Sermon – Christmas – 1844

Christmas in Early America

In America’s early years, the celebration of Christmas was a subject of heated debate among Christians, and the lines between the opposing views were drawn largely according to church affiliation. Those from the High Church (e.g., Anglicans, Catholics, Episcopalians, etc., which practiced a more formal tradition of worship), tended to support Christmas celebrations, while those from the Low Church (e.g., Congregationalists, Baptists, Quakers, etc., which practiced a more informal mode of worship), tended to oppose that celebration.

The views of the two sides had largely been shaped by their own history in Europe. For example, the High Church, which had been the church of Europe for centuries before the first colonists came to America, celebrated Christmas. However, those from the Low Church had been persecuted by the High Church, particularly by the Catholic and Anglican Church, so the Low Church saw no reason that they should copy the festival of those that had so harshly persecuted them.

Interestingly, when European colonists came to America, those affiliated with the High Churches tended to settle in southern colonies such as Virginia, Maryland, and Carolina, while colonists from the Low Churches more frequently settled in northern colonies such as Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.

Not surprisingly, therefore, the Virginia colony- affiliated with the Anglican Church- began celebrating Christmas from its very beginnings under Governor John Smith, but the Pilgrims and Puritans of Massachusetts- affiliated with the Congregational Church- refused to celebrate that day. In fact, their opposition to Christmas was so strong that for almost two centuries in Massachusetts, Christmas celebrations were not only discouraged but even forbidden by law.

The first state to make Christmas a state holiday was Louisiana (a southern state with a Catholic tradition) in 1837- a time when the resistance to Christmas in the north was just beginning to weaken. By the 1840s and 1850s, many more states began recognizing the holiday, and by 1870, Christmas celebrations had become so accepted that Christmas was even recognized by the federal government as a holiday.

The Christmas Sermon below was delivered in 1844- a time when the celebration was still a subject of hot debate among Christians across the nation. Preached by Robert Hallam, rector of St. James Episcopal Church in Connecticut (an area of the country still very resistant to recognitions of Christmas), the sermon is an apologetic in favor of Christmas celebrations. It addresses the arguments against celebrating Christmas and presents arguments in favor of such celebrations.

sermon-christmas-1844

CHRISTIAN HOLY-DAYS:

A

 

SERMON

 

Preached In

 

St. James’ Church, New-
London
;

Christmas- Day, 1844,

By Robert A. Hallam, Rector.

 

“I went with the multitude, and brought them forth into the house of God; in the voice of praise and thanksgiving, among such as keep holy-day.”- Psalm xlii: 4. 5. (Psalter.)

“To them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saint, with all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, both theirs and ours:- Grace be unto you, and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.”- 1 Cor. 1: 1-3.

“He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it.”-Romans, xiv:6

The Apostle speaks here of the Jewish holy-days. By the abrogation of the Law these had fallen from their ancient dignity of things obligatory, into the humbler class of things indifferent. Their observance was no longer binding upon the conscience of any man. Expediency was the highest sanction it could claim. Liberty of opinion produced its usual result of diversity of judgment and intolerance.

Jewish Christians were dealt with indulgently, and allowed without hindrance or molestation to persevere in paying a sacred regard to those annual seasons, which the history of their nation, the example of their forefathers, and the habits of their own former lives had invested with so many venerable and endearing associations.- This was simple permission however. Not even Christian Jews were required to observe Mosaic holy days. And Christian Gentiles were decidedly dissuaded from it. Their adoption of the practice might seem to indicate obligation, represent it as a permanent law and institution of Christianity, and denote a dangerous learning to formality and superstition. Even in the case of the Jews the license was jealously watched and carefully guarded. Every disposition to elevate liberty into obligation, to magnify their privilege into a duty, to enforce conformity among themselves, still more to exact if of the Gentiles, was immediately noticed and repressed.

“Ye observe days, and months, and times, and years,” writes St. Paul to the Galatian Christians in a tone of solemn remonstrance and alarm, “I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labor in vain.” Of this freedom variety of opinion and usage was the natural fruit. Most Jews regarded the day; perhaps a few Gentiles. Some Jews disregarded the day; and the great body of the Gentiles. The difference was perfectly allowable and innocent, and ought to have created no disturbance of confidence or interruption of harmony. But the spirit of man is naturally prone to be uncharitable and dictatorial. He is not content with liberty, he aims at dominion. His own judgment is the infallible standard of truth, his own practice the unquestionable rule of rectitude. He would fain be a pope and a despot, who decisions are not to be questioned, whose will is not to be contravened, whose conclusion is a Procrustean test, not only to measure but to coerce.

The Christians of Apostolic times were not satisfied to differ amicable in things intrinsically indifferent. Conscience must needs be enlisted on the side of their respective views; and then the more conscientious they were, the most intolerance they grew. Alienation and distrust, party spirit and proselytism, mutual denunciations, bickerings and criminations were the melancholy consequence.

The Gentile was not a Christian because he did not keep the Passover; the Jew was not a Christian because he did. The Apostle saw and lamented the causeless and injurious strife. This fourteenth chapter of the epistle to the Romans, as well as several chapters in his first epistle to the Corinthians, is devoted to an examination of the dispute about this and kindred topics, with a view to settle the questions that had given rise to it upon their real merits, and allay the unholy heat it had generated. “Let no man,” he writes, “judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of an holy day, or of the new moon, or of the Sabbath days,”- that is, of the old seventh day Sabbath, which, under the new economy had given place to the Lord’s day of the first,–“which,” says he, “are a shadow of things to come; but the body is of Christ.” And again, “One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it.” The diversity is lawful and harmless. Observance or nonobservance is perfectly optional. The celebration of the day, with an enlightened, pious and devout endeavor to make it subservient to the promotion of the honor of God and the welfare of the soul, is a truly Christian service, such as Christians may fitly and profitably render; and such is acceptable to the Lord and redounds to his honor. And the refusal to celebrate the day, if it be grounded upon an honest conviction of its inutility and a holy fear of its perversion to sensual or superstitious purposes, it equally innocent and commendable, a Christian service also, and offering pleasing to God and conducive to his glory. Let not him that regardeth the day, despise him that regardeth it not; and let not him that doth not regard the day, judge him that regardeth it: for God hath received him.

At an early period of the Christian era-how early we cannot precisely determine, certainly very early, in days bordering very closely upon the times of the Apostles, if not retreating into them-a system of fast and festival commemorative of the leading events of the life of Jesus Christ, grew up, which in its relationship to Christianity, and to the duty of Christ’s disciples, is, in many important respects, parallel to the Christian retention and adoption of the Mosaic holy-days. Like it, it can claim no divine authority; for it is enjoined by no precept of the New Testament, and can shew no clear proof of having originated in any suggestion of Christ, or in the example of his Apostles. It can urge nothing beyond probability- a probability of the exact degree of which men, with their existing prepossessions, can hardly judge candidly and impartially- that it had primarily a more honorable beginning than individual fancy; though it soon acquired an ecclesiastical approval and sanction. It was a natural fruit, as it seems to us at least who regard the day, of religious impulses and reverential sentiments, of feelings deeply seated in the constitution of man and ever craving opportunity of outward expression, of the very same sensibilities which have led men of all countries and ages to regard with a peculiar sacredness and veneration places and days signalized by important events, to mark them by permanent monuments and periodical observances. It is the religious memory embodied and made visible; just as the patriotic memory is, in the noble shaft that graves the heights of Charlestown, or in the festivities that mark the anniversary of the day that gave birth to our national independence. It is the symbol of an inward sentiment strong in the texture of humanity, indelible and universal, which vehemently demands utterance and manifestation, and will not be denied it in some form without a violence that injures the fabric. That this system began, at least almost as soon as the Christian Church was established, is manifest from the fact of its universal and consentaneous observance in all parts of that Church, however widely separated and however differing in many respects, from the earliest times of which ecclesiastical historians give us any account, and of its uninterrupted continuance in all its branches till within three centuries past. Even now, it is retained by a vast majority of those who bear the Christian name, as well as Reformed as Romanist, Greek, or Oriental, whether Episcopal or non-Episcopal in their constitution, liturgical or extemporary in their worship. The exception is confined, as the preacher believes, to those bodies of Christians in Great Britain and this country, whose forms of government are nonprelatic, and of worship, unwritten. Certainly then, this system may claim to rank among those antiquities of the Gospel, whereof the memory of man and the testimony of history runneth not to the contrary; and can make good to itself that celebrated canon, the “quod semper, ubique, ab omnibus,” the always, everywhere, by all, of Vincent of Lerins.I said above, this system is a natural growth of the human mind. I believe it would have formed part of the costume of an historical religion, of a religion founded on historic facts, under any circumstances. But it was peculiarly natural under the actual circumstances. Jew and Gentile united in the Church of Christ, had each been educated under an annual series of holy-days; that of the former, accommodated by God to what I have described above as a want of our nature; that of the latter, devised by man to satisfy and appease it. How natural how happy, that the new religion in whose common bosom their ancient feud and distinction were to cease, in its rich store of solemn and interesting histories, should afford materials out of which to frame a new and common series, to occupy the place of the obsolete observances of the once, and of the impure trivial ceremonies of the other.

Among the inconsiderate aspersions thrown by those who do not regard the day upon their Christian brethren who do, is the charge that the practice is pagan, and was adopted in accommodation to the customs of the heathen, as a means of conciliation, and with a view of rendering the transition to Christianity more gentle and palatable. I am not aware that the charge is anything better than a surmise, or can claim in its support one particle of historical evidence. But I am not careful to deny it. I am perfectly willing that it should be true. Let it be, that our Christian holy-days are an imitation of heathen festivals. I see in the fact nothing but a proof of the singular wisdom and candor of the primitive Christians, who could see and acknowledge what was good in a corrupt religion, gracefully adopt it, and use it as a means to facilitate the success of the truth. The alleged coincidence of the principal holy-days of the Church with corresponding festivals of heathenism, whether real or imaginary, designed or accidental, will be no disparagement of them with men of sense and impartiality. It leaved the real question at issue entirely unaffected-are they innocent? Are they salutary?

Equally ungenerous and irrelevant is it to call the holy-day system Romish, a remnant of Popery. True, the Church of Rome holds the Christian holy-days sacred. So does the Sabbath, the Bible and the Sacraments. True wisdom consists in “taking forth the precious from the vile.” Candor will be careful to discriminate, and not to condemn and reject the good and harmless things of an evil system. They who follow in the steps of the English Reformers, suppose, that in a clearer perception of this principle that was enjoyed by most of their fellow laborers in the work of the Reformation, consisted the especial advantage and honor of those venerated men. But the holy-day system is in truth much older than Popery. It is the common possession of Papist and Protestant, inherited from a day older than either. It flourished at a period when the Bishop of Rome, so far from assuming that unlawful title to himself, was reproving his brother of Constantinople, for daring to arrogate the dignity of universal bishop; and before that monstrous fabric of falsehood and corruption, which sprung from and in turn supported the Papal supremacy, had so much as received its foundation. It is not to be disposed of by an appeal to popular odium. It must rest upon its intrinsic expediency and worth. It was neither originated by Rome, nor can it be disparaged by her adoption.

We rest then the claims of this festival, and of the system into which it enters, and of the system into which it enters, simply upon the plea of a presumed utility.

In support of this plea, we allege, first, the nature of man, so constituted, that he instinctively seeks to reveal in outwards expressions of an appropriate and significant description the inward feelings that occupy and engage him, and finds in such manifestation not only a relief, but the aliment and support, of the emotion that prompts them. This propensity discloses itself in the universal fondness for monuments and commemorative rites, which has always and does everywhere characterize mankind. And all experience proves the efficacy of such memory of the facts they represent, preserving a fresh and lively sense of them in men’s minds, giving stability to the principles embodied in the, permanency to the enthusiasm which they tend to inspire, and perpetuity to their practical influence.

We adduce, also, its early adoption by the Church of Christ, as evidence that this very want impulse were actually felt, obeyed, and Christianized by an incorporation into the service of God, before the Bride of the Redeemer had declined from the fervor of her “first love,” or departed from her primal purity and fidelity.

We add the testimony of our own experience and observation. We say with the Psalmist, “As we have heard so have we seen in the city of our God.”We have, as we trust, ourselves been made holier and happier by its operation. We have witnessed, as we think, its influence upon others, in helping to make them holier and happier. Its whole tendency seems to us benign and profitable. It arrays the Church “in a raiment of needle work,” “a clothing of wrought gold,” a fit apparel for her presentation to the Kind, a costume that makes her venerable and lovely in the yes of her children. Whatever tends to render religion beautiful and attractive, to call the attention of men to her, to awaken their interest in her, is deserving of the regard of her friends. An attire of comeliness is not to be despised, if it do but serve to obtain for her that notice, which may lead to the perception and appreciation of her more solid and substantial charms. Rome has bedizened her in the finery of a courtesan; the fear of Rome may sometimes have reduced her too nearly to a state of nudity.

As a means awaking interest, and calling forth a spirit of inquiry in the young, the holy-day system is highly useful. This happy effect Scripture expressly ascribes to the Mosaic festivals:-it is not less true of the Christian:-“and it shall come to pass, when your children shall say unto you, what mean ye by this service? That ye shall say, it is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover, who passed over the houses of the children of Israel in Egypt, when he smote the Egyptians, and delivered our houses.” The simple questions of a child about the evergreen wreaths that now adorn our temples, may afford a particularly happy and favorable opportunity for communicating to it a knowledge of the facts and truths of Christianity. Instruction so communicated, in answer to voluntary inquiry, comes with far greater effect, than that which comes unsought to passive, perhaps reluctant, minds. Answer your children’s questions then. Perhaps the result of some such question and answer may lead you to bless God for Christmas, and for this Christmas.

The holy-day system moreover provides a series of profitable and interesting themes for public instruction. It brings into an annual review the principal incidents in the life of Christ, the leading features of the great work by which he wrought out our redemption. It presents them in their order and connexion, and displays the successive contribution of each to the perfect whole. Such a system is replete with instruction, instinct with doctrine and with duty. It involves all that a Christian ought to believe and to do to his souls health. It is a great safeguard against partial teaching. It secures an annual survey of the whole field of the gospel. It checks the tendency of ministers to have pet topics and doctrines. Even if the pulpit be silent, the desk must make its annual proclamation of the whole counsel of God. A people among whom this system is developed with any tolerable degree of ability and fidelity, may parish; but it cannot be that they shall be “destroyed for lack of knowledge.” I speak warmly, for I feel warmly. I know that no generous mind will be displeased at the spontaneous movements of an honest but not uncharitable enthusiasm.

I trust then, sufficient reason has been shown, why, in the celebration of this festival, and of that round of holy-day which in their orderly succession make up that zodiac of heavenly signs through which she delights to take her yearly circuit, our church is not justly liable to any charge of superstition, of adding to the word of God, of Popery, or of dogmatism. She ranks it no higher than a municipal regulation, recommended to her by the ancient and general practice of the Church Catholic, and by her own experience of pleasure and profit in its use. She rests her observance of it, upon no divine law or intrinsic obligation, but simply upon expediency and ecclesiastical precept. It is but a private way she has of endeavoring to “edify herself in love,” and “build up her children in their most holy faith.” She dictates to none; she reproaches none. Thus have I sought to “give an answer to every man that asketh a reason” of this peculiarity of our practice, “with meekness and fear;” and to make it appear not incredible at least to any, that “he that regardeth the day” may “regard it unto the Lord;” and unseemly in “him that regardeth it not” to judge severely “him that regardeth it.”

But let us not forget that the text has a reverse side. It is also written, “He that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it.” Godliness then, will consist with a disregard of the day. Let us then be careful never to charge those who neglect to observe the day, with a breach of the divine law, or the omission of an essential means of spiritual edification and improvement. They do at the utmost but forego a source of religious improvement and strength which we retain and price, the want of which is compensated to them, it may be, by other arrangements of their own, Certain it is, that without them, they do attain a measure of Christian excellence, activity and usefulness, which should provoke us only to praise and emulation. Let us not conclude, that, because they have not our way, they have no way of keeping in mind the incarnation and other facts in the history of redemption, of meditating upon them, and making them “profitable for doctrine and instruction in righteousness.” Let not “him that regardeth the day” grow arrogant, and despise “him that regardeth it not.” Not even if we are assailed with ignorant misrepresentation and rude invective, let us be driven out of our calmness and charity. Nay, my dear brethren, let us never forget that we are disciple of One, “who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; who, when he suffered, threatened not; but committed himself to Him who judgeth righteously. “Render not evil for evil, nor railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing.”

We are assembled this day to celebrate the nativity of the Son of God. The theme is one full of wonder, of instruction, and of comfort.

It commends Christ to us as a perfect Savior. As a Redeemer. We need one who can suffer in our stead; one who can make a satisfaction to divine justice; one who can be a “mediator between God and man, a days-man betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both,” This qualification the Son of God acquired by his assumption of flesh. This enabled him to die, to die a penal death, and by his death, render our pardon practicable, righteous, safe and credible. Hence “it is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation,” that Christ is “able to save.” Are you weary and bowed down with burden of sin? Go to Him: he can, he will “give you rest.”

As an example. By his human life, he became the model of humanity; a display of what our nature should be, a demonstration of what our nature may be. How inspiriting is this exhibition! Who has not felt the force and value of a pure and lovely example? Christ has gone before us in our walks, in our labors, in our trials, in our sufferings. Wheresoever we are, we may carry with us in the mirror of our minds, an image of “the man Christ Jesus;” and fashion and attire our life after the pattern of its perfect simplicity, propriety and beauty.

As a Head and Champion. His assumption of man’s nature at once proved its dignity and augmented it. It teaches us to think highly of ourselves, not morally or spiritually, but as to the constitution and destiny of man, and of ourselves as man. “God hath made us a little lower than the angels, to crown us with glory and honor.” Therefore “the Lord from heaven” stooped to be one of us, and to save us. He became “the second Adam,” the new Head of humanity; and took it into a close and eternal union with himself, and made it sharer of his own dignity. As he died because we die, so he rose that we might rise, and was glorified that we might share his glory. “As our forerunner, he hath for us entered” heaven; and “he ever liveth to make intercession for us”. What a demonstration of the value of our souls! What en encouragement to seek their salvation!

As a Friend and Helper. His human nature has gone up with him on high. His human memories and sympathies survive, and abide forever. He sees us, and with interest, in all our earthly troubles, in all our conflicts with unbelief, in all our struggles after holiness. He come to us, to enliven, refresh, strengthen, and reclaim us. “We have not an High Priest, that cannot be touched with the feelings of our infirmities;” or that will look idly upon them. Wherefore “lift up the hands that hang down, and the feeble knees.””Come boldly to a throne of grace to find mercy and grace to help in time of need.”

 

Col II 16:17

The author is aware that some may be disposed to rest the claims of the Church’s holy-day system on higher grounds that those of utility and ecclesiastical appointment; and that by such his citation of Vincent’s rule may be quoted against him. The consent of the Church is of use to elucidate and confirm doctrines and duties of which the New Testament gives intimation; but it cannot clothe with obligation anything that lacks this foundation. The Church can make an observance obligatory on its members, by that “power to decree rites and ceremonies,” (Art. XX) which is inherent in her as a society, and especially as a society divine; but nothing short of Scripture can make any observance binding on the Church. “Whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby,” says Art. VI., “is not to be required of any man that it should be believed as an article of faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation.” Still the antiquity and universality of the usage are a strong testimony in its favor; and the common judgment and feeling of Christendom, is certainly a proof of its expediency, and of the wisdom of our Church in retaining it, not easily set aside. And this, with the other considerations tending to the same conclusion exhibited in the discourse, forms the ground of deference here taken.

When the author was a student in Yale College, a professor in that institution delivered a lecture in support of this theory; in which he attempted to show that the birth of Jesus Christ did not occur on the 25th of December, and that that day had been selected for its commemoration in conformity to the Roman Saturnalia. He happened to choose Christmas day for its delivery; but the students mindful of the holiday, if not of the holy-day, left him to an empty lecture room, and compelled him to defer it to another week. Hooker disposes of this supposition effectually in a few words. But the discourse maintains that its truth or falsehood if perfectly immaterial. The blow, like multitudes of others aimed at the Episcopal Church, falls harmless, because bestowed upon a shadow. A Churchman’s answer is comprised in two words. Who cares?

Jer. xv: 19

Rev ii:4

Ps. xlviii: 8

Ps. xlv: 13,14

“Well to celebrate these religious and sacred days, is to spend the flower of our time happily. They are the splendor and outward dignity of our religion, forcible witnesses of ancient truth, provocations to the exercise of all piety, shadows or our endless felicity in heaven, on earth everlasting records and memorials, wherein they which cannot be drawn to hearken to what we teach, may only by looking upon what we do, in a measure read whatsoever we believe.” – Hooker, Eccl. Pol. B. V. lxxi. 11.

“She on the hills, which wantonly allureth all, in hope to be by her preferred, hath kissed so long her painted shines, for her reward. She, in the valley, is so shy of dressing, that her hair doth lie about her ears. While she avoids her neighbors pride, she wholly goes on th’ other side and nothing wears. But dearest mother, (what those miss,) the mean, they praise and glory is; and long may be.” – George Herbert

Ex. xii:26,27. See also Ex. xiii: 14,15; Josh. iv:6,7:21-24; Ps. lxxxviii:5-8.

Hos. iv:6

“The way before us lies distinct with signs- through which, in fixed career, as through a zodiac, moves the ritual year of England’s Church.”- Wordsworth

Eph. iv:16

Jude, 20

1 Pet. Iii:15

2 Tim iii:16

1 Pet. ii:23

1 Pet. iii:9

1 Tim. ii:5

Job ix: 33

Ps. viii:5

1 Cor. xv: 45-49

Heb. vi:20

Heb. vii:25

Heb. iv: 15

Heb. xii: 12

Heb. iv:16

* Originally published: Dec. 21, 2016.

Sermon – Christmas – 1843


P. H. Greenleaf preached this sermon on Christmas Day, which was published in 1843.


sermon-christmas-1843

THE CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL.

A

SERMON,

DELIVERED ON THE

EVENING OF CHRISTMAS DAY,

IN

SAINT JOHN’S CHURCH,

CHARLESTOWN.

By P. H. GREENLEAF,
RECTOR OF THE CHURCH.

“By festival solemnities and set days, we dedicate and sanctify to God the memory of his benefits, lest unthankful forgetfulness thereof should creep upon us in course of time.”

Augustine De Civit: Dei 16:4.

This sermon, prepared in the ordinary course of parochial duty, was not originally intended for publication. But some strictures upon the Church for her observance of the Christmas Festival having been recently made, it is now published, in accordance with the wishes of some, who judge that its circulation may be useful, and to whose judgment the author feels bound to defer.

Almighty God, who hast given us thy only begotten Son to take our nature upon him, and as at this time to be born of a pure Virgin; grant that we, being regenerate and made thy children by adoption and grace, may daily be renewed by thy Holy Spirit, through the same our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

SERMON.
Isaiah, LX. 13.

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.

These are the beautiful prophetic emblems of the glory and the eternity of Christ’s kingdom.

It was no new thing thus to shadow forth the coming and the kingdom of the Redeemer. The ancient prophecies, looking onward to his advent, declare, “Behold the man, whose name is the Branch;” 1 it shall be “beautiful and glorious;” 2 “a Rod shall come out of the stem of Jesse,” 3 and “a Branch shall grow out of his roots.” His Church is represented as a “choice vine,” 4 and he whose hope the Lord is, as “a tree, whose leaf shall be ever green.” 5 It was predicted, that the Messiah should make the “wilderness to blossom as the rose;” 6 and that the cedar and the myrtle should spring up “in the solitary place,” 7 and the brier and the thorn pass forever away. 8 The scenery of the earth gave the prophets of God beautiful imagery, in which to clothe their predictions, and by which the faith of coming generations should be confirmed.

Hence, when the evangelical Prophet is opening to future faith disclosures of the ultimate triumph of the gospel, and the eternity and glory of the Christian Church, he employs, in the language of our text, the illustrative imagery of the material world. As though he had said, “amid those changes in human affairs, represented by the succession of the seasons,–when other institutions and religions have, like summer flowers, faded and gone,–when, amid the desolations of earth, all other vitality shall seem destroyed, the Kingdom and Church of the Redeemer shall still survive; its ministry and sacraments, its faith and gospel, shall have a visible existence; and, like the unchanging verdure of the fir, and the pine, and the box, shall continue to beautify the sanctuary, and make the place of his feet glorious, until his coming again.”

And, still, the same beautiful emblems are employed to shadow forth the same truths. Annually, at the birth-time of Jesus, when we specially commemorate the coming, the glory, and the eternity of his Church and kingdom, we perceive a peculiar propriety in bringing from their wintry abode these wreaths, in their unfading beauty and their unchanging verdure, that they may (as in prophetic days) testify of the Messiah. Fit emblems of eternal life! This day they entwine Christian altars, visible tokens of our undying hopes. Fit representatives of perpetuity! They show forth the eternity of the gospel faith in the gospel-church. And as such, as fitting emblems of truth, dear to Christian faith,–truths, we would consecrate in the memory of ourselves and our children, we bring the cedar, which is “the glory of Lebanon, and the fir-tree, and the pine-tree, and the box, to beautify the sanctuary, and make the place of his feet glorious;” because, on this day was born, “in the city of David, a Saviour who is Christ the Lord.” 9

Nor are we solitary in this festival commemoration. To-day, the Christian world presents the sublime spectacle of one vast cloud of incense ascending from earth to heaven. Men of every clime, and every language, and every tongue,–men differing widely in opinion, in interest, in intellect and position, do homage to the Saviour. Wars cease. Not an hostile weapon is raised this day in Christendom. Even enemies suspend their feuds, and, whatever of unholy strife burns and rages in the bosom of wickedness and the depths of sin, the surface, at least, is calm; and to-day, there is “peace on the earth.” What but the power of the gospel, and the energy of its life-giving principles, could bring together so many discordant elements, and send up, at once, toward heaven, the homage of the earth. Nay, think not,

“Though men were none,
That heaven would want spectators, God want praise;
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.
All these with ceaseless praise his works behold
Both day and night.” 10

And these ‘glad voices of the sky,’ which sang in Judea of old, still chant “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men.”

The incarnation of Jesus, and the glory of his kingdom, are still the wonderful themes, into which “angels desire to look,” 11 and are not able. Redeeming love causes 12 joy in heaven, as well as upon the earth, and no theme more stirs the deep fountains of gladness among all the servants of God. And, therefore it is, that we keep this festival season. We would give one day to its distinct and joyful remembrance. We would connect it with our holiest hopes, our best affections, our most endearing and time-honored associations. And, therefore, our families are gathered,–affectionate greetings interchanged,–in the sanctuary, anthems and glad voices swell the notes of praise,–near and dear ones surround us,–the absent, too, are remembered, and the day is linked with family gathering and kindred love.

Let it not be supposed, that we attach an undue importance to this festival, or are disposed to revive or continue its superstitious observance. Its antiquity might prove the piety of our fathers; but unless we could show its practical utility, unless we had some important truth to commemorate, some salutary influences to be sent forth in its observance, we would not ask it to be preserved, nor could we expect it would retain such hold upon the public mind as to be of any real value in the subserving of truth.

We do not profess to be of those philosophers, who affect to despise “subsidiaries in religion,” [as though men could go where these are not,] and who would live independent of external influences. On the contrary, such is our nature, so are we constituted, as that we are incessantly acted upon by the men and things which surround us. Hence, from the time when the morning stars sang together for joy, 13 and angels chanted the glad tidings of salvation, music and voice have been employed to awaken devotional sentiment and enkindle piety. And not only eloquence and song, but painting, and architecture, have lent their aid to awaken pious feelings, and produce, as well as increase, devotional sentiment. Hearts, hard and perverse, insensible to argument and reason, are sometimes softened and swayed by the influence of sensible objects and sounds. And the power of these influences you cannot measure. They are not confined to a single spot, or a single mind. They spread on every side, like the undulations of the smitten water. They reach those who never saw or heard them. They extend their impressions, circle after circle, to distant generations, “as the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake.”

To such influences, we would give a direction; we would address the eye as well as the ear; we would employ these subsidiaries in the preservation of truth, and to promote and cultivate the practice of piety. And, therefore, because we judge that the festival and its attending circumstances present truth, send forth healthy religious influences, produce good affections, and promote godliness, we retain it; and only while it answers the end of its institution, would we observe it.

Our festival commemorates the incarnation of God for the salvation of men. Can you select an event more wonderful than this,–one fraught with richer blessings,–one better deserving our commemoration?

Consider, for a moment, the condition of the world in the day when Christ was born. The remains of that age are the admiration of our own. Its marbles, it paintings, the magnificent fragments of its genius, its learning, its poetry and song, give proof of man’s intellect and skill. And however moderns may vaunt of their improvements in Christian philosophy, and their advance in the science of a God, much of both is older than Christianity, and, too often, is but a revival of pagan wisdom. Yet these monuments of antiquity are also monuments of man’s ruin. Vestiges enough remain of his genius, his wisdom, his intellect, to show the impress of divinity; yet, disjointed and turned from the purposes of their creation, they betoken his fall. The whole world lay in moral ruin. The knowledge of a true God, his law and will, had almost faded from human tradition, and though conscience still lingered in the soul, like a spirit of the departed, “unwilling to leave even the ruins of the palace which it once occupied;” 14 the mind was debased; the man was lost.

Under these circumstances, God, at this time, became “manifest in the flesh.” 15 Jesus was born at Bethlehem. The angel, who sang at his birth, called him “a Saviour;” and he proved to be, as the holy Simeon said, “the light to lighten the Gentiles, the glory of Israel.” 16 He came—the predicted Messiah—the Way of life 17 –to sanctify the soul, 18 to forgive the sins, 19 and to save and bless mankind. God, who, at sundry times, and in divers manners, spake, in time past, unto the fathers, by the prophets, in these last days, spake unto men by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, by whom, also, he made the worlds; who, being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, 20 came to the earth for the redemption of men. The day, therefore, which ushered Jesus to the world, was the birth-day of all those hopes of reconciliation with God, of restoration to purity, of happiness beyond the grave, which to us, sinners, are the chiefest and choicest blessings.

Has it not always been an admitted public duty to acknowledge social blessings, and gratefully to remember those through whose instrumentalities they were obtained? Are not the names of Washington, Adams, Hancock, and Warren, the jewels of our country, familiar as household words? Do we not set apart times and seasons to their memory, and hallow the birth-days of our freedom as political festivals? It is wise, it is expedient to do so. These festivals exert an influence upon the public mind. They are the levers of public sentiment, the channels of healthy feeling, the means and modes whereby good principles and sound morals may be perpetuated. Much more, as the common recipients of blessings from the hand of God, are bound socially to acknowledge and specially to commemorate them. Indeed, the same causes, which bring us together in social worship would also make it right and expedient to consecrate a day to the express commemoration, by suitable signs and symbols, of the greatest of all blessings, the coming of a Saviour to a ruined world.

It cannot, with truth, be denied, that a religion, wholly spiritual, and wholly abstracted from sensible objects, would be unfit for mankind. Hence, our Lord instituted the ‘sign’ of water, and the elements of the Eucharist. Hence, our memorial columns, our festival seasons. Hence, we set up this day, as a tangible and sensible monument of the particular event it commemorates. It stands up, in the year, as a ‘pillar of witness,’ inscribed with, “God, manifest in the flesh.” It is designed and intended to act upon the public mind, to move as a lever of public sentiment. It offers, annually, to man, a sensible memorial of the miraculous birth, and the divine character of Jesus, our Redeemer, and their blessed results. And its effect is to perpetuate that which it commemorates, to deepen the lines of its memory, to interweave gospel-truth with dear and time-honored associations, and transmit that truth, unbroken, from age to age.

And, therefore, we have come hither, to-day; we have kept it as a great festival solemnity; we have set up the fir-tree and the evergreen, to beautify the sanctuary; we have brought hither our children to sing a festival song, 21 and join us in our praise, that, by tangible memorial, and sensible object, by all that can reach the eye and the ear, we may impress ourselves and them, with the great theme of the day.

There are some objections made to the observance of this day, as a religious festival, which, because they are current, and, to some, formidable, would seem to require, in this place, particular notice. It is sometimes said, that this institution, not being the subject of a divine command, or express injunction, has no warrant from Scripture, and no place in a religion which has abolished legal ordinances. To this, it may be replied, that the fact commemorated, and its attendant doctrines and influences, sufficiently indicate the Scriptural nature of the festival. There needs no express law to make its subject and theme interesting to the Christian mind. While men live, who trust in a Saviour’s cross, that which called forth angel-song should breathe in sacred harmonies on earth.

Nothing is commanded in the New Testament, which is not of the essentials of Christianity. Belief and obedience, faith and repentance, the word and the sacraments,–these were, at the first, enjoined. All else was left to Apostolic direction; where the Apostles left no direction, then to the decree of Christ’s Church; and where neither the Gospel, nor its Apostles, nor its Church, directed, then to the individual judgment. Now, the keeping of Christmas is not an essential article of Christian doctrine. Like the ritual of the service, and the mode of worship, this institution is left to the discretion of the various branches of Christ’s Church. In the exercise of this discretion, that branch of the Church catholic to which we belong has enacted its observance; and, in that enactment, we have the concurrence of the large majority of Christians, and, as we think, the warrant of primitive usage and common sense. Nevertheless, we prescribe it, not for others, but for ourselves. And though it is painful to know that any blame 22 us for the observance of an institution, which partakes of the nature of a domestic regulation, yet, as we base its observance only upon the expediencies and proprieties of the case, our rule is, here, as elsewhere,–“Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” 23

Another objection to this festival arises from another and a better source. Apprehensive of the increase of popery in our country, alarmed at every co-incident between us and Rome, some fear to give currency or countenance to the observance of this day, because, from its origin and circumstances, they judge it has become identified with Roman superstition. In their apprehension and alarm, we could well join, at every proof of the growth of this schismatical Church, or the increase of its principles. But if the simple fact of either reception or original at Rome is good cause for the rejection of a Christian institution, many things, far from being objectionable, would share its fate. We admit neither its Roman origin, nor its identity with Roman superstition. It is identified neither with Rome, nor Greece, nor Syria, nor with any national Church. We claim for it that it is catholic, apostolic, scriptural.

But even if it had original at Rome, 24 is it good philosophy and sound argument to reject any thing, because it flows through an imperfect conductor, or an unsightly channel? May not the water be pure, though the pipe be leaden? May not the Scriptures be God’s word, though Jewish bigotry and Roman intolerance have been their keepers?

An objection like this cannot stand a moment’s examination. The real question is, not whence it came? But why is it used? And until its observance be shown to be unscriptural in its original, or mischievous in its tendencies, I claim your judgment in its favor.

It is sometimes further objected to this festival, that the day we observe was not the true birth-day of Jesus, and therefore its observance should cease. I deny both the premises and the conclusion.

Although we have no certain proof, as to the time, when this day was first observed in the Christian church, yet, because it was, at a very early period, kept as the true day 25 by those who, from their position, had ample opportunity for knowledge; because it was at so early a period, generally thus observed, 26 and because the Church, for so many centuries, has agreed in this judgment, we affirm, that it is the true day, and place the burden of proof to the contrary, upon those who deny it. The time of the officiating by Zacharias in his course, 27 and the conduct of Herod, in the murder of the holy innocents, 28 are strong collateral proofs; while the general tradition, and the absence of any other assumed day, strengthen our opinion.

But admit, that we are mistaken, does it therefore follow, that we should cease to observe it? We do not rest its expediency or propriety upon it, as a birthday, but as a conventional period, generally designated for commemorating an important truth. Christians, separated by wide seas, by many circumstances of condition, of language, and of clime, have agreed upon this, as a suitable period for uniting in this commemoration. They, and their fathers, for a thousand years, have so done. The day is endeared to them, by a vast variety of hallowed associations and tender recollections. And, it is more than probable, that there never has been a time, since the birth of Jesus, when so many immortal souls have united in one solemn religious exercise, as upon this festival day. 29

Does it add nothing of interest to the day, that almost a world’s population are sending up their anthems with ours? Does it form no reason for keeping this high festival, that it can, more than any other institution, unite the greatest number of souls in an act of religious homage? Surely, if so many Christians are agreed, in this great act of annual thanksgiving to God for the blessing of a Saviour, it forms good cause for our union with them to consecrate this day to the nativity of Jesus.

But here, again, the force of our argument is evaded by an allegation, that there is not such an agreement of men in an act of religious homage, but only in an act of festivity, often riotous and unhallowed.

He must be a bold man, who should review the thousands of Christian altars in the civilized world, where, to-day, prayer has been made, and gaze upon the kneeling millions who render to-day, their thanksgivings, and say, “there is no homage there.”

The ancient prayers, the hallowed services, the anthems, which peal from so many temples, and the ‘tables of the Lord’ spread in so many lands, sufficiently indicate the intention of the assembly, and the agreement of Christian minds in an act of religious adoration. The truth is, however, that the fountain of human action sends forth, even its purest streams, more or less contaminated, and no tide of human feeling long flows uncorrupt. And, therefore, you can never secure man’s best religious offerings from taint, or his best institutions from perversion and sin. The Christmas festival, like the thanksgiving day of New England, is a human institution; and both are frequently perverted by unhallowed festivities. But would it be fair argument, and good philosophy to say, that there were no grateful hearts, in this Commonwealth, upon a thanksgiving-day, because so many persons desecrate it? Or would such perversion be considered as good cause for its abolition? Clearly not. Rather would we save it from being corrupted, and sanctify it by acts of piety and devotion.

Christians, every where, consecrate this Sabbath, as holy to the Lord. And thus would we ever commemorate the birth-time of our Redeemer. 30 We hallow it annually, by the Eucharistic sacrifice, the highest act of homage known to our religion. We devote it to religious festivities and grateful acknowledgments of the goodness of God. It is, to us, the day of the incarnation of Jesus. His marvelous birth, his holy office, his divine character,–these re the themes of our thought. If he were only a man, we might turn over the remarkable circumstances of his birth, to the page of history. If he were only a man, we should consider his virtue and his obedience, but his bounden duty and reasonable service. If he were only a man, we should never dream it could be true, that his blood could cleanse from sin; 31 and truly, if he were only a man, the story of the angel-songs at his birth-time is but an embellishment of antiquity. But when we consider him as divine, as the manifested God, the event we commemorate is at once invested with an august and sublime character. It was an event, fitting to be a world’s wonder, and worthy to be ushered in by “a multitude of the heavenly host singing and praising God.” 32 And, therefore, because we would, on this day, commemorate a manifested divinity, because we would annually trace the distinct outlines of this truth, and keep it in memory forever, we set apart this day, and, by every endeared recollection and hallowed association, would consecrate it as the birth-time of our blessed Redeemer, and therefore as the beginning of that ‘mystery of godliness,’ by which the Word, on this day made flesh, gave us ‘the power to become the sons of God.’ “Come faith, and bend our knees and hearts to Jesus, the manifested God! Come hope, and spread above us thy many colored bow of promise, the token of God’s covenant. And thou, charity, the fairest daughter of heaven, come, gladden the poorest of Christ’s brethren by thy benevolence; and begin here, that work of divine love, which shall be finished where faith shall have faded before vision, and hope be lost in the fruition of the promises.” 33

Need we further argument for the festival season? Shall we gravely apply ourselves to apologize for our memory of the birth-time of the Saviour of sinners? No: rather let us rejoice, that we have opportunity to discharge a great social duty, by this public acknowledgment of our highest benefactor.

The Christian Sabbath tells of the Christian’s Saviour. It comes to us, teeming with memorials and sacred recollections; yet if it present any one fact in our Lord’s history, or any one truth of his Gospel, more prominent than another, it is the fact and truth of the resurrection.

The Christian “Communion of the body and blood of the Lord’ excites in the pious soul liveliest emotions of gratitude, and brings to ‘remembrance his blessed passion and precious death, his mighty resurrection and glorious ascension,’ and in the memorial we make, and which he has commanded, as often as we eat that bread and drink that cup, we do show the Lord’s death, till he come.

But when we set apart a day, as the memorial of his birth-time, we bring into strong relief the specific event we commemorate. Its distinct remembrance tends to perpetuate the recollection of its supernatural character. It draws close the attention to its remarkable circumstances. The day stands up as a memorial column in the year, inscribed with the fulfilled prophecies. We make it distinct testimony to the divine character of our Redeemer, and it becomes, therefore, a witness to us, and to our children’s children, that the Word which was in the beginning with God, on this day, “was made flesh and dwelt among us.” 34

Every thing in the character of the day, its appropriate services, its ritual, and circumstances strengthen our belief that it had its original in the piety of the primitive Christians. It has stood the test of more than a thousand years of vicissitudes and changes. It has been approved, and owned, and blest among the people of God, in every part of the world; and Christian experience has tested, for many centuries, its utility as a mean of grace, its tendency to promote piety, its efficiency to preserve truth, increase religious affections, and give vigor to Christian hopes.

And now, my friends, as this holy day is passing away, and the shades of its even-tide are gathering thick and fast around us, as you depart from this beautified sanctuary, carry with you, as the lesson of the day, the reflection, how dark would be our world without Christ! No comfort for the living! No hope for the dying! None, for the loved and lost! Where could man look for strength, in the trials of life? Where could he fly for relief and support in its afflictions and sorrows? More than all, what would he have ever before him, but an unknown and dread hereafter,–the more dreadful, because unknown!

You know not, you cannot know, how much of all your earthly happiness,–how much of all that is noble, and intellectual, and refined in civilized life,–how much of all that makes your home comfortable, your life desirable, and your hearts happy,–you owe to the event we commemorate this day. And oh! If any children of Adam can have adequate impression of that deep and dark-swelling tide, which would have swept generation after generation of Christless spirits into eternity,–if any of our fallen race can gain a lively sense of that redeeming love, which to-day manifested a Saviour to the lost, it must be, and it an be only those, who have “looked unto the rock whence they were hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence they were digged,” 36 and have made Jesus the strength of their heart and their portion forever.

They can feel the gladness of gratitude, for they have been rescued by Jesus from the terrors of a broken law, and the apprehensions of a future judgment. They can rejoice at these glad tidings, for Jesus hath delivered them from the slavery of unholy passions, and the dominion of an ungodly world. They can rejoice, for, amid all the trials, and the difficulties, and the distresses, with which they must struggle in this ‘vale of tears,’ Jesus hath engaged, they shall be sustained by divine power, cheered by celestial comforts, guided by infinite wisdom, and saved by infinite love. They feel, that, if God hath so loved them in their transgression, and hath so blessed this scene of rebellion, much more will he bless, 37 with perfect and enduring happiness, those who, through Jesus, have become ‘children of grace and inheritors of the kingdom of heaven.’ And, therefore, to them, the event of this day is indeed ‘glad tidings of great joy.’ And such it may become to you and ‘to all people.’

Take home, then, with you, as the lesson of the day, how dark our world, how sad the fate of man without a Christ! Strive to gain such knowledge of your own heart as shall make you feel the value of a Saviour. Behold him, not only in his humiliation as ‘made flesh,’ but in the glory of his mediatorial throne, as exalted to ‘make intercession.’ And go not to a prayerless bed! Give neither sleep to your eyes nor rest to your mind, until you have surrendered yourself to the Redeemer. And prove your gratitude for the inestimable blessing of salvation, by committing your everlasting interests to him, who was to-day manifested in Bethlehem to be both “a Prince and a Saviour.” 38

 


Endnotes

1 Zechariah vi. 12.

2 Isaiah iv. 2.

3 Isaiah xi. 1.

4 Isaiah v. 2.

5 Jeremiah xvii. 8.

6 Isaiah xxxv. 1.

7 Isaiah xli. 19.

8 Isaiah lv. 13.

9 Luke ii. 11.

10 Milton’s Paradise Lost, b. 4.

11 I Peter i. 12.

12 Luke xv. 7.

13 Job xxxviii. 7.

14 Wolfe.

15 1 Timothy iii. 16.

16 Luke ii. 32.

17 John xiv. 6.

18 Hebrews xiii. 12.

19 Matthew ix. 6.

20 Hebrews i. 1-3.

21 More than an hundred little children, of St. John’s Sunday School, were gathered before the chancel, in the afternoon of Christmas day. After the usual evening service, the Rector catechized them in the presence of the congregation, and presented each child with a Christmas gift. The children made an offering to God, in token of gratitude for a Saviour, and paid $20 18, (the results, in many cases, of earnings and self-denial,) to the General Board of Missions, to be expended in sending the knowledge of a Saviour to children who have it not.

22 See a little Sunday school book, published by the Massachusetts Sunday School Union, entitled, “Christmas,” and devoted to teaching the children of those who do NOT keep the festival, how unscriptural is the conduct of those who do!

23 Rom. xiv. 5.

24 This we deny, although its observance was enacted by Julian, bishop of Rome, A.D. 345. (Giesel. i. 292.) “It is found marked as such in a Roman calendar supposed to have been compiled in, or before A.D. 354.” Pilk. Evang. Hist. 45. Introd.

25 Giesel. Eccl. Hist. i. 292.

26 St. Chrysostom to. 5, hom. 33 (in 4th century) uses this language: “This day is of great antiquity, and of long continuance, being famous and known in the church from the beginning.”
It cannot be denied, that the fathers of the church, in the days here called “the beginning,” may have had as good ground for fixing upon that day, as men now have for celebrating the landing of the Plymouth colonists, on the twenty-second of December; the direct evidence of which may be as much lost to posterity, as that of the day of the nativity would be to us, had we no other testimony.
St. Augustine, also, mentions the same fact. Sermon 18, de Nat. Ch. De Trinitate, lib. iv. c. 5. Quoted by Dr. Pilkington, Evang. Hist. Chron. Disert. P. 46.

27 Luke i. 5, 26; ii. 6.

28 Matt. ii. 16.

29 Reference is here had to the fact, that the festival occurred, in this year, upon Sunday. It is sometimes said, that Sunday, being the Lord’s day, is a sufficient commemoration of Jesus, for all practical purposes. But the Lord’s day can scarcely be said to commemorate any thing, unless it be the fact of the resurrection. It comes to us, filled with associations and influences. It is not, as this festival, a distinct and specific memorial of the birth of Jesus, of the time when Christianity “was not, and began to be.”

30 “This festival is the most improper season, (if there can be one more than another) for impiety and wickedness, and a most notorious aggravation of it; because contrary to the design of our Saviour’s coming into the world, who ‘was made manifest, that he might destroy the works of the devil.’” Comp. for Festivals (edit. 1715.) p. 72.

31 1 John i. 7.

32 Luke ii. 13.

33 Bishop Dehon.

34 I Cor. ii. 26.

35 John i. 14.

36 Isaiah li. 1.

37 Romans viii. 32.

38 Acts. V. 31.

Sermon – Christmas – 1841

 

sermon-christmas-1841

Joy of the Shepherds.
A
Simple
Christmas Sermon

“And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.” – Luke ii. 20.

In the history which the evangelist, Luke, gives us of the birth of our blessed Savior, we are told that, “The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had seen and heard.” It is in the twentieth verse of the second chapter.

The shepherds had been to Bethlehem to see the infant Redeemer, and returned to take care of their flocks.

They were happy men, those shepherds, and very good men too, we may be sure, or God would never have made them so happy. They were not learned men; for as they had to watch their flocks by night and by day, but little time was left them to read books. Yet they were better taught than even the wise men, (and these wise men were good men too,) who came from the East to find out where Christ was born. God Sent a star to show them the way; but he sent an angel, all bright with his own glory, to tell that the shepherds were pious men, who would be glad to hear that their Savior was born, and would go and worship him.

Herod was a very great king, and very rich. His palace was very fine with gold, and silver, and purple, and precious stones. All the people that stood about him, and waited on him, were dressed in very beautiful clothes, and no doubt he had a great many singers and players upon instruments, who made good music for him to hear. But he never saw such a splendid sight as these shepherds saw, when the glory of the great God, who made all the silver, and gold, and bright and precious things, shone around them. He never had a servant to wait upon him looking so beautifully as the messenger that came to them; for it was an angel of the Lord, all glittering with the brightness of heaven, who came to tell them that their Savior was born. And there never was such a concert heard on earth as the angels made over the hill-side for these humble men, singing the anthems which God loves to hear in heaven.

Yet we need not envy those shepherds: for if we love Jesus Christ, and believe what God has told us, we may be as happy as they were, and happier too. God has given us the Bible to tell us all, and a great deal more, than the angels told them: and, besides, he sends his Holy Spirit to make us understand, if we are willing to be taught, all that he has said. We cannot go to Bethlehem and see the Savior there, a little babe, because long since he grew up to be a man; and having obeyed God’s law for us, died for our sins, and went up again into heaven, where he now reigns our blessed and holy King. But if we give our hearts to him, and trust him as our Savior, it is better than if we saw him on earth. For once, when the apostle Thomas worshipped him as his Lord and his God, because he saw him and touched him after he had risen from the dead, the Savior said to him, “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen me, and yet have believed.”

If we believe the Bible we shall know not only that Christ was born into the world to be our Savior, but also that he lived, and died upon the cross, to make our salvation certain. We shall know not only that he was once a little child to show his love for us, but also that he is now the King of kings, in the glory of his Father; and yet as mindful of us on the throne of heaven, as when here upon the earth. If we do not love and trust him as our savior, we have no right to be glad and happy on Christmas-day, for hi is not our Savior; and God will punish us the more, because he has sent his Son into the world, and we have not given our hearts to him. But if we do truly believe on him, and try, by his help, to be like him, we may praise and glorify God now for the birth of Jesus Christ, and hope, through the death of Jesus Christ, to praise him in heaven, where the angels are always singing, “Glory to God in the highest:” and we shall sing it with them, and perhaps as well as they can.

The sacred historian tells us, that after the shepherds had been to Bethlehem, to see the new-born Savior, they returned glorifying and praising God.

They glorified God:—That  is, they not only were glad in their hearts, and talked gladly among themselves, but they worshipped God, with prayers and thanksgivings, and praised him for all the goodness and mercy he showed  in sending his own Son to be born into the world, that he might be our Savior. For it is not enough that we are glad when God gives us blessings, we must remember that they come from the great and holy God; and that we do not deserve them, because we are sinners. Therefore we must worship him, first, as the great and holy God; and then thank him for having such a love and pity towards such poor creatures as we are. And this we should do, not only when we pray to God by ourselves, but also before other people in his church, that they may be taught to praise God too. We should glorify and praise God—

First:—For showing his love towards us in the birth of Christ.

When we think how great God is; how many worlds he has made; how many pure and glorious angels he has to serve him; and how many more he could make if he chose, and then think how little we are ourselves, and how little we can do for him, we might well be afraid that he would never take notice of us. It is true, he seems to take care of all; and there is not a little bird that sings but he feeds; and we cannot look into any little flower of the field in the morning, but we shall see in it a drop of dew that God has sent to make it fresh and sweet: and so he feeds us, and takes care of us, and all we have comes from him. But then it is so easy for him to do so. As he sits upon his high throne he has but to open his hand, and plenty rains down from it, for all the living beings he has made. If he only says, “Let it be done,” no matter what it is, it is done at once. May he not then take care of us without thinking about us, or loving us much, after all?

So we find the heathen, who have no Bible, though they may believe in God, seem always to be afraid of him than to think of him as a God of love. But when we read of the birth of Jesus Christ, and know that he is the Son of God—God himself—who has come all the way to earth to live among people on earth for a little while, as a child, as a lad, and then as a man, we must see how God loves us, and how much he thinks of us.

Heaven is a very bright and happy place. There is no trouble there. There are no storms, no winters, no dark nights there. The leaves of the trees never wither; the flowers are always blooming; and there are no thorns, nor briers, nor waste places where nothing can grow. There is no sickness among those who live in heaven. They never suffer any pains. They are never tired. They never die. Those happy angels never have shed one tear in all their happy lives. They never quarrel nor hate one another; nor fight, nor steal, nor kill each other; and heaven was Jesus Christ’s home. Yet he loved us so much that he came from heaven into this sad and unhappy world. He put himself into our nature, and had a body and a soul like ours. He lived among wicked men. He became so poor that he had no home to live in, and they treated him cruelly, and hated him; so that he was “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief,” until he was put to death on the cross. He knew all this would happen to him when he came into the world, and yet he came, to show us how much he loved us, and how much he wished us to love him. O! How much must he love this world, when he thinks of the time he lived here for our sakes! How much must he love men when he remembers how he was a man! How much must he pity us when we are in trouble—for he had so much trouble himself! How much must he pity poor people, when he looks back upon the time when he was poor, and “had not where to lay his head!” How much must he love little children who love him, when he thinks of the manger at Bethlehem, where he slept as a little child.

Let us praise and glorify God as we think how much he loved us, and showed it by being born a little child. Surely he who loved us so much, then, will love us always, if we love him. Surely he who gave himself to us, will give us every thing that is good for us, if we ask and thank him for it. Surely we ought to love him best of all, who loved us so much, and is willing to love us still.
But there is another reason why we should glorify and praise God for giving us such a great Savior as Jesus Christ.

We are not only poor and little in his eyes, but we are also sinners. All our troubles, and sickness, and death, have been brought on us by our sins; and, what is worse, they are but the beginning of the trouble, and pain, and death that will come upon the sinner, who continues to be wicked, in another world. If God does not forgive us our sins, we shall be miserable forever in hell, among the devils. But God would rather save us than punish us forever. He wishes to bring us back to his love; that, instead of going to hell, we may go to heaven when we die: and he sent Jesus Christ into the world, that he might be our Savior.

We had broken his law, and God had said that he would love none who did not keep it; and Jesus Christ came and obeyed that law, that his father might love us for his sake. We deserve to die forever, because God had said that those who sin must die forever. But Jesus Christ died upon the cross in our stead. He died that we might not die.

God loved his Son so much, that he will take His death in place of the death of all those who are sorry for their sins, and who hope he will pardon them for Christ’s sake.

And now Jesus Christ, after living for us, and dying for us, has gone up to heaven to intercede for us, that God would hear us when we pray, and give us his pardon and his love, and every thing that we need.

O, when we think what Christ came into the world for, of all he suffered in his life of sadness, and his death of pain, and of how much he thinks of us now; and then think again that he is the great God, the very God we have sinned against, and whom we have made angry with us, ought we not to love him, and be sorry for our sins, and believe in his name?

We should glorify and praise God, too, for setting us such a good example in the life of Jesus Christ. We always know to do a thing better when we see it done, than when we are only told how to do it. So God thought; and though he had given us his holy commandments, and told us in many ways what we ought to do, yet, because we are very ignorant and foolish, he sent his Son, Jesus Christ, to become a man, that he might do what we are to do; and we know how to do all, by knowing how he did. So that now, if we only do as Christ did, we are sure that we are right.

He has set an example for us all. If we are young children, we see how Christ did when he was a little child. He loved his mother Mary, and her husband Joseph, who was like a father to him, and he obeyed them in all they said: for he was subject unto his parents. So all children who are like Jesus Christ, and wish him to love them, will love their fathers and mothers, or teachers, and do what they say. He grew in wisdom as he grew older: and so all good children who love Jesus Christ, will love to learn and become wiser every day. But especially did he love his Father in heaven, and learned his will, as you find when he went up to the temple at Jerusalem, and said he “must be about his Father’s Business;” by which he meant, that he should always serve his Father in heaven, and do what was for his glory. So all children who love Jesus Christ, will love to pray to their Father in heaven, and study the Bible, and attend at the place of worship; remembering that they are not their own masters, but God’s children.

Besides, we see that he was patient, and waited until his Father called him to act like a man, before he went out into the world to act for himself.

So all good children who wish to be like Jesus Christ, must not think that they are wise as men and women; but wait until they grow older before they contradict and become stubborn  in thinking they are right, and everybody else is wrong. You may think you know a great deal now, my dear children; but you will not—at least I hope you will not—think so by and by. Those people who think they know the most, particularly little people, are always the greatest fools, and get the most laughed at of anybody.

Christ has set an example for us all: for though he was first a child, he afterwards became a man. Are we poor and obliged to work for our living?—Christ was poor—and if we bear our poverty as meekly and patiently as he did, he will love us the more, because we are poor and like him. I have heard of people who are very angry at being called servants, though they are servants, and are paid wages for doing their work. But Christ was a servant. He “took upon him the form of a servant,” when he was born; and once we find that he waited on his own disciples like a servant, and washed their feet.

The name of servant is an honorable name; and if we only serve God in serving others, we shall be the brethren of Christ; and all good Christians will love good servants for Christ’s sake. Better to be a pious servant, than a wicked king.

Are we rich?—We ought not to be proud of it, or of our fine clothes and handsome houses, and the many good things that we have, and so despise poor people; because Christ was rich: he owned everything; for he made everything. All we have is from him, and he can dress a little lily finer than a prince; yet he was so humble and meek, that he laid all aside, and came to bless poor people, and to take all that love him to a beautiful home in heaven. So, if we would be like Christ, instead of being proud, we should remember that we are so poor as to have nothing but what Christ gives, and use our money in helping the poor, in feeding and clothing the needy, and in giving Bibles and good books to those who have none, and in sending missionaries to teach the ignorant and wandering the way to heaven.

Are we in trouble? Christ was always in trouble while he was on earth; but he bore it all without murmuring, because it was his good Father’s will. So should we drink the cup our Father gives us; and although it may seem bitter at first, if we receive it patiently, it shall be very sweet in the end. Trouble, if we profit by it, is the way to heaven, for it is the way in which Christ went there.

All Christ’s life was spent in doing his Father’s will, and in doing good to men. It was his meat and drink to do his Father’s will; and he came all the way from heaven to earth to save the souls of those that were ready to perish. The same love that made him pity men’s souls, made him pity their bodies when they were in want or pain. Almost every day of his life, after his baptism, we find him working a miracle to feed hungry people; or healing some sick, or blind, or lame person; or raising up someone from the dead. But his chief business was to save souls. So, if we would be true Christians, we must follow Christ; we must serve God all our lives, and be always trying to do good to our fellow-creatures; and more than all, in trying to save their souls by his divine blessing.

Let us now learn a few lessons from the birth of Christ.

1. We must become as little children if we would enter the kingdom of Christ.

Christ was given to us as the pattern of a Christian; and we see that he was born from the power of God. So we must be born again by the Spirit of God; and as God dwelt in the human nature of Christ, so must God the Holy Spirit dwell in us, that we may be able to live Christian lives.

Christ began his life on earth from the earliest infancy, and never ceased serving God and doing good till the end of it. So we can never begin serving God too soon. We ought never to put off being Christians until we become older; for our whole lives are little enough to give him.

When we devote our youth to God, ‘Tis pleasing in his eyes:
A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.
‘Tis easier work if we begin
To serve the Lord betimes;
While sinners that grow old in sin,
Are hardened in their crimes.
‘Twill save us from a thousand snares,
To mind religion young;
Grace will preserve our following years,
And make our virtues strong.

So, if we be young, we ought to begin to serve God at once, that all our lives may be spent for him: and that is the reason why Christ loves to have little children come to him, they look so like what he was when he began to serve God on earth. If we be old, the more reason that we should not put off serving him, because we have so little time (who can tell how little?) to serve him in.

We must begin the Christian life as little children. They know nothing, and then begin to learn. So must we, no matter how much we know of other things, come to Christ to be taught, as though we had never known anything before. We must be willing to begin at the beginning, as Christ himself did, by becoming a little child, and learn from God the things that belong to salvation.

We must feel ourselves to be weak and helpless as little children, looking to Christ for all that we need, and leaning upon him. How feeble was the infant Jesus, in his mother’s arms? How dependent is a little child upon his parents for food, for clothing, for instruction? So must we become the little children of God, to be carried in Christ’s arms, to be fed by his grace, and clothed by his righteousness; and taught by his Spirit, and led by his hand. Until we have such simple faith, we do not begin the Christian life.

2.  We must be humble.

Christ was humble. He became a poor little child. He says, “Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest for your souls.” What a shame it is for anyone to be proud, when the Son of God was so humble? Humility is the root of the Christian character. The tallest oak tree in the forest grew from a little root, low, in the ground. If you cut that root, the tree dies, no matter how high and strong its branches may seem to be. So, unless we begin low, and keep our thoughts and prayers towards heaven, we shall never make true Christians. God hates proud people, but he gives grace to the humble.

3. We must be full of love and kindness.

It was love and kindness that made Christ our Savior. We are not Christians until we share in Christ’s loving-kindness, and be full of love and kindness to all around us. The best way to keep Christians, is first to give god thanks for his love and kindness to us, and then to show love and kindness to those who need our help. The best Christmas feast for a Christian’s heart, is making some poor person happy by our goodness for Christ’s sake.

I will only add some words of good St. Bernard.

There were four fountains in Paradise that sent forth living waters. So, there are four fountains opened by the birth of Christ in the kingdom of God.

There is the fountain of mercy, in which we may wash away our sins.

There is the fountain of heavenly wisdom, where we may drink in holy thoughts and feelings.

There is the fountain of the Spirit’s Grace, where we may drink in life and power to do God’s will.

And there is the fountain of holy zeal, which sends forth the waters of pious charity to refresh us, as we go on the way to heaven.

Let us then “draw waters with joy out of these wells of salvation.”

The End.

*Originally Posted: Dec. 24, 2016

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 – 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.”

Sermon – George Washington’s Birthday – 1863


This is a transcript of a sermon commemorating George Washington’s Birthday. It was preached on February 22, 1863 in Connecticut by the pastor of the First Congregational Church, George Richards (1816-1869).


 


sermon-george-washingtons-birthday-1863-1
THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON.

A SERMON

Preached in the

First Congregational Church, Litchfield, Conn.,

February 22, 1863.

By
George Richards.

“In very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee My power and that My name may be declared throughout all the earth.” Exodus ix. 16.

Thus spake Jehovah to the King of Egypt. God attains His own ends by His own instruments. When He has great and important results to bring to pass, He provides means adapted and adequate to their accomplishment.

Very bad men, actuated by very bad motives, may be used to promote the very best designs: Pharaoh was an instance. Very good men, actuated by very good motives, may be made instrumental of benefits far transcending their most sanguine expectations: Washington was an instance.

A hundred and thirty-one years ago today, in an ancient homestead in Virginia near the banks of the Potomac, was born the child destined to be looked up to by all parties and sections with singular unanimity as the father and founder of his country- the one man whose preeminent worth and unexampled services are deemed beyond dispute- the most discordant opinions claiming his sanction and seeking the shelter of his authority- war itself sheathing its sword and keeping truce about his sepulcher.

Do we not well at a time like this, when dissension and division are the order of the day, to recall (though [now] on the Sabbath and in the sanctuary) what manner of man he was, how Providence had endowed and disciplined him for his diversified trusts, and with what signal success he acquitted himself of so overwhelming responsibilities?

I. Look first at the original constitution of the man. He Who had so much for him to do, framed him accordingly. He was cast, body and mind, in a capacious mould. Great qualities rarely found single were grouped in him. Traits generally thought conflicting were harmonized in him.

Though it would hardly have been suspected from his accustomed equanimity, he was a man of strong passions and impetuous impulses. In rare instances, the pent up elements found vent and terrible was the explosion. Had he possessed the mild and placid temper commonly ascribed to him, he would have lacked the force essential to the difficult task assigned him. The surface was usually cold and still (and needed to be) but the volcanic fires slumbered within.

United to these passions and impulses was a will competent to restrain them. He governed others by first governing himself. Only those admitted to his privacy, who saw him when under the least restraint, were aware with how tight a rein he held himself in check. He had made up his mind to be his own master, and seldom was his vigilance off its guard or his authority successfully disputed.

Conjoined to those antagonist forces was a judgment as sound, as fair, as even-balanced as often falls to the lot of man. Glad of light from any quarter, patient to hear and weigh contradictory opinions, slow to arrive at a decision, watchful against the bias of pride, prejudice, self-interest, his conclusions, perhaps, were as nearly infallible as can be expected of mere human reason.

He was a man, too, of minute detail keeping his own accounts, private and public, in the neatest of handwritings, and with a sort of microscopic accuracy; amid his busiest campaigns superintending his estates, instructing his stewards, regulating the routine of crops, caring for the stock, the dairy, the fences, the tools, as if nothing were small enough to escape him; and yet, withal, how broad and comprehensive were his views, embracing the entire country in all its departments- the army to be recruited, fed, clothed, equipped, drilled; its movements skillfully and deliberately planned- Congress to be respectfully addressed and begged and importuned to vote the requisite supplies- the States to be kept in harmony and urged each to its proportionate exertions- foreign nations to be conciliated and bound by treaty stipulations! What had he not upon his hands? Yet the less never seemed to encroach upon the greater, nor the greater upon the less. The compass and variety of his faculties rendered him competent to all. In such large dimensions and symmetrical proportions had his Creator constituted him.

II. Again, the early training of Washington singularly fitted him for the two diverse spheres he was ordained to occupy. As he was to be alike conspicuous and important as a soldier and civilian, the Providence which designed him for both and educated him for both.

His ancestry, which can be traced back to the century succeeding the Norman conquest, boasted its mail-clad warriors and gallant knights. His great-grandfather who removed to this country was a Colonel of the Virginia forces which he led against the Indians that ravaged the Potomac settlements. The elder brother of George, his guardian and instructor, was a captain in his majesty’s service and distinguished for his valor.

Mount Vernon was a resort of British officers, both of the army and navy, where feats of arms were discussed and famous victories exulted over. The little lad, all ears, lost nothing and went out among the boys to tell and show how fields were won. When the French war was imminent, and the youth of nineteen was commissioned an Adjutant-General, one of these veteran campaigners lent him treatises on military tactics, put him through the manual exercise, and gave him an idea of field evolutions, while another was his instructor in the sword exercise. His arduous and honorable service against the French and their savage allies (first in subordinate positions then as Commander-in-Chief of the Virginia forces) was the best preparation possible for the still more harassing and eventful trust in due time to be devolved on him.

It would seem as if the most intricate problems of the Revolutionary struggle had been worked out on a smaller scale in this preliminary contest. The mother country was unwittingly training under her own flag the master spirit who was to emancipate his countrymen from her iron thrall. She “meant not so, neither did her heart think so” [Isaiah 10:7] but so had a Higher Will ordained.

In like manner was the same youth “under tutors and governor” [Galatians 4:2] who educated him for his civil functions.

His first ancestor in this country was not only a military leader but a member of the House of Burgesses.

So, too, the elder brother already spoken of. At the age of twenty-six, Washington himself was elected by a large majority against formidable competitors to a seat in that dignified and influential body where his calm and wise but resolute and independent spirit helped to direct and develop the growing opposition to the tyranny of king and parliament.

When the first Continental Congress met at Philadelphia- an assembly which for weight of character and consummate sagacity has rarely been equaled- Washington was one of the delegates appointed from Virginia. How well he acted his part in that grave conclave let his colleague, Patrick Henry, testify. Asked on his return whom he considered the greatest man in Congress, he said: “If you speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge, of South Carolina, is by far the greatest orator;” (he might have excepted himself); “but if you speak of solid information and sound judgment, Colonel Washington is, unquestioningly, the greatest man on the floor.” As when he was elevated to the command of our armies, he was found no novice but marvelously disciplined and equipped for the arduous post assigned him; so when he was summoned to the chair of Chief Magistrate with no usages nor precedents to guide, his extraordinary fitness for the position was no sudden inspiration, but the ripe result of this preparatory training to which the same far-seeing Providence had been subjecting him.

III. Another rare combination characterized this man.

By birth and social position he belonged to the aristocracy. Even in the mother country his family ranked with the privileged class. Transplanted to the “Old Dominion,” they at once became extensive landholders and were elevated to prominent positions under the Crown. Among his earlier associates were the Fairfaxes, of noble blood who, initiated into the mysterious of high life in England, brought with them its refined graces and courtly manners to their new homes between the Potomac and Rappahannock.

Bred in so favorable a school, an apt and ready pupil, the young Virginian soon became the model of a gentleman.

He inherited a competent property from his father to which he added largely by his marriage and by his judicious management of his affairs; and thus, to a noble person and dignified address, joined the wealth which in that day and neighborhood peculiarly greatly enhanced his personal and social consequence. Few men, probably, of his time enjoyed as unrestricted access to the stateliest mansions and selectest society of the most aristocratic of the Colonies. But where was there one more thoroughly superior to the narrow and selfish pride so apt to attend high social position? If he felt it, he fought against it and manfully subdued it. He was preeminently a man of the people, entered into their wants, divided their burdens, made their interests his interests, and in every way identified himself with their prosperity and adversity.

Naturally and by habit reserved and distant – never stooping to flatter and fawn around the multitude – to buy their suffrages by palliating their faults and conniving at and participating in their vices – he stood up for their rights against whoever would encroach upon them, took part in their toils and trials, as if their lot had been his, told them the honest truth about themselves (reluctant as they might be to hear it), animated them to duty by bearing the lion’s share of it –was, in a word, the direct opposite of the timid, groveling, time-serving, self-seeking demagogue of which there were not wanting examples then, as there have not been since. When the French and Indians were prowling round the defenseless settlements and all eyes were turned to him who was without men, arms, supplies, how touchingly does he appeal to the royal Governor: “The supplicating tears of the women and moving petitions of the men melt me into such deadly sorrow that I solemnly declare (if I know my own mind), I could offer myself a willing sacrifice to the butchering enemy provided that would contribute to the people’s ease!” His deeds confirmed his words! So, after this barbarous struggle was ended and the subordinate officers and soldiers failed to obtain the bounty lands promised them, he became their champion – started off on horseback into the wilderness not yet secure, confronted the warriors he had lately fought (one aged sachem telling them that he and his young braves had singled him out at Braddock’s defeat, and fired at him over and over but that the Great Spirit must have protected him), and at length, at the mouth of the Great Kanawha, turning to account his skill as a surveyor, he affixed his mark to the lands which he succeeded in securing to his valiant comrades.

Still later, when the Stamp Act was passed and foreign luxuries must be dispensed with or an odious impost paid to an oppressive government, he appealed to his rich neighbors to unite with him in discarding such indulgencies and thus befriend their country. The articles proscribed he would not admit into his house and enjoined his agent in London to ship nothing while subject to taxation.

“Our all,” said he, “is at stake; and the little conveniences and comforts of life, when set in competition with our liberty, ought to be rejected- not with reluctance, but with pleasure.”

And afterward when he left his noble mansion on the Potomac, replete with every reasonable indulgence that affluence would furnish to encounter the hardships and exposures of camp life- though great pecuniary interests needed his personal supervision, and languished for the lack of them – though the humblest common soldier underwent not a tithe of the anxiety and mental agony which the long-doubtful contest imposed on him- still, he expressly stipulated that only his expenses should be paid, which he exactly recorded, unwilling to accept a farthing of recompense from his bleeding and impoverished country.

How in contrast with the greedy speculator in office and out of it who have prowled like famished wolves round our field of carnage – stealing everything they could lay their hands on – robbing the national treasury – purloining from the camp chest – pilfering from the wounded in the hospitals – appropriating to themselves the little comforts meant for the dying, if not stripping the very dead!

Yes! Washington, though an accomplished gentleman, was more; he was a man. He respected humanity under whatever guise or garb. He went for his country – his whole country – without distinction; not for the elect few among whom the accident of his birth of fortune had cast his lot, but for the entire people to whose destiny, for weal or woe, an all-disposing Providence had linked his own.

IV. Another union of opposites in this man was Southern birth and training with Northern sentiments and preferences.

Northern men with Southern principles abound: Washington was the reverse, rather.

His sterling common sense, his patient industry, his thorough system, his close personal application to business, his economy amid affluence and temperance amid abundance, his habitual gravity and self control- qualities and habits not too frequent anywhere- are not held to be peculiarly indigenous to the Sunny South.

They are more usually the product of a colder clime, a harder soil, and very different institutions.

And who proposed Washington as the commander of our armies? John Adams- more than one of the Virginia delegates being cool on the subject, and one, clear and full against it. Repairing to headquarters, the new chief found himself at the head of a host, nearly every man at that time from East of Hudson. How well he served and how thoroughly he won their respectful confidence need not be told. The general from one section of the country- the subordinate officers and rank and file from another- how creditable to both was their hearty cooperation! There were not wanting among so many jealousies, suspicions, animosities; but an unrivaled prudence joined to a lofty magnanimity managed to surmount them. The army for awhile was little better than a rabble, hurried together from every quarter to maintain the common cause, and at times their leader must have been utterly out of patience with them; yet for the most part, he smothered his dissatisfaction and made the best of it. “This unhappy and devoted province,” he kindly said, “has been so long in a state of anarchy, and the yoke has been laid so heavily upon it, that great allowances are to be made for troops raised under such circumstances. The deficiency of numbers, discipline, and stores can only lead to this conclusion; that their spirit has exceeded their strength.” After this rude militia- profiting by his stern but friendly discipline- had driven the British veterans, ships, and men out of the Port of Boston, never more to reestablish themselves on the soil or in the harbors of New England, to whom still did the commander-in-chief look for troops and supplies with a more unwavering assurance than to Governor Trumbull of Connecticut? In whose military skill and genius did he repose higher confidence than in those of General Green of Rhode Island?

So when later he filled the Presidential chair, who were his most confidential advisers? On whom did he more implicitly rely to give shape and direction to his policy than on Adams, Jay, and Hamilton?

Could he discern no good beyond his immediate section? Did he take it upon him to berate the bigoted, narrow-minded, puritanical spirit?

No! He left it to men born on this Eastern soil to traduce their own fathers’ memories and spit on their own mothers’ graves!

In yet another respect was he less a Southern man than a Northern: he was profoundly averse to slavery. How could he fail to be? He fought through the Revolutionary War under the declaration that “all men are created equal and endowed with certain inalienable rights, among which is liberty.” That declaration- penned by another Virginian statesman, adopted by the Congress from which he received his commission, formally endorsed by every state- he had ordered to be read at the head of every brigade that all might know what he and they were fighting for.

Was he the man lightly to retract his words, or to say one thing, meaning another? Three years after the war he wrote: “I never mean, unless some particular circumstances should compel me to it, to possess another slave by purchase, it being among my first wishes to see some plan adopted by which slavery in this country may be abolished by law.” Eleven years later he writes; “I wish from my soul, that the legislature of this state could see the policy of a gradual abolition of slavery. It might prevent much future mischief.” Resolved to do his part, at any rate, whoever neglected theirs, the third item in his will reads: “Upon the decease of my wife, it is my will and desire that all the slaves which I hold in my own right shall receive their freedom. To emancipate them during her life, though earnestly desired by me, would be attended with insuperable difficulties.” After providing for the aged and infirm and children, and for the instruction in reading and writing of the apprentices, he continues; “I do hereby expressly forbid the sale or transportation out of the said commonwealth of any slave I may die possessed of, under any pretence whatsoever. And I do moreover most pointedly and most solemnly enjoin it upon my executors hereafter named, or the survivors of them, to see that this clause respecting slaves, and every part thereof, be religiously fulfilled at the epoch at which it is directed to take place, without evasion, neglect, or delay after the crops which may then be on the ground are harvested.”

Suppose every other Virginia planter had refused to traffic in human beings! Suppose every other Southern master, when going up to appear before God, had struck the shackles from every bondman in his charge; how changed would have been the aspect of things today!

“The future mischief” which this seer so anxiously anticipated and so emphatically predicted has befallen us.

V. One other rare combination distinguished Washington. He was a man of the world, and a man of God.

A man of the world- not in the sense of a worldly man, but of a man familiarly versed in human affairs, liberally endowed with what men at large admire; talents, wealth, social position, power, fame- who excelled in nearly everything which most men value and aspire after.

United with this (if we may judge from the testimony of his associates, the tenor of his writings, his public policy, his private conduct) he was a religious man. “Tradition asserts that his widowed mother gathered daily her young household about her and read to them lessons of religion and morality out of some standard word, her favorite volume being Sir Matthew Hale’s Contemplations, Moral and Divine. This mother’s manual- her name inscribed in it by her own pen- was preserved by her son with filial care, and may yet be seen in the library at Mount Vernon.”

While yet a lad he drew up a code of morals and manners, extremely minute and circumstantial, still shown in his handwriting, to which he studied to conform himself. “In his camp on the Great Meadows, he was wont to assemble his half-equipped soldiers, the leather-clad hunters and woodsmen, the painted savages with their wives and children to public prayers, uniting them in solemn devotion by his own example and demeanor.”

A stated communicant in the Episcopal Church (though not cramped by denominational restriction), he entered on and went through the war constantly acknowledging his dependence upon God and looking and pointing others to the one Source of light and strength.

In reply to the acclamations which greeted his arrival at Cambridge, he observed: “That his country had called him to active and dangerous duty but he trusted that Divine Providence, which wisely orders the affairs of men, would enable him to discharge it with fidelity and success.”

In his parting address to his comrades in arms he says: “May the choicest of Heaven’s favors, both here and hereafter, attend those who, under the Divine auspices, have secured innumerable blessings for others.”

Amid the festivities that celebrated his accession to the Presidency, his language was: “When I contemplate the interposition of Providence as it was visibly manifested in guiding us through the Revolution, in preparing us for the reception of the general government, and in conciliating the good will of the people of America toward one another after its adoption, I feel oppressed and almost overwhelmed with Divine munificence.”

And his Farewell words to his countrymen deserve to be embalmed in every heart: “Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, – these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens. And let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained without religion. Whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle.”

He met death in his chamber with the same unruffled serenity with which he had often braved it in the forefront of battle. “I die hard,” said he, “but I am not afraid to go.”

A few questions will conclude.

1. May we not hope that a land thus signally favored of Providence will yet be spared?

Did God raise up, qualify, commission, so august a character as Washington – enable him to conduct us though the fire and blood of an eight years’ war, to preside over the organization of a government on the whole so wise and equal, to be himself its first Chief Magistrate, exemplifying every civic virtue in his policy and person – and all that within the space of fourscore years (the ripe life time of a man) the whole experiment should come to naught?

It is not probable. We are warranted to believe otherwise.

2. Should not our public men copy after this pattern of true patriotism?

Washington aimed to unite his countrymen, not to divide them- to promote deference to duly constituted authority not to undermine and overturn it. He was often dissatisfied with the course pursued by Congress – felt that they were slow – that they did not fully realize the danger of their country – that sinister and selfish ends actuated too many of them; but he did not for that reason counsel anarchy – he would be no fomenter of civil strife; it was enough to be at war with a foreign foe without cutting one another’s throats.

When the popular discontent broke out in open insurrection he was for prompt and decisive measures to suppress it. “You talk,” writes he, “of employing influence to appease the present tumults. Influence is not government. Let us have a government by which our lives, liberties, and properties will be secured; or let us know the worst at once.”

While one man’s vote counts equal to another’s, not so with opinions. There are leaders in all communities. They who bear such sway over their fellows should use it for good. First to deceive the masses, then to rouse their evil passions- goading them on to acts of violence- is to stir up a tempest much easier raised than regulated; it may be another man’s house burned over him today, and yours over you tomorrow.

The guillotine- to which Robespierre had condemned so many- spouted with his own blood at length. God forbid that the Jacobinism that transformed Paris into a slaughterhouse should redden our streets with gore, or that the fatal experiment of South Carolina should be repeated in Connecticut!

3. Ought the cost of this war, in treasure or life, to dishearten us?

There were times in the Revolution when the stoutest hearts seemed failing them for fear. The heroic leader himself was openly denounced as unfit for his position. Cabals were organized- plots fomented to oust him from his place. Such a waste of men and means, and so meager a return; so many defeats; so few, if any, victories, must no longer be tolerated, said these agitators. Schemers, like Belial,

“All false and hollow, through his tongue Dropp’d manna, and could make the worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels,”

drew round them the restive malcontents – aggravated their uneasiness – intensified their hate – then used them as the poor tools of their own ambition. “The spirit of freedom,” wrote Washington, “which, at the commencement of this contest, would have gladly sacrificed anything to the attainment of its object, has long since subsided and every selfish passion has taken its place. It is not the public but private interest which influences the majority of mankind nor can the Americans any longer boast an exception.” How stinging yet how just a commentary on human nature! But by and by, brilliant triumphs restored heart and hope; the timorous grew brave; the temporizing and vacillating decided.

Why may it not be so again? When, in the good Providence of God, the starry flag shall wave again over Fort Sumter- when the commerce of the Mississippi shall flow, unimpeded, into the Gulf- when the sway of an oligarchy, more reckless and unprincipled than ever ruled in Venice, shall be forever broken- men will wonder they could have been so impatient- wonder that any suffering and sacrifice could have seemed excessive that were necessary to drive from this soil a tyranny hateful to God and man, and which would inevitably have sunk us to political perdition had we not had the firm and unflinching determination to get rid of it at every hazard.

4. Finally, should not our trust be where Washington’s was- in God? Could that handful of colonies, feeble and few- each jealous of the other, and all of each- hope to shake off the yoke, intolerable though it was, of the foremost power of the world? Yes! If God favored it- if it fell within the scope of His beneficent designs. What are weak and strong to Him, “Who weigheth the mountains in scales, and taketh up the isles as a very little thing?” [Isaiah 40:12, 15] If a powerful and independent nation in place of tributary provinces would better subserve His purposes- would more rapidly diffuse light and knowledge- would widen the sway of just and equal laws, the enjoyment of rational liberty, the spread of a pure Christianity- how was the veto of the British king to hinder it? He might darken our coast with fleets, empty upon our shores his Hessian hordes, “He would blow upon them, and they should whither, and the whirlwind take them away as stubble.” [Isaiah 40:24]

Even so in our day, if this land reconstructed will become Immanuel’s land- if its Constitution and laws shall be conformed to the Divine precepts- if the rights acknowledged to belong to all shall be secured to all- if “a republican form of government” guaranteed by the Constitution [Article IV, Section 4] to every portion of this country shall be extended to every portion of it- if the iron heel shall be lifted, which for half a century had trodden down freedom of speech and of the press over half our national area till at length exile or death is the doom of every man who dares to differ from the lords of the lash on the subject of human servitude – in a word, if this semi-slave country is to become a free country- this half-barbarous country a wholly civilized country- if the Gospel which we sent to the Pagan is first to Christianize ourselves then assuredly are nature, Providence, God on our side; and how puerile and impotent will be the efforts of all the myrmidons of despotism, South and North combined, to thwart so sublime a consummation! Methinks the hour foretold by Jefferson has arrived. “We must await,” said he, “with patience, the workings of an overruling Providence, and hope that that is preparing the deliverance of these our suffering brethren. When the measure of their tears shall be full, when their groans shall have involved Heaven itself in darkness, doubtless a God of Justice will awaken to their distress, and by diffusing light and liberality among their oppressors or at length by His exterminating thunder manifest His attention to the things of the world, and that they are not left to the guidance of a blind fatality.”

“God be merciful unto us, and bless us, and cause his face to shine upon us. That Thy way may be known upon earth; Thy saving health among all nations.” [Psalms 67:1-2]

“In the shadow of Thy wings will we make our refuge until these calamities be over past.” [Psalms 57:1]

Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1862 New York


Alexander Hamilton Vinton (1807-1881) graduated from Yale in 1828 and from a theological seminary in 1835. He was pastor of congregations in: Portland (1835-1836), Providence (1836-1842), Boston (1842-1858, 1869-1877), Philadelphia (1858-1861), and New York (1861-1869). Vinton preached the following Thanksgiving sermon in New York on November 27, 1862.


sermon-thanksgiving-1862-new-york-1

 

Man’s Rule and Christ’s Reign.

A Sermon,

Preached On

Thanksgiving Day,

November 27th, 1862,

By The
Rev. Alexander H. Vinton, D.D.,
Rector of St. Mark’s Church, New York.

 

To the Rev. Alexander H. Vinton, D.D.:

Dear Sir: At the close of the services in St. Mark’s Church, this day, there was a general expression of wish that the sermon there delivered by you should be printed.

Sympathizing entirely and earnestly in that wish of your congregation, in our own and in their behalf, we beg permission to have it published.

With cordial and affectionate respect,

Hamilton Fish,
A.V.H. Stuyvesant,
J. R. Hebrick,
S. A. Dean,
John A. Iselin,
Lewis M. Rutherford,
J. Faitoute,
Meigs D. Benjamin,
Wm. Remsen,
Wm. H. Scott,
E. B. Wesley,
E. S. Chanler,
Charles Easton,
P. C. Shuyler,
H. B. Renwick,
Thos. M. Beare,
Alfred H. Easton,
Thomas McMullin.

To The Hon. Hamilton Fish, and Others:

Gentlemen: I thank you very sincerely for the kind feeling that prompts your request for the publication of my sermon on Thanksgiving Day, and cheerfully submit it to your disposal.
Alexander H. Vinton.

St. Mark’s Rectory, Dec. 1st, 1862.

 

Man’s Rule and Christ’s Reign.
Ezekiel 21: 26, 27.

“Thus saith the Lord God, Remove the diadem, and take off the crown: this shall not be the same: exalt him that is low, and abase him that is high. I will overturn, overturn it: and it shall be no more, until he come whose right it is; and it shall be given to him.”

Zedekiah was one of a series of kings who had profaned the sacred royalty of Israel, and God was about to terminate not only his reign but his dynasty. The crown and the diadem were both to be taken away from Jerusalem, that is, the kingly and priestly powers were to be superseded by the rule of a foreigner and a pagan. Nebuchadnezzar was to be their future lord, and Babylon their royal city. Not that his reign should be lasting or his power perpetual; for there was an ancient covenant of God, that of the fruit of David’s loins should come forth a king who should reign forever.

In this grand revolution of Israel God was only preparing the way for his Messiah, and not by this revolution alone, but others that should follow the track and tread on the heels of this. The Babylonian dominion was to be followed by the Persian; the Persian by the Grecian, and that again by the Roman; and then should come the splendor and power of God’s royal Christ. “I will overturn, overturn, overturn it: and it shall be no more until he come whose right it is; and it shall be given to him.”

This very lesson was taught to Nebuchadnezzar himself, for in the remarkable vision interpreted by Daniel he saw a great image composed of various metals, of which Babylon was the golden head, representing three great revolutions of empire, and after these one grander still, in which a stone, cut without hands from the mountain, should break in pieces all other dominion, and should stand forever. This was the divine regency of Christ. Thus it is, that temporal events help on divine plans. Thus in the mind of God political and religious ideas lie side by side. The nation and the Church are coordinate forces in effecting the divine covenant, and Jesus Christ is King of nations as he is King of saints. There are certain grand, fixed purposes of God which run straight through the order of the universe, from the beginning to the end. There is to them no past nor present nor future—that is, no finished facts can add proof to their certainty—no present force or lack of force can stop them from working out into life and actin before our very eyes; and no contingency or peradventure can, for an instant, bar their way to final completeness. Not that the Divine purposes drive on to their inexorable results alone, treading down nature and art and man, as if to show how superior God is to the world that he has made, and to the laws he assigned for it. It is just as true that man is in the world as that God is—man as he was made and is not yet unmade; in the image of God, with intelligence and a will—man a doer not less truly than God a doer. A Divinity moving sublimely in the world does not exclude humanity working actively, although he shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we will.

These Divine purposes running in parallel strands through the whole course of things, and fastened at each end, are the warp of the universe into which all its history is to be pictorially woven.

They are wound around the great axis of the world, and wrap up the coming centuries, fold beneath fold, and then as the cylinder revolves the warp is unrolled, and comes out to meet and supply the days and months and years and ages, and as it comes, man works into that steady warp his ever-shifting woof. He tosses his busy shuttle back and forth between the strands, with bound and rebound, day and night, with many-colored threads and many-patterned forms, until the straight, strong warp-threads are covered up and hidden, and the whole product seems to be made by man alone. He has worked his mind and passions and will into it so compactly, that history is made up of the freaks of his fancy—the whims of his willfulness, the orderly shapes of his intelligence in business, literature or government; and colored throughout with the complexions of his loves and hates; silvery and golden for his better affections, burning crimson for his lusts, and deadly purple for his antipathies and loathings. So that all history seems man-made. Yet it is not so. This is only the filling and the woof. God’s purposes are still the foundation and the warp. Let any bold hand attempt to thwart these purposes, to traverse the course of Providence, to tear the fabric of events across the fibre, and the man learns a lesson of profitable modesty. He may seem to force a hole in the texture, but the rent will run with the warp, and it is only man’s work that is broken across, not God’s. So much we are taught by universal experience as well as Revelation, while Revelation adds another truth that experience is not yet ripe or universal enough to learn of itself; that is, that God’s purposes in the world have ultimate reference to the glory of his mediatorial Son.

We gather glimpses of this grand truth as we study the history of the world, with Revelation for its key. History loses it profaneness as interpreted by the Bible, and we can recall events and their surroundings which were procured by man acting out his own voluntariness so completely, that nothing but his own personal self is projected on the scene, and yet just these events and just these surroundings made the necessary crisis which manifested the Christ. Could the Savior have been born before the fullness of the time decreed? And what constituted the time’s fullness and fitness? Was it not a universal, earthly monarchy and a universal language? And whence came that monarchy but from human ambition or the universal language, but from commerce, curiosity, luxury, taste, all human purely, and of the earth? Man working in the dark to bring God out into light.

So when the Savior had lived out his human term, the Divine plan that required that he should die contemplated likewise the method no less than the end. The purpose must have its complement in the means. The Christ must have a Judas and a Pilate, or else the world’s salvation were forfeit. Yet were there ever two examples of pure voluntariness and independent action more signal than theirs? Judas plotting, hesitating, chaffering, betraying and repenting; Pilate arguing, excusing, deprecating, yet yielding and condemning, are the very impersonations of free will and voluntary accountability. So do the destroying deeds of devils illustrate the salvation of Christ.

We need not linger on history any longer to establish the principle, as a fast truth of the world, that God overrules the changes of the times, in order to bring out the peculiar glory of his anointed Son—but for our present use, let us look at in its prospective bearings.

Our text is not yet fulfilled. There still are, and shall be, overturnings, overturnings, overturnings among men, of which the presiding purpose shall be all divine and Christly. They shall, each and all, tend to bring out his kingdom into riper development. I say riper development. I say riper development, for all the influences of that kingdom are not yet fruited. The power of the Gospel is a thing of growth and succession. It was necessary to graft it on human nature in separate coins, coming into bearing at different periods. The earliest ages of the Church learned mainly the devotional and pious element of the Gospel, while it is only in its later periods that its ethical influence has burst into growth. The first and great commandment was accepted first, and it sprang forth in the luxuriant godliness which makes the early Church seem so freshly holy through all the ages. But Christians were slower in accepting the second cardinal law of Christ’s kingdom, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” Their godliness is not yet thoroughly mated with charity, and this life-principle of Christian ethics yet seeks a nobler and wider development. When this shall have become universal—when godliness and charity, twin sisters of a divine birth, shall walk hand in hand through the world, welcomed and adorned alike with royal honors from men’s willing hearts, then will begin the hallelujah period of the Church; for the kingdoms of the world will have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ. Christ’s reign will be unhindered in any one of its declared purposes; deliverance to the captive, the opening of the prison doors to them that are bound, eyesight to the blind, and the healing of all broken hearts. The grand rule of mutual conduct among men will be, “to do to others as we would they should do to us.” The world will need no other redress for its disqualifications and wretchedness. God can claim no worthier tribute for his Son than a world of men changed divinely into an equal and loving brotherhood.

In the changes of the world, then, we are to look for the steady advance of those great principles which grow from the Gospel of Christ, and which Christ’s reign was intended to illustrate. And those principles are, as we have seen, the establishing of human rights and the improvement of the human condition, morally, socially, politically; the awarding to each man his prerogatives as a child of the Heavenly Parent; the loosing of every bond but those of rational and moral obligation; the breaking of all subjection but that voluntary allegiance to law, which is the sublimest act of human independence, and the crown of humanity. This is the liberty wherewith Christ makes all men free. And to this the progress of religion and the revolutions of the times infallibly tend. For not only does our practical Christianity take the form of philanthropy more than ever, in its missions, its hospitals, its asylums; its care for the body, as well as the soul; its remedies for social evils, as well as spiritual; but every civil change of our times looks toward the enlargement and elevation of humanity. Even the first French Revolution, which reversed the proverb that “Satan is clothed as an angel of light,” and was, instead, a celestial idea, mantled with hellish horrors; which wrote its edicts with daggers, drawn and dripping from human hearts; even the mighty overturn left not itself without extenuation, in the thoughts which it set adrift in the world, that stirred the world’s mind to grand and solemn issues.

That sublime idea lived on, when the revolution was past; lived on, when the horrors had subsided into the pit again and the blood stains were faded out; still lives on, in the Christian sentiment of brotherhood, and will live till Christ comes again, and live forever, proving itself celestial by its immortality.

So in the more recent changes of the times. See it in Italy—poor Italy, as we used to think—the cemetery of national character, where you moved among memorials of dead beauty and grandeur, and trod on relics of glory at every step; where the living humanity seemed tapered down to a point, without any pith or fibre, but only soft succulence; where men’s souls seemed shriveled into absorption by the pressure of despotism, civil and spiritual—Italy, glorious Italy now, has been overturned, overturned, overturned. The graves are opened. The manhood that was buried there is awake again, in the strength and beauty of the resurrection. We have stood amazed at the suddenness and completeness of the change, in which despot after despot fled away, in a terror that was ready to call on the mountains to fall upon them and the hills to cover them; while the people possessed themselves of freedom and empire, as calmly as if the right had never been contested nor the possession broken for a moment. What a splendid demonstration it is of man’s capacity for self-government is freedom; and what a long leap of progress our race has taken in the emancipation of Italy! Will any man say that this overturn is not of God, for the speedier manifestation of Christ? We know, indeed, the human agencies that worked the work. We know how French policy, and Austrian fear, and Papal bigotry, and Neapolitan meanness helped on the result, drawing or driving the enslaved people into revolution and independence. We know that not every cause and motive was divine and Christly, but, in part, basely human. Yet the result, how worthy of divinity and of Christ! A free people, a free government, a free Gospel, is not this the liberty of Christ, social, civil and religious?

And when the work goes on to completeness; when, as in the case of Jerusalem, God shall take away not only the crown of despotism, but the diadem too; when king and priest shall tyrannize no more; when he who wears both crown and diadem, claiming to be both temporal and spiritual sovereign of the earth, shall be superseded; when the clay and iron feet of Nebuchadnezzar’s image, which represents the Papal dominion, shall crumble away, and Rome, no longer “lone mother of dead empires,” shall be the royal city of an evangelized Italy, will not all this fresh freedom of soul and body, deliverance to the captive, sight to the blind, demonstrate the acceptable year of the Lord, and prove that Christ is come, whose right it is?

See how the overturn in Russia tends toward the same issue. The serf is a slave no longer, but one with a recognized manhood in him. The agency here was not the same as in Italy. There, freedom was the claim of the people; in Russia it was the gift of the despot. In the one, it came from within; in the other, from without. With one it was an inspiration; to the other a revelation. Yet the same divine spirit of beneficence wrought alike in both, aiming at the same triumph of Christ in the world. We have not, indeed, seen the issue of the measure in Russia, and there are signs that bode confusion. Yet we may safely be hopeful of the result; because the experiment runs in the line of God’s great purposes of love to the race. There is no idea so plastic and creative in its influence on character as the idea liberty; none so fertile of improvement, or that lifts a man so fertile of improvement, or that lifts a man so surely up to the level of his destiny. And I may add, that no social experiment was ever tried that has proved so harmless as the gift of freedom. I say the gift of freedom, because when freedom is quarreled for and battled for, it may sometimes carry its habit of fierceness too long. Born of cruelty and suckled with blood, its first strength may be savage. But let freedom be conferred as a Christian boon, in the spirit and temper of Christ, and there will always be found enough of that essential principle of humanity which responds to a felt divinity to insure for the experiment a grateful welcome, and therefore the perfect safety of gratitude. So far, then, from despairing for the freed serfs of Russia, let us look upon their emancipation as another streak of dawn, heralding the day of Christ.

And now your thoughts fly back from Europe, to brood on our own nest of troubles, hatching and to be hatched. “I will overturn, overturn, overturn it.” And is this God’s overturn, that is shaking our nation almost to pieces, reversing its order, buffeting its enterprise, confounding its ambition, drawing an extinguisher over its glory, and bringing in chaos and old night? Who dares to doubt it?

We know, indeed, but too well, the human agencies that have been busy in it. We can trace out the separate lines of causation which converged into the long, strong pull that almost laid the pillars of our temple flat; and we say, “but for this contingency, or that unprincipled act, the country would have been safe.” We say that, “but for Northern fanaticism, or Southern ambition, the one as restless and the other as craving as the sea, this mischief had not happened.” We saw the very match applied at Fort Sumter that exploded the Union. We charge the tedious train of our disasters upon plotting politicians, and upon imbecile or half-hearted generals; and almost every man thinks that he could right almost every wrong.

Was there ever a crisis in which so many human mismanagements and blunders were crowded together pell-mell? And does God ride on this tempest of confusion? Yes, brethren, and as the sovereign Christ. The times are in his hand, and he holds them for his Son. We did not doubt it once. We used to believe that we were his elect nation. We thought he had gathered here specimen men for all the peoples of the world to make one great nation of, which should stand forth as a model for the world—great because free, and prospering beyond precedent.

We published a manifesto to the world in our Declaration and Constitution, exhibiting the most perfect theory of government ever conceived, and we boasted that in practice it was as benign as it was wise and free. We challenged the admiration of the nations, and they gave us admiration not unmixed with envy; and we were proud of the admiration, and the envy too. Did he not hear our world-shout: “Is not this great Babylon, which we have builded for our glory?” And could we expect him to bear it? Could he bring his Christ upon such a proud nation as we? Could Christ reign here in the glorious beauty of his Gospel, while the national character was bloated into deformity with its self-consciousness and arrogance? Must not his scepter make itself felt in discipline before it could be felt in blessing? We sometimes hear it said, that God is visiting the nation for its sins. And the alleged sins are catalogued, and counted out in long and forbidding series. But many of these allegations are simply commonplace, others are simply absurd, and most of them are only the average sins of nations in all ages. Corruption belongs to courts; and bribery to Parliaments and Congresses; and peculation to offices of trust; and trickery to trade, all over the world. These sins of ours are not peculiar nor preeminent. But our discipline is both. We must, therefore, if we would be wise, seek for the provocation in some sin that is eminently American, and eminently bad. Find it our overweening and profane self-conceit. It is enough to move the displeasure of heaven, for it arrogates the supremacy which God has not abdicated; and he will not give his glory to another.

The old Jew gloried in his Jerusalem, and while he remembered that it was the holy city of his God; his patriotism was piety. But when he mixed in the large alloy of national pride and forgot the nation’s Jehovah, then God took away the crown and the diadem, and overturned, overturned, overturned it. There was a correspondency and a proportion in the case. The punishment bore the same complexion as the sin. So it is with us, and as everything too high topples to the inevitable fall, our towering pride has tumbled us into wreck. The probe has touched the peccant [offending] part. The discipline has struck the fault in its very face, and when the stagger and the blindness have passed off, perhaps we shall accept the lesson of humility as worthy of a thanksgiving. If we do, we are saved, and Christ’s reigning day will then shine upon us gloriously. Although we looked no further than this then, we might say: “It is God’s overturn, and for Christ’s sake.”

But we may look further and higher than this. Although we have been so accustomed to regard our political system as the one best adapted to the great end of human advancement, yet in this we may be in error. A great united people—a national entity, nearly covering a continent, and almost equivalent to a world in itself, is an imposing agency—one, we might almost think, indispensable, to Divine Providence itself; and so we hug the Union, as each man’s other and higher self. It is the object of our reverent love, next only to our religion. Around it our patriotism weaves all its entranced affections. It calls forth the dignified tribute of our self-devotion, even, if need be, to blood and life, and we gladly lay ourselves at its feet as a living sacrifice, and say: “My country, it is for thee.” Ennobling passion, lifting man out of his accidents, and shaking the dust form the wings of his soul, for a flight wider and nearer to heaven. The war has so nobly developed the power of our patriotism, that every man may breathe freer for the demonstration.

But how, if the national entity be broken to pieces—its unity dissolved? Where is our country then, and what becomes of the great human interests that we thought were garnered up in it, and nowhere else? My brethren, these great human interests are God’s and Christ’s, and God will take care of them, for his Son’s sake. Remember that there are no necessities to him but essential truth and right. He can to without us, and without the Union of the nation, but he cannot do without these great ends that the Union was meant to promote; the development of man into the highest freedom of soul and body. This end, no doubt, he will secure, for it is the purpose of the covenanted reign and glory of Christ to exalt him that is low, and abase him that is high; to open darkened eyes, and bid the oppressed go free. But in securing this end, he is fettered by no precedent, and tied to no measures.

He may demolish our republic, and with it its beautiful theory of freedom; and all because the republic has not been true to its theory. But the freedom he will accomplish, if not by our means, then by his own. Nay, we can see already, that whether our Union be maintained or not, that great result is virtually secured. However we may look upon the institution of slavery, from whatever standpoint; and whether our sympathies and affinities go out for the master or his bondman, it is impossible not to see that henceforward it cannot be such as it has been. That same Sumter gun was the morning signal of a new day in America for them that are bound. It is rising up from the horizon, hour by hour. You and I cannot help or hinder its career. Our Union or disunion cannot make or mar its glory now. It is too late. It is the inevitable sun of righteousness, with human healing in its beams. It may be dimmed by a passing cloud of mistaken policy or of disaster to our arms, and we may fail to mark its movement up the heavens. Yet it rises higher and higher, and when it culminates, its meridian light will shine right down upon an emancipated land; and in that mid-day light, there will not be one shadow; among the freemen not one bondman. This is the promised day of Christ’s reign, and if it takes a threefold overturning for its accomplishment, it will come to pass even as God has promised to his Son. Bless him today for this.

But this is future. Have we nothing to thank him for in the past? Yes, for the wonderful demonstration given by our people of their capacity for self-government. How rebellion has awakened a patriotism, whose very existence we doubted! How true has the loyalty of the people been even in its grand anger! How free the land has been from the lawlessness and violence of mobs! How the war has called out the benevolent affections of the people! How religion has been revived, even in camps, and the whole power of Christian zeal and sympathy been enlisted for the army, following the drum-beat with Bibles as well as bandages—with preachers, as well as physicians—nay, inspiring noble women, as well as noble men, with an equal heroism of self-devotion, until the whole people has learned the exalted lesson—may they never forget it—of living outside of themselves, and for others’ good! As we witness this, we may thank God that we have lived to see this; for it is worth living for. We may thank him that war in this land is not an unmitigated horror, and that human blood and wounds can beget the most beautiful forms of character, and nourish the angelic graces of our better life.

And then, since the glorious boon of a free government is dear to us, and since God himself has seemed to love and delight in it, we are by no means to despair of the republic. This danger may be designed to make it yet dearer, by proving its strength and sufficiency. This overturn may be in order to shake the republic into consistency and settle it more firmly on its foundations—to develop powers that have been dormant, and great principles that we have ignored in practice. We are fast learning the value and use of both, from the danger of losing everything besides.

We ought not to despond, moreover, for in this war the nation acts as a representative people—for all other peoples. She has assumed the championship of free principles for all mankind. We have given pledge, in time past, that our polity was adequate to all the emergencies of civil life. Other nations have followed our track with more or less of speed, but none have yet reached the encounter of such a crisis. And now they stand still and look on with various wish. Kings, nobles, castes, and every form of despotism, long for our discomfiture, for we battle against despotism, in its exquisite power; while the real manhood of the world—that huge multitude that makes the mass of human life, whose heart is the heart of humanity, and whom Christ came to lift up and to bless—they rejoice when we rejoice and weep when we mourn. Our struggle is life or death to them. Our defeat would seem to put back the clock of progress to that midnight-hour when its next stroke would be one, and the world would have to begin anew, and wait for the morning. With so much at stake, we must not despair, but peril everything, rather, for success. Our disasters may be God’s method of delay, to bring us more into felt dependence on him, and so more in harmony with his plans. Let every man, then, refresh his fealty by a new resolve to sustain the Government to the last, and let him sanctify this resolve by praying that God would not only retrieve the republic, but wreathe its exalted head with the crowning glory of Christ’s reign, in which pure freedom shall be the universal law of life.

But if in the overturnings of the times our admirable polity should, after all, be fatally dismembered, even then we may not cease to thank God for its happy past; to thank him for a history which has developed some of the brightest and noblest manhood in the world; to thank him for two generations of men to whom our republic was a blessing, and to thank him, finally, if it must fall, that such a republic was necessary to denote, even by its fall, the ripeness of the world for Christ’s full reign.

This, which would be matter of perpetual praise, may well be a theme for this day’s thanksgiving; and even if the grim ghost of dissolution shake its glory locks at us, and the gloom of thick-coming fears darken the day, we can still thank him for the overturning, as we pray, “let him reign whose right it is;” “thy kingdom come.” Amen.