Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise,
No unison have they with our Creator’s praise.”
“This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief,” is announced as his text.
Such a sermon I never heard before; such an one I am afraid I shall never hear again. His voice, at first weak and tremulous, strengthens as he progresses with his subject. His eye burns with a new lustre; his frame becomes more erect, his features kindle with animation, as with pathetic eloquence he dwells on Christ’s mission to this sin-stained world of ours. And then, his invitation to those who know Him not. How simple, how sublime, how earnest! His whole heart is full of the deepest emotion struggling for utterance. As he looks anxiously on the waiting congregation, and in accents of melting tenderness, says, of whom I am chief! the hot blood rushes unbidden to my face, and the briny tear trickles unconsciously down my cheek.
I shall never forget that Sabbath, that sermon, that minister. They will go with me to my grave. When I am earnestly engaged in other pursuits, ever and anon visions of them flit across my mind, and awaken emotions of the most delightful nature.
THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN’S DEATH-CHAMBER.
“Why lament the Christian dying?
Why indulge in tears or gloom?