm in the unswerving loyalty of the mass of the people. They strengthen, as we listen to the echoes of our booming cannon, from sea and land, and to the resounding triumph of our victorious legions.

Our hopes? They are sure because grounded in the justice of a sacred cause, a cause the tidings of whose success shall vibrate over the world and along the coming centuries, thrilling millions of hearts with purest joy.

Our hopes? They are unfailing because sustained by the marked interpositions of an Almighty God, who judgeth among the nations, and who hath proclaimed liberty unto the people.

A few more heavy blows and the double-monster, slavery and secession, dies; a few more months of labor, and rest will come; the woes of war endured a little longer, and peace shall return, a peace, peace-inspiring and permanent, a peace which shall soothe the weeping mourner, nerve the maimed sufferer, free the last slave, and thrill the souls of all.

Is there not in these things reason for devout thanksgiving to Almighty God? Add to these our other blessings—health and fruitful seasons, domestic joys and social happiness, educational facilities and literary privileges; churches, Sabbaths, communion of saints, the mercy seat and hopes of heaven; is there not cause, is there not motive for thanksgiving, such as were never ours before?

How should this day be kept? With praise and prayer, with joy and gladness, with the gathering of households, and the renewal of friendships, with the enjoyment of Providential bounties and gifts to the destitute, with the remembrance of God’s mercies, and the worship of His holy name.

Once in ancient time a nation delivered kept holy day, with timbrels and dances, and with a memorable, memorial song. In a coming eternity, hosts redeemed shall sing that song, and the song of the Lamb, in Eternal Thanksgiving.

Here today, midway between the two, we, a nation richly blessed by the God who delivered them, we, in memory and hope, offer up the tribute of our rejoicing hearts.

Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1864

Thanksgiving for Victories
Discourse
By: Rev. R. D. Hitchcock, D.D.
 

“Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”—Psalm 144:1
You can not have failed to notice how small a part of the peculiar rhetoric of war has ever come from the great makers and masters of war. The contending heroes of the Iliad simply go out to meet each other under the walls of Troy. It is left for the poet to tell us how they rushed together like thunder-clouds in a summer sky. The nine campaigns of Cæsar in Gaul turned out very much to his mind, but his own account of them in the Commentaries is probably not very much like the reports which would have been sent by the Roman Russell to the Roman Times, had Rome at that time either enjoyed or endured either a Russell or Times. We have a General who threatens nothing more than to “move upon the works” of the enemy. For the “tornado” and “lightning” of the movement we are indebted to the sprightly correspondents, special or regular, who take no part in it only to see it. There is nothing strange in this, and nothing to be sneered at. Battles may be grand when looked at from afar, and grander still in their results; but to those who are in them they are hideous, and those who know the most about them are inclined to say the least. Louis Napoleon is said to have had his stomach turned, and his dreams badly haunted ever since, by the slaughter he witnessed at Solferino.

The author of the sentence chosen for our text today was at once a great poet and a great conqueror. When he received his kingdom, it was only a small fraction even of Palestine. And at last, after seven years, with all the Hebrews under him, it reached only to the roots of Lebanon on the north, touched the Arabian desert on the south, and went but little beyond the Jordan on the east. But before he died, the Red Sea and the Euphrates were his boundaries, and there was no potentate anywhere in Western Asia who did not tremble at the name of the shepherd’s son of Bethlehem.

Now what had this man to say of war? Many things in many places, as he who runs may read, but in our text two things: First virtually, that war is sometimes a good thing; and, secondly, that success in it is of God. “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”

Today at the suggestion of the President–the President of these nearly forty United States of North America–we have thanked and are thanking God, thanking him in speech and in feeling deeper than speech, for two most signal and present victories: the one at Mobile on our Southern Gulf, where Army and Navy, planting the feet of our national power, the one upon the land, the other upon the sea, have had a united triumph; the other at Atlanta in Georgia, where after four months of incessant marching and fighting, a shell has been lodged at last in the very bowels of this monstrous Confederacy. These are great victories, there can be no doubt of it; as great as any in history. They do not end the rebellion, to be sure; but they begin the ending of it. A few more such blows, and the work is substantially accomplished. And so we bless God today, in this temple of peace, for these achievements of war, gratefully remembering the dead, tenderly mindful of the wounded and the bereaved, and, above all, humbly supplicating the Power above us for what further victories are needed to bring this great and sore struggle to a righteous consummation, disband our brave and patient but wearied armies, and set in motion again the arrested currents of our ordinary life.

You can not regret more deeply than I that our own spiritual teacher is not here now to lead your devotions, and expound the lessons of the hour. And yet I will not distrust you charity, nor permit myself to be troubled by the fear that you may be yearning for something better than you will get. I am sure you will not be impatient with me for not doing better than I can, snatching time as I do for this discourse from the grasp of other duties and other cares.

I. Let me first speak to you about war in general.

The Bible speaks of it in many, many places as one of the direst of calamities. Those who employ of the Litany of the English Church pray every Sunday: “From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence, and famine; from battle and murder, and from sudden death, Good Lord deliver us.” And such is the common feeling of civilized and cultured, to say nothing of regenerated and Christian, men. War, as I have said already, is a hideous thing. Our instincts are against it. As rational beings we resent this appeal from reason to the sword, from brain to muscle, as an atrocious indignity to reason itself. It makes us ashamed of men to see them hunting each other, as the sportsman hunts a tiger in the jungle; to see them tear each other to pieces as tiger tears tiger when both are famished, and are both unwilling to divide their spoil. Swords, and pistols, and muskets, and cannon, and bullets, and balls, and forts, and iron-plated ships, with all the other inventions which mean death to man, are more hateful than any human abhorrence has ever painted them. War, in and of itself in its last analysis, is simply butchery; the butchery, not of soulless animals like sheep and oxen, but of reasoning and immortal men. Shame on it all. And the greater the war, the greater the shame. In great, long wars, the waste of life is frightful. Five millions of me, it is estimated, perished in the Crusades. An equal number of French men fell victims to the military genius of the First Napoleon. Farmers, mechanics, merchants, scholars, are torn away from their beneficent pursuits to fatten corn-fields, as at Waterloo; perhaps to be of less use even than that. And the gaps thus made in society are not filled for a generation. And then there are multitudes on crutches, or maimed and limping, till nature has had time to put them all under the sod. And then there are delicate women, dressed in black, in our sight for years, pensioned, it may be, meagerly, or it may be painfully living by the needle, making shirts at five cents apiece for men who had made fortunes out of the war which cost them their husbands. And then there are little children to grow up, weeping every night when they are put to bed as they are told of their fathers, who had their lives shot or stabbed out of them on some far off battle-field, and whose bodies are not asleep at home in the village graveyard. And then there is the absolute annihilation of property; charcoal, niter, sulfur in the powder that is burnt; lead and iron in the bullets and balls; and a hundred other things, which get planted in every battle, not to grow, but to rot. Harvest fields are trampled to mud, houses and barns are consumed, railways torn up, engines and cars demolished, ships sunk or set fire to with their cargos, light-houses blown up, and harbors obstructed or destroyed. And then, too, there is great peril of serious damage to the moral character. There is the life in camp, away from all domestic endearments and restraints; and raids through hostile territory, sweeping property like whirlwinds; and the fury of battle, so liable to kindle a thirst for blood, or at least to cheapen the value of human life. Such are some of the fruits and tokens of war. War means death and destruction: death, violent and sudden; destruction, utter and irreparable. In this aspect of it, it is hard to imagine any worse thing which could possibly happen. Satanic and hellish some men have called it. But Milton thinks otherwise, and worse, of it:

“O shame to men! Devil with devil damned
Firm concord holds, men only disagree
Of creatures rational.”
But bad as war is, some other things are worse, immeasurably worse. And when war and any one of these other worse things is the only and enforced alternative, then is war a right and good thing; with all its abominations it is right, with all it horrors it is good. War, we have said, is death and destruction; but the death only of the body, the destruction only of property. Even at this, however, the loss is not so great as may at first appear. Death will come sooner or later to us all. The man who falls in battle only dies a little sooner than he expected. Property likewise is perishable. War only sweeps it away more swiftly. But rated at their highest value, neither life nor property should be thought inalienable. Life is sweet and property is good, but life and property may be too dearly ransomed. “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” And souls may be lost without being sent to perdition beyond the grave; reaching that perdition doubtless at last, but lost some time before.

With respect to the Christian martyrdoms, I believe there is nowhere any debate. No man dares to say, if any man is mean enough to think, that those uncompromising saints who preferred death to apostasy, died foolishly. That one early martyr at the stake in Smyrna, the aged Polycarp, states the case for them all. On his way to the flames, Herod, an official with his father Nicetes, met him in their chariot. Lifting the venerable Bishop into the chariot, they say: “What harm is there in it to say, Lord Caesar, and sacrifice, and so be safe?” Afterward the proconsul urged him: “Swear, and I will set thee at liberty; reproach Christ.” But his answer was: “Eighty and six years have I now served Christ, and he has never done me the least wrong; how, then can I blaspheme my King and my Savior?” And so he lost a life which a single sentence would have saved. But so he won everlasting bliss in heaven, and on earth everlasting renown; here the laurel and there the palm.

But it may be said that the difference is wide between yielding up one’s own life and taking the life of another; between martyrdom and war. The commandment is, “Thou shalt not kill;” and war, we are told, is murder. But if mere killing be murder, my reply is, then it is murder to hang a murderer; as some, indeed are quite ready to affirm, denouncing scaffold and battle-field as alike unchristian. This is logical, but false; a right conclusion from a wrong premise. “Thou shalt not kill” does not mean, “Thou shalt not take away life.” But, as expounded by our Lord himself, its meaning is “Thou shalt do no murder.” Murder is more than killing. Killing is sometimes not merely a right, but a duty, even for individuals, as when one anticipates by a quick of his own, the blow of an assassin. And if an individual may take life in self-defense, much more may it be done by the body politic, with its formalities of arrest and trial. In the face of murder, treason, or any other capital offence, the commandment is, “Thou shalt kill.” Magistracy is nothing without its sword. That sword may not always be reddened justly; but justly reddened, it does the will of God, who complacently permits no magistrate to bear the sword in vain. Occasions arise when organized society must either kill or be killed itself; and organized society must not consent to die.

Now war is nothing more nor less than capital punishment on a large scale: sometimes outside, between nation and nation, when we call it foreign war; sometimes inside, when we call it civil. The chief difference is, that on the scaffold there is but one executioner, while on the battle-field the executioners are many. In either case, it is the organized society that strikes, on the scaffold with its single band of civil justice, on the field with its many mailed hands of war. But sheriff or soldier, it matters not, they are equally legitimate. War, then with all its evils, is not itself wrong. In particular instances it may be wrong, or it may be right; but each instance must be judged of by itself. Our proper rule of judgment would appear to be, that war, to be righteous must be always defensive war. Defensive, I mean, in spirit; for it is
obvious that a war may be offensive in form, which is strictly defensive in spirit, as in the case of Charlemagne, who repeatedly attacked and crippled the Barbarians, who were preparing to attack, and might have crippled him. The alternative before him was not that of peace or war, but of war today or war tomorrow; and the choice he made was of war today. Offences have not yet ceased between nation and nation, any more than they have ceased between man and man; nor will they cease for some time to come. Nation still insults and injures nation. The insulted and injured nation may exercise a long forbearance, protesting against its wrongs; but there is a limit beyond which forbearance is not a virtue, but a crime. That limit overstepped, of which the Christian conscience of the nation must calmly judge, then the blade must leave its scabbard, and the God of battles must be invoked to arbitrate the conflict. International offenses, no longer endurable, must be punished. For some offenses, the lighter punishment of commercial non-intercourse may suffice. But other offenses of graver character cry aloud for the crowning punishment of war. And war for a nation’s rights, when those rights are at once vital and jeopardized, is always a war of self-defense; in its essence that, whatever may be its form. Such war, we declare, is right. It is more than right; it is a duty. And the nation which shirks this duty deserves its inevitable doom; I say, its inevitable doom, for whatever nation is afraid to fight, and is known to be afraid to fight, forfeits the respect of other nations and is near its end. The vultures will soon be screaming over it.

But if a nation may defend itself on the outside against foreign assailants, much more may a nation defend itself on the inside against domestic traitors and rebels. Civil war, as all the world knows, is worse than foreign war; as much worse as a wolf in the fold is worse than a wolf at the door. It is more ferocious and bitter in its spirit, more desolating in its effects. It furrows the land with a hotter plowshare, and plants it with larger armies of the slain. Its havoc, as in the last days of the Roman Republic, as in the last days of the French Republic, is often arrested only by the iron hand of a despot, enforcing order at the expense of ancient liberties and rights. There are great miseries, and great risks. But when a wanton rebellion, long brooded over, is at length hatched, when constitutional and peaceful methods of redress for alleged grievances are haughtily spurned, when the national flag is insulted, and the national authority defied, then civil war must come; has, indeed, already come. It is the national life that is threatened: and if that life is worth having, it is worth defending. If there be fire in the nation’s heart, that fire must burst and burn. If there be nerve in the nation’s arm, that arm must strike. It is no longer a question of parties, which shall rule, whether this or that, but the supreme and final question of life or death to the State itself. Unresisted assassination is virtual suicide. A great nation has no right to die; and the greater the nation, the greater the wrong of allowing itself be made to die. Lost wealth me be shortly recovered, slaughtered millions of men may by and by be replaced; but the splendid living organism of a high-hearted, prosperous, puissant nationality, with all its array of arts and industries, of laws and institutions, of grand historic memories and of still grander aspirations, which challenge the coming centuries, the dust of heroes in its soil, accomplished work of man, but a slow growth of reluctant time, a wondrous miracle of Providence, which may not be witnessed again on the same spot for ages. It must not be suffered to perish. By all that is sacred in heaven, by all that is brave, sweet, and precious on earth, by the sleeping ashes of the fathers, by the cradles of the children, by all the examples of the past, by all the prowess of the present, by all the prophetic visions of the future, it must not be suffered to perish.

But war, in such emergencies as we have now considered, has also another aspect than this of tragic and terrible necessity. It has its compensations, greatest always in the greatest and grandest conflicts, which go far to make us bless even the bitterness of the bud for the sweetness of the flower. If war, by withdrawing largely the muscle of a country from productive pursuits to a pursuit whose very genius is destruction, deranges business, choking up the old channels of trade, it, on the other hand, opens new channels of its own. Armies must be clothed, and sheltered, and nourished; navies must be launched; and iron throats on the land and on the sea must be fed with powder, and lead, and iron. And, above all, if men are mowed down by regiments, and sorrow carried to innumerable homes, yet heroes are made for history, and the life of the nation is enriched by the lives of its champions. If some weak statesmen are broken down by the burden, others are found to bear it. If frogs croak, and wise owls hoot, in the night of disaster, birds of promise come singing in the morning. If some moral interests are imperiled, others and greater ones are promoted. What would England have been today without her righteous wars, domestic and foreign? England, or any other of the first nations of Europe? What but “a nation of shopkeepers;” a swarm of bees, hiving their honey; a herd of cattle, chewing their cuds? That is a great day for a man, when he puts his life in peril for a principle. That is a great day for a people, when they stand up for their rights. As men now are, and as the world now goes with them, a long peace, such as the merchant prays for, is more dangerous to the soul than battles are to the body. Peace is a hot summer, teeming with life, and hurrying its crops to ripeness, but drying up the brooks, wrapping the land in smoke, and robbing the air of its tonics. War is lightning. And lightning is good. It may kill a horse or two in the pasture, or burn a barn, or prostrate a man standing in his doorway, or, striking a church, may turn, for some months, a Christian congregation quite out of doors; but its clears the air, and without it we should none of us have long to live.

War, then, with all the losses and horrors that attend it, with all the sorrows that follow it, is not always to be denounced, is not always to be shunned. King David was no stranger to war, making verses about it from afar. The nations round about him would not let him alone in Palestine. His own sons stirred up rebellions against him. And so he became a warrior, fighting for his kingdom and his crown; warrior, as well as lyrist, singing as he returned from victory: “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”

II. Let me next speak to you about the secret success in war.

Napoleon is commonly reported to have said that Providence is always on the side of the heaviest battalions. I am slow to believe he ever said it. He must have known better, for he was not ignorant of history. The fact is, rather, that the heaviest battalions are always on the side of Providence; not, I admit, in all the preliminary or incidental skirmishes, not in all the smaller battles eve, but certainly in all the greater, decisive battles which have settled anything worth settling. Many a time have little armies beaten large armies; as at Marathon and Plataea, the Greeks the Persians, who outnumbered them as ten to one. Who knows, or can know, which are the heaviest battalions, till it be found out which did the crushing, and which were crushed? David, though a stripling, was taller than Saul, and weighed more than Goliath. But his stature was not in inches by the rule, nor his weight in ounces by the scales. The Kearsarge and Alabama were more nearly matched than is often the case in naval engagements of that sort. As they steamed towards each other, with sanded decks and shotted guns, it would have been difficult to determine which it would have been difficult to determine which was the better ship, or which was the better equipped, officered, and manned. As hour later it was all plain enough. No intelligent man in Christendom now needs to be told which ship went down, nor why. Patriotism commanded and worked the one; piracy commanded and worked the other.

One of the finest sayings of modern literature is that of Schiller: “The world’s history is the world’s judgment.” It condenses into a proverb the whole philosophy of history and yet nearly three thousand years before, another poet had written: “I said unto the fools, deal not foolishly: and to the wicked, Lift not up the horn: lift not up your horn on high: speak not with a stiff neck. For promotion cometh neither from the east, nor the west, nor from the south. But God is the judge: he putteth down one, and setteth up another.” For us, as individuals there is a great day of judgment to come, with trumpet or archangel, and banner of flame, and book of God’s memory and ours. But for races and nations, the day of judgment, like Elias to the Hebrews hundreds of years ago, is come already. It has come, and stays. It is now, and always. From the moment a nation is born, from that moment it begins to be judged. Nations indeed are free, liking what they will, and doing what they like. Hence, as human nature is always doing the same, human events are always repeating themselves. There is nothing new under the sun; but ever the same old circuit of growth and decay, of conquest and defeat. So at first it seems, and so in part, but only in part, it is. Besides the movement round, there is another movement onward, making the circuits spiral. And that spiral movement is of God, impelling the nations onward, while they go spinning round and round. The goal we know: it is the final triumph here on earth of truth and right over lies and wrong. Towards that goal the revolving nations have always pointed their fingers, and have always moved. I am not addressing atheists, and therefore I shall not now undertake to prove the law of history is not revolution only, but also progress. Suffice it here to say, that the vindication of our Christian philosophy of history is the whole substance of history itself, its woof and its warp. Since the fall of man, which had its organic culmination in the godless civilization of Adam’s eldest son, as far back as we can see through the eyes of Herodotus, as far back as we can see through the eyes of Moses, the world has not revolved only, but also advanced. Not always from age to age, from great epoch to great epoch, has there been one steady march. Any school-boy will recite you the names and the dates. Egypt, Chaldea, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Macedon, and Rome, those names of the old empires, all witnesses to progress, all witnesses for God, that he has led amongst the nations, and compelled them, in the working out of their own ambitious purposes, also to work out his purposes of justice and grace Amidst those older empires Palestine stood central. For hundreds of years five millions of Hebrews determined the course of history. It was to train, to try, and finally to punish them, that those empires came and went. And now it is the son o a Hebrew mother, who is also the Son of God, around whom the nations revolve, and whose purposes they execute, whether they will or no. His kingdom, set up eighteen hundred years ago, has been steadily growing ever since. It is stronger today than ever it was before. It will be stronger tomorrow than it is today. Greece helped it in her decrepitude, and died only when she could help it no longer. And so of all the nations since: the empire of Charlemagne, the medieval kingdoms of Europe, the empires of the two Napoleons, and all the rest. Each has had its own inspiration, each its own aims, but of God all have had only one and the same errand, and all have either bowed or been broken, will bow or will be broken, beneath the weight of Christ’s arm. By the eternal covenant of redemption, this world is Christ’s. He died for it, and he will have it. The past guarantees the future. Since those tongues of flame at Pentecost till now, not a single important event has happened which has not done something towards bringing in the promised millennium. Every national birth and every national death, every revolution and every reform, every discovery and every conquest, every invention and every battle, every science and every art, has had its Christian errand, and has done it. The Roman Empire built roads for the feet of the apostles and early evangelists, and kept order in their assemblies. Charlemagne repeated in northern Europe the southern empire of the Caesars. Priests and schoolmen redeemed the Middle Ages from utter barbarism. Then out of the feudal chaos sprang the modern centuries, have been elaborating the Christian civilization that now rules the world. Study closely this chart of history, tracing the career of every nation and of every great ruler of every problem of their fortunes. The race has not been to the swift nor the battle to the strong. But the blood of Christ has been beating in the arteries of the world. Truth, right, law, liberty–these have been the light and the life of men, making the foolish wise and the weak strong, so that one has been able to chase a thousand, and two have put ten thousand to flight.

And of all the methods employed to bring the world right, there is none, perhaps, more effective, surely none so imposing, as this war. It is, indeed, a rough method, the delight of the savage, the dread of the civilized, and yet the appointment of Providence as the indispensable condition of human progress. The onward movement of the race has been always, not a journey, but a march. The new territories have had to be conquered. Wiser laws, humane institutions, liberties enlarged and chartered, order assured–these all have been the crimsoned trophies of war. Even peace itself has had to be purchased with blood and tears. And so it is that the great military campaigns of history are its great way marks. The great battles are but synonyms of great ideas realized. It is no new thing for bayonets to think; they have always thought, thinking better and better from age to age. It is the brains behind the bayonets that are thinking now. The devil rages, but God reigns; and what is best for man is sure to win in the long run. “He always wins who sides with God.” In the great crises of history, when the clock of the universe is about to strike a new hour, it matters now what splendor or genius in leadership, what weight of massed columns, what prodigality of preparation, what prestige of previous achievement, may be set in array against the right; unseen squadrons are in the air above, unseen chariots in the mountains round about, and the battle is the Lord’s–both the battle and the victory. Napoleon could never understand why his army was routed at Waterloo. By all military precedent, the rout should have been upon the other side. Napoleon was never surer of victory than then. But besides the army against him on the ground, there was the army against him on the ground, there was another army against him in the air. The stars in their courses fought against him, and he was vanquished. A bad cause may be successful at the start. Inspired from beneath, and not from above, its fire is fierce and withering; but it fights too fast and wildly. The good cause is stunned and staggered by the first onset; but by and by it rallies, warming as it works, and striking harder and harder till the field is won.

How it comes to pass that the good cause at last carries the day, every good man knows, or ought to know. This secret of the Lord is with them that fear him. Every soldier in the field has an ally in every Christian closet; and he knows it. Every tent-fire blazes with the light of remembered hearth-stones. Every peal of the bugle is tremulous with the voices of wives and children. Every battle has its benediction from every altar of worship. And ever triumph shall have its anthems from generation to generation. Good men thus armed are invincible. We need not await the bulletins; the end is sure.

III. And now let me say a few words about our own war.

We are tired of hearing it called gigantic, that word has been used so much. And yet the fact remains of a great war; the greatest perhaps, in history. I need not tell you how great it is: great in the length and breadth of its theater; great in its host of armed men upon the land, great in its fleets upon the sea, great in its cost of treasure, great in its cost of blood. So great is it, that had its dimension been foreseen, the heart of the nation would have failed it. So great is it, that the hearts of many men have failed them as it is. So great is it, that only the most vivid sense of the still greater issues at stake in it will suffice to bear us through.

Cries of peace are on the wind. We heard them at the start. We have heard them all along. We hear them now louder than ever. But cries of peace from whom, and to whom? Some are the prayers of all the saints ascending since the war began, that God will be pleased, in his own good time, to send us peace by righteousness, that so it may be a lasting peace. But no cry is heard as yet from the rebels in arms, who might have peace tomorrow, by simply throwing down their weapons and striking their flag. No cry as yet from our own brave boys, their blue jackets fragrant with the smell of victories. No cry from the bloody graves of fallen heroes, who would as gladly fight and die again for the old flag. No cry even from widows and orphans, who have lost all they had to lose, and now only pray it may not have been in vain. Nowhere any cry do we hear, but from the lips of rebels not in arms, or who, if not rebels, are the dupes and the tools of rebels, doing the work of rebels, and doing it better now and here than though they had followed their hearts down over the lines these are the men who now cry for peace at any price, peace on the instant by the grounding of our arms, when they know, some of them better even than we–for they have learned it from Richmond–that the rebellion is on the verge of grounding its arms. Peace, they cry, as over a drawn battle, when they know the battle is nearly finished in victory. Peace, they cry, when they know that peace now, without another blow, would be substantially the triumph of our foes. Some of these men who cry for peace are bold, bad man; as bold and bad as Catiline. Others are only the rank and file of old political organizations, who know no other voice than that of their old shepherds. Taking them all together, their name is legion. They are found in all portions of the loyal states, and in numbers are probably about as strong, relatively, as the Tories of the Revolution; perhaps a little stronger. They are now, by the confession of the rebels themselves, the forlorn hope of their Confederacy. Foreign intervention was abandoned long ago as an idle dream. The rebellion is standing literally on its last legs; it ahs conscripted everything it could lay its hands on that could be of any use to it between the cradle and the grave. The recruiting drumbeat would not be more out of place in the churchyards than in the streets of most of the Southern towns. A few thousands of men more on our side, and the thing is ended. Peace would then come, not by an armistice, which would lead to no peace that could last, but by victories so overwhelming and conclusive that no man anywhere would dare to challenge the result. So says the Lieutenant-general of our armies, God bless him for his sublime tenacity of purpose, for his steadfast faith, for his man victories. So say all our best generals. So say all our best soldiers. And the rebels know it to be true. Only one hope now sustains them, and that is their hope of seeing yet, at the eleventh hour, a divided and palsied North.

Shall they see it? Tell me, Christian friends and neighbors, tell me, my fellow-countrymen, shall they see it? This is now the grand question before us. And it is the only question. The question of slavery, in its relations to our politics, our industry, our religion even, is just now supremely impertinent: impertinent, I say, not because slavery can be cleared of the guilt of this rebellion, or can be thought compatible with the revived prosperity and permanent peace of the republic, or can be looked upon with moral indifference by moral men; but simply because, by its own act, it now lies at the mercy of events which must have their course. Of the four millions of southern bondmen at the beginning of this rebellion, more than one million–Mr. Davis has said nearly two millions–have been freed already. Others yet will snatch their freedom as our armies advance. And they would have snatched it all the same had there been no Proclamation of 1863. That military edict is, therefore, but a poor apology for turning against the Government now. Beyond all controversy, it has weakened the rebellion, and strengthened the Government; weakened the rebellion by making emancipation, not merely a military incident, but a well advised and avowed purpose, in order to the quicker an surer triumph of our arms; strengthened the Government by all the thousands of colored troops now in its service, by arraying on our side the sympathies of the best men in Europe, and securing for ourselves the inspiration, not of patriotism alone, but also of philanthropy and the fear of God. To re-enslave these freedmen would be not merely infamous, it would be insane. These, then, are wholly out of the problem. The eagles are uncaged, and gone. What shall be done with such as may not have been actually liberated along the paths of our armies, what shall be done with the institution of slavery itself–these are questions of the future, questions to be taken up and disposed of after the war is ended, and the Union, which, according to the loyal theory of the war, has never been dissolved, shall have been in fact restored. For the future, the immediate future, to which they belong, they are questions of the gravest moment. Perhaps we shall all soon feel them to be the crucial questions of our destiny. Perhaps the hour is nearer than some of us suppose, when the whole nations shall be standing in awe of Him whose office it is to say, Inasmuch as ye have done it, or have not done it, , unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it, or have not done it, unto me. But just at this most critical conjuncture of our affairs–just emerging, as we are, from the lowest depths of our despondency, the national brain oppressed, the natural pulse feverish, and these questions are not in time. The only question now, if we are wise, is the question of war or armistice. This is the question offered us. Let us accept it, and hold its apostles to it and hold ourselves to it, and hold ourselves to it, and hold each other to it, and hold the nation to it. If Ajax fails of victory for want of light, be it no fault of ours.

Armistice is the watch-word. But what is armistice? Not peace; only hostility suspended. But hostility suspended in order to peace, they tell us. Be not deceived, my countrymen. Peace will never come this way. The rebellion is still, engineered and dominated by able and desperate men, who have sworn with an oath as stern as that of the famous Delenda est Carthago, that the old Union shall never be reestablished. This explains the remark of Mr. Davis, that they “are not fighting for slavery, and care very little about it.” He did not mean that they are sick of the institution, and ready to give it up. He only meant, although of course too shrewd to own up to it, that, with their independence established, and an open sea between themselves and the dusky continent, they will know how to make good the losses of the war. They are inflexibly resolved upon an independent Confederacy; and if, with their armies so well in hand, they can hold the Southern masses to that program today, with those armies refreshed and resupplied, they will be able to hold these same masses to that same program tomorrow. The armistice will end, as it began, in an unqualified and stubborn demand for independence. They say they want nothing else and will think of nothing else. If their demand be refused–as refused it must be, for I have read in a recent document that “ the Union must be preserved at all hazards”–then it will be war again, only worse, and less likely by a thousand fold to end propitiously than now. If the demand be conceded, there may, indeed, be peace for a time, but war again after a season, and war for ever, till either our descendants learn the wisdom now offered to us, or the continent is black with ruins. What man in his senses can imagine for a moment the possibility of permanent amity, or anything like it, between two such governments as would take the place of the one government now battling for its life? What man that wishes to plant, or spin, or trade, or study, would be willing to stay amidst such uncertainties as would then be chronic?

Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1863

A Willing Reunion Not Impossible
Thanksgiving Sermon Preached at
St. Paul’s, Brookline, November 26, 1863,
By
Rev. Francis Wharton
“In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.” —Ps. lxiii. 7.
It is the usage of the divine Word to speak of God’s mystery as the believer’s peace. Concealment, we are told, is a part of the glory of God; and the very darkness, therefore, in which our path may be enfolded, leads us to trust in God, who is in the cloud. “Thou canst not see my face,” said God to Moses, “for there shall no man see me and live.” “And it shall come to pass, while my glory passeth by, that I will put thee in a cleft of the rock, and will cover thee with my hand as I pass by,”—hiding thus from the creature the movement of the Creator, even when the Creator is most near. So the apostle cries,—“Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things; to whom be glory forever. Amen.” And in the same strain of praise for this, the hiddenness of the providence of God, the Psalmist exclaims, in the words of the text,—“In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”

I think, dear friends, in the first place that this must be the believer’s cry in reference to the shadows that hung over him during former parts of his pilgrimage, but which are now passed. Few of us but must recall moments when we seemed placed in the cleft of the rock; and, like one pent in between the rugged walls and the beetling roof of some dark sea-side cave whose mouth the waves wash, could then see no path of escape. Yet, as we now view these moments of depression or affliction, what is our present cry? Do we not feel that even for these we can praise God? Do we not see that he whose paths are on the sea, and whose footsteps are not known, led us forth by a way of which we knew nothing? “Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word.” We now see that our plans, which we so much cherished, were very different from God’s plans, which we did not understand; and that our plans would have led to ruin, but God’s have led to peace. We see that, whenever, in our own presumptuous wisdom, we chose our own path, against his obvious leadings, it led to sorrow, if not to sin; and that God’s discipline, which tore us, bleeding as it were, from ties in which we had thus wrapped ourselves, was the way of right and of love. We see that even God’s providence of affliction, in removing from us beloved and believing friends, was a providence of mercy,—completing the number of the elect, adding to the glory of heaven, weaning us from earth. We see how even our own sicknesses and disappointments have been blessings, warning us, as we grew older, not to attach ourselves to the transitory things of earth, but to place our affections on heaven. In the shadows of the past we can, therefore, rejoice in the light of experience; and so Faith teaches us to rejoice in the shadow of the present, grievous as may be the affliction or sore the trial. For the shadow is the covering of God’s wing.

But if such be the case with personal troubles, how much more strongly must it be so in reference to those which strike, not merely individuals, but nations,— nations whose destiny involves, not only that of multitudes of individual souls, but, in a large measure, those of Christ’s militant church. It is true, that, in our own case, as our country stands on this Thanksgiving Day, the shadow over us is not unbroken. We look back, as we close this beautiful autumn, upon a harvest of singular fullness. In no time has wealth poured itself so abundantly upon our great marts; at no former period has the giant growth of our giant country been so marked in this, the favored region in which we live. And we see this growth and this flush not only in our business, but in our educational and ecclesiastical interests. Our schools were never so full, our religious contributions never so large, the mental activity of the country never so great, as now. And yet, as we view all this, we turn with a sigh to the one great and overwhelming grief that overshadows us: a country divided into two hostile camps, and divided by a chasm into which not merely wealth, but life, is swallowed up in the costliest libations; a people, only a few years since united in affection and peace, now apparently separated by an enmity even unto death. In this, the shadow of God’s wing on our land, what reason have we to rejoice? By these, the waters of Babylon,—in this, the strange land of discord in which we now find ourselves,—how can we, as a nation raise the voice of praise? This question let me now attempt to consider.

And first, in these, our national trials, we are led to contemplate heaven as the sole country which cannot be disturbed, and God as the sole ruler whose supremacy cannot be touched. Each form of human government has been successively shaken to its centre. The military despot, the constitutional king, the little community in which each man has an equal share of power, the vast centralization, where the aristocrat acts and speaks for;—each, in turn, has yielded to that law which stamps imperfection on all the institutions of man. And now, our own system, of all others the most perfect,—of all others, that which best unites individual liberty with governmental power,—speaks the same lesson. The genius of constitutional liberty stands by the camp, and tells us that not even the best of human governments is able, without force, to control human passion; that there is but one government that cannot be shocked,—that of heaven; but one power in whose protection we can find peaceful refuge,—the power of God. In God, then, let our supreme dependence be placed.

But, secondly, these national trials cannot be studied without seeing in them important political as well as religious compensations. I have never, from the beginning of this melancholy struggle, been able to conceive of the great country included between the lakes and the Gulf, and the Atlantic and Pacific, otherwise than as one. All the analogies of other countries forbid its division, unless division be followed by war which would last until the one part or the other is politically cancelled. In no case in Europe do we meet with two contiguous powers, unseparated by natural boundaries, maintaining their independence and their integrity untouched. Between France and Spain the Pyrenees erect an almost impassable natural barrier, and, in addition to this, there is that moral severance arising from difference of tongue; yet France has, more than once, overrun Spain, and Spain has now sunk to a second-class power, virtually the dependent of France. In a still more active process of absorption, the principalities of Burgundy, of Navarre, of Normandy, were gradually so worked up into the body of the kingdom of France, by the mere energy of homogeneousness of language and contiguity of soil, that now even the old boundaries are lost. Through the same process Wales and Scotland were united to England, Norway to Sweden, Bohemia to Austria, Silesia to Prussia, and, in the very few last years, Naples, Parma, Modena, and Tuscany, to the new kingdom of Italy. If, in some of these cases, the fusion was produced immediately by war, the principle is the same; for the only alternative to a peaceable union, when nature or art has erected no positive boundary, is, war to be continued unto one party or the other gives way; and it is only by such boundaries, or by the joint guaranties of Europe’s leading powers, that the smaller states of the continent are kept from immediate absorption in their more powerful neighbors. I do not say that this is right; but I do say that it is in obedience to one of those instincts of human society which it is as impossible to control as it would be to overrule that law by which the smaller particle gravitates to the greater, or the stronger force attains a supremacy over the weak. And peculiarly does this law seem to apply to this country, where there is not only no natural boundary, where there is not only no natural boundary dividing North and South; not only no dissimilarity in language, in religion, in historical antecedents, in general policy of government,—but where the two sections are united by reciprocity of staples, where the Mississippi couples the lakes and the Gulf by one main commercial avenue, and where the Alleghany and Rocky hills divide the country into valleys running north and south. There could be no permanent peace, were an artificial boundary cut through interests which would thus have such interminable causes of conflict; there could be no peace, without political death, when peace involved a severing of the great arteries of national life: there can be no alternative, as I conceive, between a federal union of some sort, and a series of exhausting wars, which must continue until the one side or the other obtain an ascendency which is final and complete.

Nor do I see any answer to this, in the fact that such is now the antagonism between North and South, that a willing reunion under the same general government is impossible. Antagonisms no less bitter,—antagonisms often strengthened by difference of language, and of political antecedents, as well as by natural boundaries, which do not obtain among us, existed in all the cases of absorption I have mentioned; and yet, the great law of populations prevailed, and the contiguous lands were united. No execration of our own time could be more bitter than that with which the Welsh bards, as the prophets of Welsh patriotism, visited the English Invaders:

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,
Confusion on thy banner wait,”—

So they have been paraphrased by the poet Gray; yet Wales soon began to exchange institutions with England, and, under a common government, to be fed by, and to feed, its wealth. No wail could be sadder than that of the Scotch minstrel, singing, as it seemed to him, the dirge of Scotch glory:—

“Old times are passed, old manners gone,
A stranger fills the Stuart’s throne;
And I, neglected and oppressed,
Long to be with them, and at rest.”

Yet soon, not only Highland hate and Lowland suspicion died out, but the poet’s melancholy at the loss of Scotch royalty, gave way to as proud a loyalty to the new empire as ever was felt to the old.

If, five hundred years back, we should stand with Wycliffe in one of the cloisters of Baliol, we might hear him lamenting, as the chief obstacle to British union against papal usurpation, not merely the feuds between York and Lancaster, but the territorial division of the land among distinct powers. “Here,” he might say, “to the west, protected by dense forests, and shut off by a barbarous language, lift up the Welsh princes a defiant brow. Between us and Scotland rise the Teviot hills; but more impassable than there are the barriers of tongue, of habit, of bitter, relentless hate. It seems impossible,” so he may reason, “that these barriers, so fatal to the true independence of this isle should be removed; and yet, while they stand, how can the great cause of truth prosper?” So argued the wisest and most hopeful of Wycliffe’s day, and of many a day following; yet the time came when these barriers sank away, and these warring populations fused, under that invisible process of assimilation which territorial contiguity involves.

Or let us, as illustrating the fugitiveness of the passions of civil, as distinguished from international, war, go to the battle-field of Newbury, at the beginning of the great military contest between Charles I. and his parliament. Let us there listen to Lord Falkland, the purest and most unprejudiced patriot of the day; the one who most faithfully sought to preserve harmony by reconciling the two contending factions, and who now, in utter despair of that country he so much loved, and of that peace for which he so much longed, is about to throw away his life on the spot where the carnage is threatened. “He lives too long who has survived his country,” so we can hear him cry. “I see England finally and definitely divided into two hostile clans. I see the torch of civil war handed down from generation to generation; hatred has dug a pit between brother and brother which they cannot cross; hatred is to be the perpetual boundary-line which is to divide this people into two hostile camps; each element has in it much that is true; each is essential to England’s prosperity: yet now, as it stands, I see only war until one or the other is extinguished, and unchecked despotism, or unchecked anarchy, rules supreme.” Yet Lord Falkland’s own sons might well have lived to see peace restored without either of these essential elements being extinguished; to see Puritanism and Anglicanism, Royalism, and Parliamentism, each surviving the contest, to continue, by their own alternations and interchanges, to build up English prosperity; and to witness a final settlement, in which each element, divested of the fiercer passions with which it was once mixed, would vie with the other in loyalty to a constitutional king.

Nor, should we transport ourselves back to one of our New York or New England towns, at a period but a few years later, do we find political or social antagonisms less marked. New York acknowledged the supremacy of the Dutch crown, New England acknowledged that of England; and England and Holland were then at war. New York held to aristocratic, New England to democratic, institutions; and besides these political and social differences, the two countries were inflamed by the fiercest commercial jealousy. Perhaps nowhere, even in that hard age of dissension, could be found two contiguous populations more utterly unlike, and more heartily disliking each other, as well as politically more thoroughly antagonistic, than those then existing in New England and New York. They were separated by far greater dissimilarities than now are North and South; and by equally bitter antipathies; but the Revolution gave New York and New England one government and almost one heart.

I see nothing, therefore in the immediate animosities of any two contiguous populations to prevent the operation of the great law of which I speak; and least of all, can I assign this effect to an animosity so sudden and recent as that now dividing North and South. We cannot forget that we are substantially one stock. There is scarcely a family which can go back three generations without coming to a common parent whose descendants are scattered north, south, and west; and, underneath this surface antagonism, which is none the less bitter from the very nearness of those whom it now inflames, I do believe that there is in the American people a base of mutual affection and respect which will remain long after this strife is forgotten. In union were formed the impressions of our country’s youth. The old man, whom you watch, retains his childhood’s memories the most vividly; the old friendships, the old scenes, the old sacrifices, are what gave his character its final mould–And the old country will retain, I believe, its old memories, when the transient fever of the present is long past. It will look back to that infancy when its two sections interchanged their sons; when Southern soldiers rallied under a New England captain, to reclaim their soil form the invader, and when Washington’s majestic presence first made a New England army feel the grandeur and the strength of a united land. This consciousness of community of blood, of community of history, of community of religion, of community, it must needs be, of destiny, lies at the foundation of the American life; and, fearful as is the present struggle, and resolute as should be our determination to maintain to the last the cause of authority and law, I see nothing in these, the divisions of the moment, that shows that, as to us, the great laws of population are reversed, and that it is God’s will that we should dwell apart. Once, it is true, in the world’s history, God stretched a sea between two nations whom it was his will to separate; and at his command the path he had opened through the waters was closed, and the waves lifted themselves up to execute his omnipotent decree. But he has laid down no boundary line between the North and South of this American race, but, on the contrary, in the councils of omnipotence, has knit together its rivers, its mountains, its history, its lineage, its religion, in one. When, therefore, we read this decree of reunion on nature’s face, and in the country’s real heart, and the page of the divine economy for the Christian future, we may even now, in these shadows of war, see God’s wing, and rejoice in the hope that we will soon again, though with temper chastened, and energies refined, and institutions ameliorated, possess a united land.

One or two practical points I will mention in conclusion. And the first is, that, as long as reconciliation is scorned, and a war for separation insisted on by those at arms against our government; and as long, therefore, as war is necessary for our own defense, and for that of our country and homes, we are advised, by every principle of humanity and policy, that the war, on our part, should receive our united and unreserved support. “A great country,” it was said by a master of statesmanship, “cannot wage a little war.” Our own imperial attitude; the desire to spare unnecessary bloodshed and cost; the determination to avoid that border vindictiveness which marks a protracted and feeble contest, and the determination, also, if we must have war, to have war disconnected with personal hate,—to have, in other words, battle, not assassination; the determination to close, as soon as possible, the terrible suspense by which we are now overhung;—all these motives combine to urge us to collect our whole strength, and, in perfect union, so far as this immediate object is concerned, to stake everything on the result.

And this brings me to a second point,—the wrong of giving way to feelings or expressions of personal bitterness towards those against whom we are thus arrayed. In the last publication I have seen one of whom I shall never cease to love and venerate, but who believing, as I think wrongly, at the beginning of the war, that the union was finally divided, took his stand on the soil to which he belonged,—in the last publication of the late Bishop Meade, of Virginia, he quoted an old proverb, that we should treat our friends as if they might someday become enemies; and our enemies, as if someday the might become our friends; and he added, that while all our Christian life required us to reject the first part of this maxim, the same Christianity required us to accept the second. And I would add to this, that not only Christian feeling, but national magnanimity; not only national magnanimity, but public policy;—all these motives combine in teaching us to treat as those soon to become friends, those now marshaled against us as enemies. We should avoid, I think, not merely the language, but the temper, of recrimination, as prejudicial to our own success,—as forbidden by the first principles of the gospel we believe.

One other topic I cannot persuade myself to overlook. In addition to that care over our sick, wounded, and imprisoned soldiers to which the associations of this day so impressively call us, there is a special work of cardinal importance to be performed to that large body of the African race now thrown upon us for support. The question is not one of theory, but of fact. By the necessities of war, if not by our own voluntary political choice, vast numbers of this docile and amiable but unhappy people have been detached from their old homes and are now dependent on us, not merely for their daily bread, but for that practical education which will enable them to sustain themselves in their new condition. It well becomes us, on this Thanksgiving Day, to consider what is due from us to this people, thus so solemnly consecrated to our care. And I do not hesitate to say, that this most delicate trust is one which we must make up our minds faithfully and religiously to discharge. We have now accepted the tutelage of this people,—a people whose capacities, great as the far past shows them to be, are to be recalled from the sluggishness into which they have fallen in the bondage of centuries; and we have accepted this tutelage, as one of the elements of restoration of our own political power. We have invited them to aid us: their men have fought for us on the battlefield, leaving their women and children to our care: both men and women are ignorant of the art of self-support, as well as destitute of its means; and may God help us to do to them the right! And, among the elements of this right, let me mention, not merely temporary aid, but the determination to remove that prejudice which in the North, and particularly at the North-West, refuses to receive the negro as part of the industrial energies of the land. If, in the present state of the country,—if, in view of the liberty we are giving to so large a part of the negro race, and the military debt we are accumulating to them, we do not remove this prejudice; if we do not receive the Africans to a free home, and to the full rights of labor in this our land, or, if that be impracticable, give them adequate homesteads elsewhere,—we shall, I think, be eternally branded as a nation dead to generous impulses, and unfaithful to the most sacred trusts. The question is not the political one of emancipating these particular slaves, for that is already done; but of saving those whom, for our own purposes, we have already emancipated from moral and physical ruin. To this work the intelligence and humanity of the country are most solemnly pledged.

And now, as we separate, I recur once more to the comforting thought which the text brings. As our difficulties multiply; as problems, apparently insoluble,—such as that which concerns the destiny of this unhappy people, to whom I have just directed your thoughts,—as problems, apparently insoluble, start up in our path, we fall back on this great truth: that God, who interposes the cloud, will, if we trust in him, open the way. The future will bring its solutions, if the present only bring its faith. The very incomprehensible about us is a proof that it is God who is near, and who leads. It was a cloud that went, in the day, before Israel, as he marched from the land of bondage; but this very cloud, in the night, when Israel would otherwise have died, became lit with flame, and led him in the path of right. On Sinai, God spoke his law from a thick cloud, in the midst of thunders and lightning, and to the voice of a trumpet exceeding loud: just as in the darkness and tumult of war by which we are now beset, he speaks to us. And even divine redemption is hid in the same shadow; and, in the moment when the Lord is transfigured before his disciples, “a bright cloud overshadows them,” and from this cloud the Father speaks, “This is my beloved Son.” Be this comfort, then, ours,—the comfort that God rules, and God redeems; and let this comfort give us a tranquil faith in God, and a resolute determination to perform those practical duties which in this emergency he prescribes. If so, it will be with no mere flutter of languid dependence, but in the courage of a determined and active heart, that, even in the clouds of this Thanksgiving day,—clouds which though sunlit by yesterday’s victory are still dark,—we lift up our voice in triumph, and cry, “In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”