a mind to concentrate a close and a separate attention on each and on all of its particulars; and that the same God, who sends forth an upholding influence among the orbs and the movements of astronomy, can fill the recesses of every single atom with the intimacy of His presence, and travel, in all the greatness of His unimpaired attributes, upon every one spot and corner of the universe He has formed.

5. They, therefore, who think that God will not put forth such a power, and such a goodness, and such a condescension, in behalf of this world, as are ascribed to Him in the New Testament, because He has so many other worlds to attend to, think of Him as a man. They confine their view to the informations of the telescope, and forget altogether the informations of the other instrument. They only find room in their minds for His one attribute of a large and general superintendence; and keep out of their remembrance the equally impressive proofs we have for His other attribute, of a minute and multiplied attention to all that diversity of operations, where it is He that worketh all in all.

6. And when I think, that as one of the instruments of philosophy has hightened our every impression of the first of these attributes, so another instrument has no less hightened our impression of the second of them—then I can no longer resist the conclusion, that it would be a transgression of sound argument, as well as a daring of impiety, to draw a limit around the doings of this unsearchable God—and, should a professed revelation from heaven tell me of an act of condescension, in behalf of some separate world, so wonderful, that angels desire to look into it, and the Eternal Son had to move from His seat of glory to carry it into accomplishment, all I ask is the evidence of such a revelation; for, let it tell me as much as it may of God letting himself down for the benefit of one single province of His dominions, this is no more than what I see lying scattered, in numberless examples, before me; and running through the whole line of my recollections; and meeting me in every walk of observation to which I can betake myself; and, now that the mi croscope has unvailed the wonders of another region, I see strewed around me, with a profusion which baffles my every

attempt to comprehend it, the evidence that there is no one portion of the universe of God too minute for His notice, nor too humble for the visitations of His care.

DR. CHALMERS.

LXXVIII. THE UNSEEN BATTLE-FIELD.

1. THERE is an unseen battle-field

In every human breast,

Where two opposing forces meet,
But where they seldom rest.

2. That field is vailed from mortal sight,
'Tis only seen by One

Who knows alone where victory lies,
When each day's fight is done.

3. One army clusters strong and fierce,
Their chief of demon form;
His brow is like the thunder-cloud,
His voice the bursting storm,

4. His captains, Pride, and Lust, and Hate,
Whose troops watch night and day,
Swift to detect the weakest point,
And thirsting for the fray.

5. Contending with this mighty force
Is but a little band;

Yet there, with an unquailing front,
Those warriors firmly stand!

6. Their leader is a God-like form,
Of countenance serene;

And glowing on his naked breast
A simple cross is seen.

7. His captains, FAITH, and HOPE, and Love,
Point to that wondrous sign;

And, gazing on it, all receive
Strength from a Source divine.

8. They feel it speak a glorious truth.
A truth as great as sure,

That to be victors they must learn
To love, confide, endure.

9. That faith sublime in wildest strife,
Imparts a holy calm;

For every deadly blow a shield,
For every wound a balm.

10. And when they win that battle-field,
Past toil is quite forgot;

The plain where carnage once had reigned,
Becomes a hallowed spot:

11. A spot where flowers of joy and peace
Spring from the fertile sod,

And breathe the perfume of their praise
On every breeze—to God.

LXXIX. VARIETIES.

1. THE PROPER LIMITS OF BENEVOLENCE.

1. KIND and amiable people, your benevolence is most lovely in its display, but oh! it is perishable in its consequences. Does it never occur to you that in a few years this favorite will die; and that he will go to the place where neither cold nor hunger will reach nim; but that a mighty interest remains, of which both of us may know the certainty, though neither you nor I can calculate the extent? Your benevolence is too short: it does not shoot far enough ahead; it is like regaling a child with a sweetmeat or a toy, and then abandoning the happy, unreflecting infant to exposure.

2. You make the poor old man happy with your crumbs and your fragments, but he is an infant on the mighty range of duration; and will you leave the soul, which has the infinity to go through, to its chance? How comes it that the grave should throw so impenetrable a shroud over the realities of eternity? how comes it that heaven, and hell, and judgment, should be treated as so many nonentities; and that there should be as little real and operative sympathy felt for the soul which lives forever, as for the body after it is dead, or for the dust into which it molders? Eternity is longer than time; the arithmetic, my brethren, is all on

one side upon this question; and the wisdom which calcu lates, and guides itself by calculation, gives its weighty and respectable support to what may be called the benevolence of faith.

2. ACCESS TO GOD.

CHALMERS.

1. HOWEVER early in the morning you seek the gate of .cess, you find it already open; and the midnight moment when you find yourself in the sudden arms of death, the winged prayer can bring an instant Savior near. And this wherever you are. It needs not that you ascend some special Pisgah or Moriah. It needs not that you should. enter some awful shrine, or pull off your shoes on some holy ground.

2. Could a memento be reared on every spot from which an acceptable prayer had passed away, and on which a prompt answer has come down, we should find Jehovahshammah, "the Lord hath been here," inscribed on many a cottage hearth, and many a dungeon floor. We should find it not only in Jerusalem's proud Temple, and David's cedar galleries, but in the fisherman's cottage by the brink of Genesareth and in the chamber where Pentecost began.

3. Whether it be the field where Isaac went to meditate, or the rocky knoll where Jacob lay down to sleep, or the brook where Israel wrestled, or the den where Daniel gazed on lions and the lions gazed on him, on the hill-sides where the Man of sorrows prayed all night, we should still discern the prints of the ladder's feet let down from heaven-the landing-place of mercies, because the starting-point of prayer. And all this whatsoever you are.

4. It needs no saints, no proficient in piety, no adept in eloquent language, no dignity of earthly rank. It needs ut a blind beggar, a loathsome lazar. It needs but a penitent publican, or a dying thief. And it needs no sharp ordeal, no costly passport, no painful expiation, to bring you to the mercy-seat. The Savior's merit-the name of Jesus, priceless as they are, cost the sinner nothing. They are freely put at his disposal, and instantly and constantly he may use of them. This access to God in every place, at

KIDD.-19

every moment without any price or personal merit, is 1

not a privilege?

JAMES HAMILTON.

LXXX. GOD, THE TRUE SOURCE OF CONSOLATION.

1. O THOU, who driest the mourner's tear,

How dark this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee!

2. The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

3. But Thou wilt heal the broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

4. When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e'en the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears.
Is dimmed and vanished, too!

5. Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom.
Did not Thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above!

6. Then, sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright
With more then rapture's ray,

As darkness shows us worlds of light,
We never saw by day.

MOORE

LXXXI. "WE'LL ALL MEET AGAIN IN THE MORNING."

1. O WILD is the tempest, and dark is the night, But soon will the daybreak be dawning;

Then the friendships of yore

Shall blossom once more,

"And we'll all meet again in the morning."