of mercies! take us into thy favour-admit us to thy kingdom-assign to us a place, even though it be the lowest, among the unfallen angels and redeemed spirits that circle thy throne rejoicing. Give us a crown of glory and a palm of victory, that we may lay them at the feet of Him who died for us and rose again."

Again, men are disposed to trust in their own hearts, not only for acceptance in the sight of God, so far as their past conduct is concerned, but also for the ability to spend their future career in what they conceive to be a right and proper manner. They deem themselves competent to restrain the impulse of passion, to resist the force of temptation, and to perform at pleasure the most arduous duties of virtue. They fearlessly undertake the task of self-government, fully persuaded that they are above the control of circumstances, which have blasted the moral dignity, and destroyed the happiness of inferior individuals. They admit that it is extremely difficult to withstand the many allurements from rectitude with which every walk of life abounds-they observe all around them the bleaching bones of others, whose ruin was occasioned by a similar confidence in their own strength-the personal trial of past conflicts, and dangers, and defeats, admonishes them that they are not invincible. Still they determine to venture on the experiment. They cannot think so meanly of the understanding which God has given them, as to imagine that they are incapable of refraining from vices, which they know must inevitably lead to consequences the most ignominious and disastrous. They believe, that a moderate degree of indulgence in pleasure is perfectly allowable, and even agreeable to a benevolent Deity. Beyond the limits of moderation they have resolved not to advance a single step. Nor have they the least doubt of their ability to

say, and with effect, to the most swelling and impetuous tide of passion, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther."

But the self-confidence of which we speak is folly. It is preposterous for any man to rest his hopes of future rectitude on the strength of his own resolutions-to imagine that his inherent firmness of mind affords a sufficient guarantee for the preservation of his integrity. The individual who thus acts, is entirely ignorant of the human heart. Experience abundantly evinces the mutability of all its views and all its purposes. How often have we seen the youth who entered upon life with the brightest prospects and the fairest promise-his parents' idol, and his friends' delight-disappointing all the fond hopes which he had raised, and taking his degraded place among those, of whom the least that we can say, is, that it had been well for themselves, and all related to them, by whatever ties, if their cradle had never been rocked— if they had not been born! Yes, the lapse of a few years produces many a sad revolution in the moral feelings and character of men, transforming the honest dealer into a dexterous knave; the temperate youth into an abandoned drunkard; the dutiful son into a rebellious profligate; the tender husband and affectionate father, into a domestic tyrant. These are every-day occurrences, and they surely prove, that no one, whose sole confidence is in himself, is entitled to affirm that he will be, at any coming period, the same being as to rectitude of principle and purity of conduct, that he is at present.-"Where is the world into which I was born ?" exclaimed one in surveying the ravages which death had made in the circle of his early acquaintance. And similar language may well be adopted by him who reflects on the changes which time has wrought in the moral sentiments and condition of numbers within the sphere of his observation.-Verily, "he that trusteth in his own heart is a fool."

To illustrate the interesting view which we are now taking of this text, we may be allowed to borrow an instance, much to the point, from one of the ancient philosophers. Epictetus relates, that he was once waited upon by a certain person who had just returned from banishment, and who, in the course of conversation, expressed the deepest regret for the imprudent part which he had previously acted, and declared, that it was his settled determination to shun, in future, the dangerous paths of ambition, and devote the residue of his days to literary and religious pursuits. The shrewd stoic did not doubt his visitant's sincerity. But he was too well acquainted with the human heart to give much heed to his professions, or to hope much from his resolutions. And, indeed, the mistaken man was soon himself undeceived. For before he left the house of Epictetus, a letter arrived from Cæsar inviting him to court, and opening to his view prospects, which, notwithstanding the language he had just held, he had not the ability, nor, in fact, the desire to decline. Ambition, ere long, acquired as strong a sway in his soul as it possessed prior to his exile.

Our next example shall be drawn from the sacred Scriptures. Benhaded, the Syrian monarch who flourished in the days of Elisha, was, on a certain occasion, afflicted with some dangerous disease. Hearing that that prophet had arrived at Damascus, he despatched his chief general, Hazael, to consult him respecting the issue of his illness. In the course of the conversation which took place between the officer of Benhadad and the man of God, the latter suddenly burst into tears. Hazael, surprized at an occurrence so unaccountable, at once inquired, what the prophet's grief could mean. To the question, "Why weepeth my lord?" Elisha replied, that he foresaw an assemblage of the most horrible calamities which his

visitant would be the instrument of inflicting upon "the children of Israel." Hazael indignantly exclaimed, "But what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing!" Elisha briefly answered, "The Lord hath shown me, that thou shalt be king over Syria." And what was the sequel? Hazael returned home, and on the very morning after his return, murdered Benhadad, and usurped the throne of Syria. One crime prepared the way for another, until, in a short period, he perpetrated, without compunction, all the enormities which Elisha had predicted.-How forcibly does this instance confirm the doctrine of our text. Hazael, at the time of his interview with Elisha, entertained too good an opinion of himself, to deem it possible that his hands should ever be stained with the crimes, of which the prophet foresaw, that he would be guilty. We are not to do him the wrong of supposing, that when he exclaimed, "What, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing!" he played the hypocrite. Far from it. He spoke the language of ingenuousness. He was then sincerely and firmly persuaded, that he could not become so corrupt -so lost to every virtuous principle-so dead to every benevolent feeling-as to commit the outrages which Elisha anticipated. But the event showed the folly of his self-confidence.

Does any one say, that the case of Hazael is such as seldom occurs? We answer, that they who think so, are mistaken. In fact, this portion of sacred history only exhibits in strong and glowing relief, what is constantly transpiring among men. Take any individual distinguished for his crimes, and interrogate him respecting the events of his life-You will discover, if he tells you the truth, that there was a period when not even the prophetic intimation of one risen from the dead could

have convinced him, that he should ever become what he now is. The felon on the gallows can testify how little he once expected to die an ignominious death. The confirmed drunkard can look back to a time when he was what the world calls a temperate man—a time when he had so high an opinion of his own native energy-so much confidence in the stability of his own resolutionsthat he would have deeply resented the insinuation, that it was even possible for him to be tempted to the slightest degree of excess.

And here we cannot refrain from adding one or two incidental remarks suggested by this last example. There are no facts in the moral history of man, which more clearly and impressively illustrate the truth of our text, than those connected with the rise and progress of intemperate habits. We behold thousands and thousands of our fellow beings the abject slaves of a vice, which all abominate, and which every one, at the commencement of his career, determines to avoid. Where is the individual who entered upon life with the intention to become a drunkard? Such an one is no where to be found. The most abandoned victim of intemperance in the vilest tavern of your city, once entertained the hope, that he should live and die a sober man. He confidently believed, that he should be able to resist temptations, by which he had seen so many others overcome. Indeed, he would have recoiled with horror from the idea, that he should ever destroy his character and his health, his fortune and his family, his body and his soul, by yielding to habits of inebriation. But he "trusted in his own heart," and was, therefore, "a fool." He indulged the vain hope, that he could gratify his thirst for ardent spirits, without being induced to use them to excess. Not that we would deny, that some men have realized a hope of this kind. We admit that there have been those