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SERMON VI.

THE PARABLE OF NATHAN.

66

2 Sum. rii. 7.

AND NATHAN SAID TO DAVId, thou art THE MAN."

THE narrative with which these words are connected, unfolds the foulest transaction in the history of David. Having fixed his affections upon Bathsheba, the wife of one of his officers, he determined on obtaining her hand in marriage, and, with this object in view, cruelly plotted against the life of Uriah her husband. An opportunity soon presented itself of accomplishing his wicked purpose. In a battle between David's army and that of the Amorites, Uriah was, by the King's command, placed in an unprotected and perilous station, where it was scarcely possible that he should escape destruction. The cruel and dastardly plan succeeded, and the widow of Uriah became the wife of David. The displeasure of Heaven was excited against the guilty monarch, and Nathan the Prophet was commissioned to reprove him. The holy man conveyed his reproof in the following parable: "There were two

men in one city, the one rich and the other poor. The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds: but the poor man had nothing save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought and nourished up, and it grew up together with him and with his children: it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter. And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him, but took the poor man's lamb and dressed it for the man that was come unto him.” David, upon hearing this simple tale of oppression and cruelty, was highly indignant; his "anger was greatly kindled against " the rich delinquent," and he said to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die; and he shall restore the lamb four fold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity. And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man. 'Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, I anointed thee king over Israel, and I delivered thee out of the hand of Saul, and I gave thee thy master's house, and thy master's wives into thy bosom, and gave thee the house of Israel and of Judah and if that had been too little, I would moreover have given unto thee such and such things. Wherefore hast thou despised the commandment of the Lord, to do evil in his sight? Thou hast killed Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy wife."

The part of the narrative upon which I now proceed to make some plain remarks, is that in which the self-ignorance and self-delusion of David are so manifest. Nathan, in his reproof of the King, had described

a case of cruel injustice, not unlike to that of which David had been guilty; yet the conscience of the monarch smote him not. So little did he suspect that the guilt of him of whom the prophet spoke was his own guilt, that he passionately declared, "As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die." What, then, must have been his sorrow, mortification and surprise, when the intrepid prophet exclaimed, "Thou art the man." To his honour, however, it is recorded, that he bitterly bewailed his crime, and sincerely repented. When he clearly saw the nature and heinousness of his conduct, he denied not that the parable of Nathan applied closely to himself; his guilty conscience told him that the prophet was right in denouncing him as a cruel and treacherous offender, and he hesitated not to declare, "I have sinned against the Lord." Happy those, who have the courage and ingenuousness, however late, to acknowledge their offences; still happier they, who earlier and more clearly see and confess them; and happiest of all, if any such there be, whose conscience never whispers, "Thou art the man."

I. This passage in the history of David may suggest to us the importance of being intimately acquainted with our own characters.

Liable as we all are, from the frailty of our nature, unconsciously to contract bad habits, and to commit errors, in which, at the time, we see no great evil; it becomes an important duty, frequently to scrutinize our characters and conduct, with an express view to the detection of our errors, and the amendment of our hearts and lives. It is true, that conscience is seldom, so dull as not to inform us when we are guilty of crimes of extreme

turpitude; but the habits in which these crimes most commonly originate, are of gradual formation, and pass with little or no remonstrance from the voice of conscience: but they pass on, nevertheless, to strengthen and confirm those evil tendencies, against which it may be ultimately almost impossible to prevail, and the direful consequences of which no one can pretend to limit. Thus we may insensibly acquire habits, which will lead us, without compunction, to commit crimes of no ordinary magnitude; and hence it is of the highest importance, to mark and check the earliest disposition towards evil, while the eye of conscience is clear, and while her gentlest whisper will be distinctly heard and promptly obeyed. But there are some faults which we are accustomed to call minor faults, and, even though they are habitually practised, to consider almost undeserving of reprehension or notice, because, as we think, it is not likely they will ever be attended by any very serious or public consequences. Nevertheless, these little faults do often more seriously affect a man's general acceptableness as a member of society, than a single error of darker hue, into which he may have fallen in a moment of inadvertency and moral forgetfulness. Yet, if we can acquit ourselves of a participation in all those crimes which the public eye notices, and the public voice condemns, we think ourselves immaculate, and are blind to those every day faults, if we may call them so, of temper and demeanor, which greatly diminish our usefulness, respectability, and acceptableness in those private and domestic scenes, where, after all, the influence of the characters of most men is principally exercised and felt. We hear with horror of acts of ty

ranny, injustice, and oppression; we weep over tales of pity; we kindle with indignation at the recital of deeds of cruelty; we rail at the slave-master, or the despotic monarch, who rules the creatures of his power with a rod of iron; while if conscience were true to her charge, she might perhaps bid many of us "homeward look, and melt with ruth," and exclaim, "Thou art the man." She might tell us that our temper was haughty, overbearing, despotic and unkind; that, as far as circumstances permitted, we exercised an authority little short of tyranny and oppression; that we treated our children with austerity and harshness, and regarded our servants as slaves; that, while in the common intercourses of general society, we could be cheerful, courteous, and kind, still in the place where courtesy and kindness would be most prized and are most obligatory upon us, we were habitually stern, neglectful or morose. In what does the despotic head of a family differ from the despotic head of a state, except that his power is more limited; yet, perhaps, he is the loudest in condemning acts of kingly tyranny, suspecting neither that he thereby condemns himself, nor that he would doubtless be the perpetrator of the same acts, were his fellow despot and he to exchange situations. But how seldom is this resemblance noticed; how are we and the world deceived in our judgment of human character. If in the circles of gaiety, or at the social table, we can display those courteous and convivial qualities, which are generally considered a sufficient passport to what is called good society, and are too often received as a substitute for more solid recommendations, the world asks not what our conduct is in the sanctuary of home;

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