“Paine could rail and belie the supernaturalism of the Bible, like an incarnate demon, and then indorse all the supernaturalism of the most stupid pagan mythology, in his patriotic and poetic productions, which he published to the world. And that mind must be strangely out of balance naturally, or wretchedly perverted, which could bow to the authority of Volney’s ‘specter,’ or Paine’s paganism,—the pure creations of fictions and superstition,—and then reject the Bible because it demands faith in that which is not familiar to the senses.
“It is generally true that those who become decided skeptics take that most hopeless position, because they have become so depraved or perverted that they feel the want of an infidel theory to afford them a license and quiet, in their chosen course. It was not so with Mr. Miller. In the days of his greatest devotion to deistical sentiments, he desired something better. He had his difficulties with the Bible under its current interpretations, and he tells us what these difficulties were. But a man like him could never be made to believe it consistent or safe to abandon the Bible, unless something more worthy of his trust were first put in its place. And such a condition must secure to that matchless book a certain and permanent supremacy. This was Mr. Miller’s safety.
“But if the poison which had infused its taint into the system did not appear as a loathsome blotch upon the surface, its victim was not only kept away from the sole remedy, but that remedy was treated by him with an afflicting and dangerous levity. This was now the painful feature of his case. Once it was not so. When he was a mere boy—‘between the years of seven and ten’—as he tells us, a sense of the plague of his heart and of his lost condition caused the deepest concern in reference to his future prospects. He spent much time in trying to invent some plan whereby he might find acceptance with God. He tried the common and most natural course, in such a state of mind, that of being ‘very good.’ ‘I will do nothing wrong, tell no lies, and obey my parents,’ he thought. But his mind was still unsettled and unhappy.
“Good works are very proper, but they can never be accepted as the price of pardon and redemption. He thought, too, as all do in the same state of feeling, that something might be effected by sacrifice. ‘I will give up the most cherished objects I possess.’ But this also failed. There is only ‘one offering’ that can avail. In that, every sinner must rest his hope and plea, or remain without peace with God. The experience of Mr. Miller’s childhood made him thoughtful and serious, if it did not result in the attainment of this inward sense of peace. Under his inward conflicts and apprehensions of worldly sorrow, when a young man (in 1803), he poured out his soul to ‘religion’ in this touching strain:—
“‘Come, blest religion, with thy angel’s face,
Dispel this gloom, and brighten all the place;
Drive this destructive passion from my breast;
Compose my sorrows, and restore my rest;
Show me the path that Christian heroes trod,
Wean me from earth, and raise my soul to God!’