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is to impress upon the heart the invitation "Come." said, 'In the still and gentle influences of that Spirit on the mind." You have seen how the pliant osier bends before the zephyr, and how the harvest field gently waves in a summer's eve. So gently, and often amidst such scenes, too, does the Spirit of God incline the mind to seek better things than this world can give-in heaven. So calm, so sweet, so pure, are those influences which incline the mind to thought, to prayer, to God. I said, 'In the terrors of that moment when he overwhelms the soul with the deep consciousness of guilt.' You have seen the clouds grow dark in the western sky. They roll inward on themselves, and throw their infolding ample volumes over the heavens. The lightnings play, and the thunder rolls, and nature is in commotion, and the tornado sweeps over hill and vale, and the oak crashes on the mountain. So also, and in such scenes, too, the stout-hearted sinner trembles under the influences of the Spirit of God, and in anticipation of the future judgment. He hears the thunder of justice about to condemn him, and sees the lightnings flash ready to devour him. But it is yet a scene of mercy. It is not to condemn, it is to warn him. It is a kind messenger sent forth from God-the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the admonisher, whether in the stillness or the storm, saying to the sinner, "Come-take the water of life freely."

So the "bride" says, "Come." But what is this? "I John," said the disciple in Patmos, "saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride for her husband." Rev. xxi. 2. It is the voice of the bride, "the Lamb's wife"-of the church triumphant, the church in heaven, that speaks and invites you to come. It is not merely that the church, by her ministry, her ordinances, and her friends; by her appeals and persuasions in the sanctuary invites-though that is true-it is that the church redeemed; the church in heaven; the church in white robes before the throne; the church now adorned in heaven as a bride, invites you to come. And what is that church that thus invites you? What claims has she on your attention? Why should her voice be heard?-Who compose that church? The church in heaven is composed of those who on earth tried both

religion and the world; and who can now speak from deep experience alike of the trials and the joys of the Christian faith. It is a triumphant church that has been exposed to fiery persecutions, and that has survived them all. A church that has known what it is to be poor and persecuted on earth, and what it is in heaven to be blessed-and that as the result of all now invites you to come and share its triumphs and its joys bought with blood. Whom does the eye of faith see in that church in heaven that invites you? A father may be there; a mother; a sister; a lovely babe. That venerated father, whose cold remains you bedewed with tears, and over whose grave you still go to weep, is there, and says, 'Come, my son, and take the water of life freely.' That tender mother, that often spoke to you in childhood of Jesus and of heaven, still says, 'Come, my daughter, and take the water of life freely.' That much-loved sister, now clothed in white, and walking beside the river of salvation, says still, Come, my brother, and take the water of life freely.' That sweet smiling babe stretches out its hands. from the world of glory, and speaks and says, 'Come, father, mother, come and take the water of life freely.' All that church redeemed-that church made up of prophets, apostles, confessors, martyrs; that church that is now amidst the glories of heaven, still says,Come, there yetis room. Heaven's ample mansions shall furnish other places of rest. There are harps unstrung which your hands may strike. There are eternal fountains where you may drink. There are blest spirits there that will hail your coming, and rejoice in your joy.' All heaven invites. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost-the one living and one blessed God-says, "Come." The angels, the spirits of just men made perfect, and all your departed pious kindred, all unite in the invitation, and say, 'Come, come, and take the water of life freely.'

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Need I say that this voice of invitation is echoed back in your ears from this world? So speaks to you a pious father; a tender mother; a sister, a friend. So speak the living to you, and so addresses you the remembered voice of the dead. Go walk among the graves. Beneath your feet, in the sacred sweet slumbers of a Christian's death, lies a much-loved mother. How still! How lovely

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a mother's grave! How the memory delights to go back to the nursery; the fireside; the sick-bed; the anxious care of a mother! How it loves to recall the gentle look; the eye of love; the kiss at night of a mother. She sleeps now in death, but from that grave is it fancy that we still hear a voice, My beloved son! my much-loved daughter! Come-come, and take the water of life freely?' No. Of all the departed pious dead; of every living Christian; of all holy beings, there is not one who does not invite you to come. There is not one who would not rejoice in seeing you clothed in white, and with palms of victory in your hands in heaven. Yes, in their hearts, and in their eternal dwelling-places there yet is roomroom-ample room for all to come.

See now what pleads. The eternal Father; the dying Saviour; the sacred Spirit; all heaven; earth; the grave; conscience; reason; all the universe invites and pleads. And what hinders? A word will tell all. The fear of shame. The love of gaiety. The fascinations of amusement-all temporary, unsatisfactory, dying. A scheme of ambition; a plan of gain; an arrangement for pleasure-all valueless when compared with heaven. For such things the ear is turned away, and the voice inviting to heaven is unheeded. O, how deluded! To suffer the great interests of eternity to be neglected, and the immortal welfare of the soul to be hazarded for nameless trifles! Of the folly of this course I could say much. But why should I say any thing? Who does not see it? I will make, therefore, but one other observation, and then close. THE RIVER OF LIFE WILL ROLL ON FOREVER. Its pure waters, clear as crystal, shall forever gladden and refresh the inhabitants of heaven. But on the banks of that river you may never recline. Far away from that pure stream-far away from all the bliss of heaven-far away from the redeemed and happy throng assembled there, shall be your eternal abode, and never again shall you hear the invitation, "Whosoever will, let him come and take the water of life freely." To-day, all the universe invites you. The Father, the Son, and the Spirit, say, "Come." The church on earth and the church redeemed say, "Come." The friend that has gone to the skies, and the friend on earth, says, "Come." The tender father;

the affectionate mother; the pastor; the brother; the sister, all say, "Come." Your own nature; your conviction of the truth; your sense of sin; your dread of death; your inextinguishable desire of immortality; your conviction that "this world can never give the bliss for which you sigh,"-all these emotions and feelings say, "Come." The whole universe joins in the invitation, and voices from distant worlds mingle in this sanctuary to-day, saying to you now, "Come, take the water of life freely." To-morrow, O how changed may be the scene! Death's cold fingers may have felt after the strings of life, and chilled them, and your soul may be beyond hope and heaven. Not a voice from all the universe may invite you to leave the dark abodes where the wicked dwell, and to take the waters of life. O that word, FREE SALVATION!'-What would you give to hear it borne on the breeze in the world of despair! But it will be too late. Sealed will be the lips of the eternal Father; hushed the voice of the Redeemer; gone the influences of the Holy Spirit. The bride-the church-will have ceased to invite; and neither father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister, nor pastor, nor friend, will EVER say to you again, "Come, take the water of life freely.”

SERMON II.

THE LOVE OF GOD IN THE GIFT OF A SAVIOUR.

John iii. 16. God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

THESE are the words of the Redeemer. They express in the briefest space the substance of the gospel. No public speaker ever possessed the power of condensing the great principles of a system of truth into so narrow a compass as the Lord Jesus; and his instructions abound with instances of this condensation. Such declarations were easily treasured up in the memory, and were, therefore, eminently adapted to the end which he had in view -the instruction and salvation of the mass of mankind. The terms of the text require no particular exposition; and we shall proceed at once to the contemplation of the great truths which in so simple language it embodies. It affirms that the origin of the plan of salvation was the love of God; that that love was of the highest degreeleading him to the gift of his only begotten Son; and that it was of the widest extent-embracing the world. We shall consider these points in their order; and shall thus have before us the outlines of the great system of the gospel. I do not suppose that it will be new to you. I have no truths, and perhaps no illustrations, which you have not often contemplated before. I present a system, however, on which, whether it be to you new or old, your eternal welfare depends; and which every consideration of gratitude, of self-interest, of obligation, and of hope, calls on you to embrace and love.

I. The first proposition is, that the plan of salvation originated in the love of God. "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son." This idea, so simple in appearance, is at the basis of all just views of religion, and strikes far into different systems, and will modify or