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just as well as not; she had given all her living. That act of selfdenial-that high regard actually manifested for God and his service, exalted her greatly in the estimation of Him whose apa probation is worth having.

Some people have very erroneous views of the relative ability of men to give to religious and benevolent objects, and of the gift itself, in the sight of God. I will suppose two cases for illustration. Here is a man-the representative of a large class in the Christian community--a man in quite independent circumstances. He has his farm, his flocks and herds, his money at interest, his bank and rail-road stock, and is altogether above-board. After expending plentifully for the comfort of his family, for the improvement of his farm, farm-stock, and farming utensils, and for a few additional acres to his already large farm, he has several hundred, perhaps several thousand dollars a year remaining, to be invested somewhere. Now, suppose he gives one-tenth of this remainder, after his other expenses are met; does he give onetenth of his actual income, according to the scripture sense of the term "one-tenth?" By no means. That denotes the tenth of his whole income, before his expenditures for those comforts and improvements are made, and not afterwards. Just as Jacob vowed to the Lord, that if he would prosper him so that he came again to his father's house in peace, "then," said he, "of all that thou shalt give me"-not the net profits simply "I will surely give the tenth unto thee." Suppose this wealthy man, out of his clear and unexpended gains, gives two or three hundred dollars a year to religious objects; there are several hundreds, perhaps several thousands of dollars which are not reckoned in his income at all. But here is another man with a large family, having very little property of any kind, who, with great care, industry and labor, succeeds in meeting his necessary expenses for the year. Some how or other, he contrives to give five or six dollars a year to religious and benevolent objects. In the estimation of Him who sat over against the treasury and observed how the people cast gifts into it, which of these two men contribute most, to religious objects? This poor man, surely--more beyond comparison; although the nominal sum is far less. The other would not give as much as this man, even if he gave the whole of his net income and much more besides. For, he has the bulk of his property left and an abundant provision for his family in case he should be taken from them; whereas the poor man would leave his family almost or quite penniless.

It may, however, be said though I hope not-that all this would be very well, if men were what they should be; but as they are not, we must take them as they are, and not as they should be.

Whence came this maxim. Whatever its origin may have been, it certainly never came down from heaven. Put it along

side of that golden maxim which Christ brought with him from heaven, and see how they compare with each other: "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them; for this is the law and the prophets." Admirable maxim-fitted to make men happy everywhere! Now, compare it with that other maxim: "We must take men as they are, not as they should be." If this meant, that when men are not what they should be, we should kindly take them in hand, and try to make them better; it would be very well. But its meaning seems to be, "If men are not disposed to do right, but deliberately intend to do injustice or wrong, let them do so without disturbing their consciences very much, lest they be offended." So, then, if a man of wealth, who is known to be dishonest or to love wine and strong drink, should apply for admission to the church, admit him-" take him as he is, not as he should be."

How does such a maxim compare with Christ's golden rule! Surely it came not from heaven, but from the earth, or from under the earth. It seems intended to relieve men's consciences when not acting with Christian honesty and uprightness. It is by no means a Christian maxim, and is unworthy of a place in the Christian church.

Thus have I endeavored to perform the service which I undertook to do. As to the practical application of the subject, I have not much to say; but shall leave you all to make such application of it for yourselves; hoping that you will do it faithfully and successfully.

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"I said, O my God! take me not away in the midst of my days!"-Ps. cii. 24.

MAN loves to live-dreads to die. The love of life is born with us. It is one of those instincts that serve, in the wisest manner, to display at once the wisdom and the goodness of the Creator. It comes into being at our birth, and never leaves us but with our breath. It animates the aged as well as the young, and glows in the bosom of the poor and wretched, as well as of the rich and joyous. It prompts to the exercise of our various faculties both of body and mind; sets the machinery of life at work, and keeps it in motion; nerves the arm of industry; urges on the innumerable enterprises of busy life; seeks out, from all the realms of nature, the various medical remedies by which disease may be removed from the system, or its progress checked; furnishes food, raiment, shelter, and the ten thousand comforts of civilized life; and puts far away, as much as the creature can, the hour of death and dissolution.

The prolongation of life is man's great business on earth. All ages, conditions, ranks, and races, toil to live. With a vast multitude it is the all-engrossing thought. What shall we eat, and drink, and wear, and how shall we secure the necessaries of life, are the great questions of their being; the aim and end of all their thought and care and toil. We love to live, though in poverty, pain, and grief. No one loves to die. It is not natural to long

for death. It is only under the pressure of excruciating pain and heart-rending grief, that the soul in its wretchedness cries out for death; and even then shrinks back from the near approach of the king of terrors. It is true of the Christian as well as of the infidel. "The grace of God, which bringeth salvation," does not extinguish the love of life, but quickens it rather. It makes the man alive to every duty-self-preservation, as well as selfrenunciation. He who has received this grace has more to live for, and has more reason to cherish the love of life; inasmuch as life is now more purely a joy; is now enjoyed as never before; and inasmuch as he can now accomplish more by living. Death, it is true, has no terrors to him who abides under the shadow of the Almighty; it is robbed of its sting, and can no more injure him who has eternal life in possession. Yet it is not natural for the Christian, any more than for the unbeliever, to love to die. He may, and often does, have indescribable longings for the heavenly world; but still the love of life remains; it is not extinguished, but subdued, by the hope of a more exalted and glorious life beyond the grave. Nature still reigns within his breast, and points to the loved and fondly-cherished scenes and endearments of life, for which he is willing to bear the trials of this probationary period. To the saint as well as to the sinner life is dear.

While, however, the dread of dying and the love of living are natural to the aged as well as to the young, it is to those who are in the midst of their days that life is peculiarly dear. None so ardently desire life as they, and none so instinctively shrink from the approach of death. It is to the illustration of this theme that I now design to call your earnest attention.

THE INTENSITY OF THE LOVE OF LIFE IN THE MIDDLE-AGED.

No definite limitation of this class can be given. The term of human life is endlessly various. Age is not always to be determined by years. Some reach their maturity at an early period, and are as old at five-and-twenty as others are at thirty years of age. Others are as young at sixty as some are at fifty. The lines which separate this class from the young manhood of life on the one hand, and old age on the other, are, like the lines of light which divide the night from the day, so imperceptibly shaded, that none can tell where the one ends and the other begins. Ordinarily it is our custom to speak of men as middle-aged, who have exceeded their thirty years, and still come short of fifty. An earlier period introduces the other sex into the same class, and also into the ranks of the aged. A very large proportion of our hearers, it will be seen, are to be enumerated among the middle-aged. Let me hope for a patient, if not an earnest, hearing on a subject of great importance. What I wish to show is,

that, unwilling as mankind ordinarily are to leave the world and bid adieu to mortal life, none are so unwilling to die as those who are in the midst of their days: that with few exceptions the middle-aged are characterized by an intense love of life. This may be accounted for by the fact that they, more than others,

I. Have great confidence in the vitality of their physical frames.

Confidence is of slow growth. When we enter upon our earthly career, our experience is of course very limited. We know not what we can do, bear, or suffer, until we are put to the trial. We are distrustful of success, fearful of failure, and liable to be discouraged by unexpected difficulties. But, as we progress in our plans and pursuits, as we obtain more enlarged views and more accurate, too, of our own powers, and of the world without, we become less fearful and more confident. We learn that we can expose ourselves with impunity to the constantly-recurring vicissitudes of climate, or that we can guard against them. Each successive experiment gives us increased confidence in the endurance of our physical systems, and every year finds us more courageous, more venturous.

The very dangers through which we pass serve to make us more confident. In early life we were subjected, in common with others, to the numerous epidemics and diseases of childhood; but, through the kind providence of God, we passed safely through them all. A large number of our coevals were cut off, but we were spared. To us, and to our fond friends, it was an evidence of the strength of our constitutions, perhaps; of the great vigor of our bodies, and of their peculiar powers of endurance. In later years, too, death has entered our neighborhood in the form of malignant fevers, contagious disorders, and deadly pestilence, and cut off our neighbors and friends; but had no power over us. Others died, and we lived. The plague comes not nigh unto us, or, if it does, we survive its assaults. A thousand fall at our side, and ten thousand at our right hand, but we

escape.

This very fact, therefore, that we have passed through so many dangers, and overcome so many assaults of disease, increases vastly our confidence in the vitality of our physical system. We learn to laugh at danger, whether from disaster or disease. We become bold and fearless. We journey from place to place, and no harm befals us. Others are killed, but we are unharmed. The soldier who survives the battle-field; the sailor who survives the loss of his ship and its crew; the traveller who survives the wreck of a train of cars; and all, in short, who have been exposed to great peril, without damage to their own life or limbs, are apt to be hardened against the ordinary dangers to which they are subjected, and to look upon themselves as the possessors of a

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