And now the atonement is perfected-provision is made for the forgiveness of the sins of men-the throne of divine mercy is accessible-millions of souls are redeemed from guilt and wretchednessthe fear of death is taken away-and through this gloomy passage is the entrance to everlasting blessedness. My brethren, what a glorious consummation is this! How animating to us should be the contemplation of it-how deserving of our grateful commemoration! Jesus Christ has finished the work of our redemption. He has made satisfaction to the divine justice. By him, we who believe shall be justified from all things. And at how dear a rate has he purchased for us an exemption from condemnation. Though rich, for our sakes he became poor. Although in the form of God, and deeming it no robbery to be equal with God, he appeared in the form of a servant. He was despised and rejected of men, and it pleased the Lord to bruise him. Yet was he wounded not for his own, but for our iniquities. But the season of darkness has past. He possesses again the glory which he had with the Father before all worlds. He has also opened a way for us into the most holy place by his blood; he that was dead is alive and shall live forever more with all sufficient power to save. To-day we are to attend on the commemoration of his sufferings; our hearts will be filled with sorrow;

but it is a sorrow which shall be turned into joy; for our minds may pass from the Saviour's humiliation to his exaltation; we may meditate on the inestimable blessings consequent upon his atonement, and we may rejoice in the hope of beholding his face in the kingdom of light and joy above.

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SERMON XXV.

A FUNERAL DISCOURSE.

Occasioned by the death of Thomas Taylor, Jun., Columbia, 1825.

PSALM cii. 24-27.

I said, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days: thy years are throughout all generations. Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the work of thy hands. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed: but thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.

THE eternity of the Creator, when contrasted with the transitory and brief duration assigned to the works of his hands, furnishes an affecting subject of contemplation. The infinity of the one renders the insignificance of the other unspeakably more striking. And man, an intelligent part of God's workmanship, is so constituted as to apprehend and feel his immeasurable inferiority. When

we consider the Almighty as having existed forever, as having existed at the remotest period, of which we can possibly form a conception, as not growing old by the lapse of innumerable ages, and as necessarily continuing in all his glory and perfection through endless generations, we cannot avoid exclaiming, our days are but an handbreadth; our age is as nothing before him. Short, however, as is the term of human life, few attain its utmost limits; many perish on the threshold of existence; others are arrested in various stages of their progress, and some are left to perish from the exhaustion of a worn out constitution. It is a gloomy picture which is thus given. It is, however, conformed to truth. It must be always present to our remembrance; it is often presented to our actual view. Many hearts now bleed on account of one snatched from them in the bloom and vigor of youth. Since our last assembling together, death has appeared in an appalling form in this vicinity. One who was sometimes present in this congregation, with whom some of you were in the habit of an almost daily association, has been cut down, suddenly, in the midst of his days.

While thus contemplating what may be the doom of ourselves, it is natural for us to adopt the prayer of the Psalmist "O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days: thy years are throughout all generations."

In the course of the observations now to be offered to you, I shall consider the reasons why the doom contemplated in the prayer, is exceedingly afflictive to those who experience it, and why it is peculiarly distressing to those who contemplate it.

I shall inquire, why the being cut off in the midst of his days is often a mournful destiny to those who are called to encounter it.

1. It is so, in the first place, because the hopes and expectations of life are not realized; because the work of life is all unaccomplished. Every man delineates, in his own imagination, the earthly course which he is to run. It is characterized by hopes of enjoyment and purposes of action.

The sanguine temperament of youth loves to dwell on visions of future happiness; its vigor and restless activity impel to great and numerous undertakings, which its strong and often vain confidence doubts not may be surely and readily accomplished. When, therefore, we have done, or fruitlessly attempted to do, all that we originally intended, when we have reaped the joys which we anticipated, then, we are not, indeed, in every instance, satisfied. We may not be willing to die; but, there exists not those reasons for regretting that our days are cut short, there are not those motives to wish a prolongation of life, which we can imagine to exist under other circumstances. And such circumstances do distinguish the condition which we are