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the husband and the father, never be gratified? Why, then, is it implanted in the breast of the bereaved and suffering children of humanity? We ask, would a being of infinite wisdom and love present this heavenly cordial to the fainting spirits and quivering lips of his dear children in this vale of tears; just let them taste its blessedness, and then, with cruel hand, dash it to the ground? This can never be the conduct of him whose nature and whose name is love-his goodness, his wisdom, his justice and his truth, all stand pledged to grant the reasonable desires of his own children.

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How far our future blessedness will depend on the knowledge and society of our Christian friends, it is impossible for us to determine; but we may reasonably suppose that it will be greatly augmented by the holy fellowship and converse of those kindred spirits, in whose presence we delighted to dwell, and by whose side we loved to linger in this vale of tears. There are several portions of the word of God which seem to throw light on this subject, and which may aid us in our investigations. Church triumphant is frequently described under the beautiful simile of a family, and it is one which awakens in the breast the tenderest feelings, and calls forth the loveliest and sweetest reminiscences. In a Christian family there is uninterrupted intercourse-mutual affection, a congeniality of taste and sentiment, and personal knowledge. Without acquaintance, there can be no friendship; and as this principle will be carried to the highest possible state of perfection in the world to come, it would seem absolutely necessary that we should have a clear perception, and a perfect knowledge of the persons of those with whom it shall be our happiness to associate forever. Is not this what Paul meant when he addressed our text to his Thessalonian converts: "For what is hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming?"

That Christian relatives and friends shall distinctly remember in the eternal world those whom they have left behind, may be fairly inferred from the language that passed between Abraham and Dives. It is plainly evident from this parable, that the departed do not forget the living, nor yet the past events of their own personal history. "But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted and thou art tormented. Then he said, I pray thee, therefore, father, that thou wouldest sent him to my father's house. For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment."

That saints shall derive pleasure from meeting together in heaven, may be determined by a reference to several passages of Scripture. The meeting of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and all

the prophets in the kingdom of God, and Lazarus reposing in the bosom of the "father of the faithful," affords not only the pleasing hope that we shall know each other hereafter, but that this knowledge will tend to augment our felicity. Of the patriarchs, it is said" they were gathered unto their people." Now, by this expression, it could not be meant the gathering of their bodies to those of their kindred, for in this sense, neither Abraham nor Isaac were gathered unto their people. The former was buried in the cave of Machpelah in Canaan, while his kindred were interred either in Ur of the Chaldees, or in Haran, and the latter was buried with none of his friends, except his parents. The meaning, therefore, is, that their immortal spirits were gathered to the "general assembly and Church of the first born," to the congregation of the blessed in the celestial paradise. That we shall recognise our Christian friends in heaven, receives additional confirmation from the language of our Saviour to the penitent malefactor. "To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise;" and if so, we may reasonably conclude that they would know each other, and that this knowledge would afford unspeakable happiness to the ransomed spirit of the dying thief.

The idea of meeting again our departed Christian friends after death, seems to be instinctive in the human soul, and inseparable from its very constitution. The desire is so strong-so natural, so innocent, so intimately connected with our highest and holiest feelings, and binds us so closely with invisible and eternal realities, that it cannot be sinful to entertain and cherish it. Under the influence of this delightful anticipation, how many of the loved and lost seem to revive in our recollection; we see them again, not agonized with pain, and wasting away under the consuming power of disease-not cold and motionless, and clad in the vestments of the grave, but clothed with spiritual, incorruptible and glorious bodies, "like unto the angels of God," having thrown off the dishonors of the tomb, and "emerged into life, day light and liberty." How many voices long since hushed in death, now speak to us in tones of celestial sweetness, bidding

us

not to sorrow as those without hope for them who have fallen asleep in Jesus." How precious to the worn and wearied spirit of the Christian pilgrim is this hope of reunion in the land of the blest. It rolls away the dark clouds of sorrow which gather around the soul, and fills it with joy and peace through believing. It enables the afflicted believer to look beyond the Jordan of death to those bright mansions in the skies, where dwell the "pure in heart," and to say with the Christian poet"I feel that, however long to me

The slumber of the grave may be,

I shall know them again 'mid the countless throng,
Who shall bear their part in the Seraphim's song.'

The Roman orator, Cicero, gives utterance to sentiments, on

this pleasing subject, which will be cordially adopted by every child of God. For my part, I feel myself transported with the desire of seeing my departed friends, whose characters I respected, and whose persons I loved. Bent on my journey to them, I would not be recalled by the promise of restored youth. Oh! glorious day, when I shall leave the tumult and corruption of the world, and join the society and council of divine minds! Of all that have left the world before me, I weep for Cato the most. His soul, however, did not desert me, but still looked back upon me in its flight to those happy mansions, to which he was assured I should one day follow him. And if I seemed to bear his death with fortitude, it was because I supported myself under the consoling reflection, that we could not long be separated." Is not this what the apostle meant, when, addressing in the text the Thessalonian converts, he said: "For what is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at His coming?" Did he not endeavor to afford consolation to the sorrowing and bereaved, by the assurance that, "those who sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him, and so shall they be ever with the Lord. We shall live together with him." And why should we not indulge this pleasing hope this fond desire?

Though it may not be plainly and expressly made known in the word of God, yet it is deducible from the very nature of future blessedness, which is a state of infinite perfection and bliss. If memory shall not be defective; if knowledge shall be progressive in heaven, then the dearest ties which we formed on earth, will not, cannot, be buried in everlasting forgetfulness. A lovely and precious child once lost her mother at an age too early to fix the loved features in her remembrance. She was as frail as beautiful, and soon faded away. She would lie upon the lap of the friend who took a mother's care of her, and winding one wasted arm about her neck, would say: "Now tell me about my dear mamma." And when the oft-told tale had been repeated, she would softly say, "Take me into the parlor; I want to see my mother," and would lie for hours contentedly gazing on her portrait. At last, the trying hour came; the dew of death was already on the flower, as its life sun was going down. All at once a brightness, as if from the upper world, burst over the child's colorless countenance-the eyelids flashed open, the lips parted, and she looked piercingly into the far above." "Mother!" she cried, with transport in her tone, and passed with a sweet smile into her mother's bosom.

Perhaps there is nothing on earth that affords greater joy than the reunion of dearly beloved friends, after a long and painful separation. I will not attempt to describe the feelings of the fond mother, who has been compelled to mourn over the absence of her only son, while far away upon the tempestuous

ocean. Wearisome days and nights were indeed appointed to her; every gust of wind, and every flash of lightning that penetrated her lonely dwelling convulsed her very soul, as she pictured to her excited imagination the yawning gulf, and the unfathomable abyss of the ocean into which she feared the object of her anxious solicitude had sunk to rise no more. And when, after months and years of bitterness, spent over that child of many prayers and tears, the kindly winds of heaven wafted to her the delightful intelligence that her sailor boy was yet alivewhat mind can conceive-what tongue can tell the rapture of that moment, when she greeted his well-known voice, and clasped in her fond embrace the dearest idol of her affections?

How unspeakably great then-how inconceivably rapturous will be the joy experienced by the redeemed and glorified, when they shall be permitted to meet and welcome to their own bright and blissful abode those whom they have loved, and left for a while in this vale of tears. How soothing to the chafed and sorrowing spirit of the mourner, is the thought that soon the wound which death has made will be healed-that the tears which death has caused us to shed will be dried up, and that "the beautiful beings which now flit before us like visions, will stay in our presence forever." What an exhilarating and delightful prospect is thus presented to cheer the worn and wearied spirit of the sorrowing Christian-to banish from his heart every feeling of sadness, and to make him triumph even amid the ravages of death.

In conclusion, let this subject administer consolation to those who are called to mourn the loss of valued and pious friends. In the order of Providence, you have been compelled to drink the bitter cup of affliction-you have stood beside the dying bed of an affectionate, faithful and truly godly parent-you have watched the sun of her earthly being shedding his last lingering ray upon her once bright, but now faded countenance—you have marked with intense solicitude the fluttering pulse, the sunken eye, and the hollow cheek. At last weary nature, worn out with pain and suffering, yielded beneath the pressure of its load, and the convulsive struggle and dying groan proclaimed in language too plain to be misunderstood, that the dark night of death had thrown its sable covering over the inanimate form before you. And now, with a slow and solemn step, you follow to the tomb to see, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, the coffin lowered into its final resting place, and cheerless oblivion close her dark portals over that once loved form-now cold and dead. But is there no ray of light to shine upon the incumbent darkness-must moonless and everlasting night triumph over all that you once loved and valued? No, sweeter than odors wafted from the mountains of spices, and more enchanting far than the music of the spheres, comes the cheering announcement: "I am the

resurrection and the life. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."

Jesus of Nazareth has grappled with the last enemy; He has entered his gloomy caverns; He has burst asunder his cold and icy fetters, and poured a flood of immortal radiance upon that dark prison house, where nought but despair had ever been known. Lift up your heads, then, and rejoice, ye weeping and afflicted pilgrims; it is true your dear friend lies motionless and cold in death, but she has only "fallen asleep in Jesus, and if she sleep, she shall do well." The all-searching eye of God is not dim, that it cannot see, nor his arm shortened that it cannot save, and at the appointed time life will revisit her mouldering arm, and she will bloom again with unfading verdure and loveliness in the region of cloudless day. "Arise, then, and depart, for this is not your rest. Go your way, till the end be, for ye shall stand in your lot at the end of the days." Take your staff, and journey on toward the promised land-go forward in obedi ence to the divine mandate, watched over by a father's eye, and guided by a father's hand-compassed about with a great cloud of invisible spectators, cheering you onward in your Christian course; and when you come to the margin of that stream"the narrow stream of death"-which separates between you and the celestial paradise, a convoy of angels shall be sent to bear you over the swellings of Jordan, and waft your ransomed spirits to that blissful clime

"Where rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns."

SERMON DCXXV.

BY REV. JOHN DUNCAN,

PASTOR OF THE BAPTIST CHURCH, UPLAND, PA.

ENOCH'S WALK WITH GOD.

"And Enoch walked with God."-GENESIS v. 24.

A single word of commendation from the mouth of God is amply sufficient to carry one's name and virtues down to the end of time. The biography of faithful Enoch is comprised in three words; while the exploits of Alexander-the career of Napoleon, and of many of earth's bloody heroes, require many volumes to record them.

This short sentence, comprising the whole life of this good man, is a luminous point in the world's history, which no achievements in statesmanship, or martial heroism can ever equal or obscure, and which no

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