Who is so hardened in iniquity as to hear these threats without trembling, ignorant, as he must be, what moment the thunderbolt of God’s judgement may descend upon his guilty head? Can any of you doubt the purity or truth of that fountain whence these terrible assurances flow?—Suppose it should so happen, that the unembodied spirit of some departed friend were this night permitted to appear before you;—some one who had been the bosom companion of your earliest youth, before the fair blossoms of innocence were blasted and consumed by the pestilential breath of iniquity: or suppose the apparition of a father, mother, sister, brother, or husband, whose death was occasioned by your undutiful, graceless, or ungrateful behaviour, should present itself to your imagination, and assure you, in a voice of thunder, that a life of sin tends to misery on earth, and endless torments after death; would not such a visitation make a deep impression on your minds, and a total change in your lives? I really fear that with some of you it would not; for, if you will not believe the word of God, we are assured, “You would not believe, though one rose from the dead[[17]].”
Were it in the power of eloquence to pourtray, or could fancy represent, the horrors of that gloomy dungeon which is prepared for the punishment of condemned souls, “where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched[[18]];” where a single ray of joy will never be permitted to illumine the dark abode of the hopeless captive; where the wrath and indignation of a justly offended God will burn for time everlasting, without consuming the wretched sufferer; could any power of human language bring these things fairly before the imagination, the picture would be too shocking for the contemplation even of the most callous depravity. Should any of you give this tremendous situation a moment’s serious thought, you would surely be induced to renounce sin for ever.
In the foregoing observations I have endeavoured to address myself to sinners in general; but I have a few remarks to offer, which apply peculiarly to yourselves. Respecting the errors which have led to your present misfortunes I shall be silent. There are few or none of us, on taking a retrospective glance of life, but will perceive many wonderful instances of God’s goodness, many unmerited mercies. This, perhaps, some of you are unable to recognise, or unwilling to acknowledge, erroneously imagining that, because sin and folly have subjected you to disgrace and punishment, all the other favours of Heaven are withheld. But, my friends, we ought not to forget the many innumerable blessings and privileges we are still permitted to enjoy. We ought to be earnest in thanksgiving to the Author of all mercies, for bearing with our infirmities so long, and granting us time for repentance.
I cannot avoid reminding you of the great advantages you have enjoyed since you came to this ship: the means of grace are of inexpressible value, and I think you have had them in great abundance. The Scriptures have been constantly read and expounded to you according to the best of my ability; the utmost facility and encouragement have been held out to every one of you to persevere in religious worship; and all the avenues to vice and immorality have been guarded with vigilant care. Whenever we are visited with the dispensations of Heaven, we may rest assured that it is for wise purposes; and in the afflictions which you are now enduring, the warning hand of Divine Providence has been obviously stretched forth. Let me now ask you, What influence have all these had upon your minds? Are you more enlightened? Are your affections more raised from the world, and fixed on your Father in heaven? Have you ever, at the close of a day, or the end of a week, examined your own hearts to ascertain whether you had broken any of those cruel chains by which you were so fatally bound to iniquity? Believe me, my friends, frequent self-examination is of infinite value. It will stimulate you to acts of virtue, and insensibly lead to repentance, without which you cannot advance a single step towards a merciful Redeemer. Let it be engraven upon your minds, that in proportion as your opportunities of salvation have been numerous, so will your condemnation be grievous, if you allow them to pass unimproved and unheeded. Remember that the doors of mercy will not always be open. Oh! let me admonish you to draw near to God while he has promised to be gracious. The parable of the Fig-tree is wonderfully applicable in the present case[[19]]: “A certain man had a fig-tree planted in his vineyard, and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he to the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig-tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbreth it the ground?” In this you may observe that God marks attentively how long we have been unprofitable and unfruitful. The fig-tree evidently had reference to sinners, who for a certain time disregarded the means of grace, and obstinately resisted his frequent invitations; which induced him at length to direct that the tree should be cut down, that is, that those sinners should be destroyed.
I said, in a former part of this discourse, that your situation was peculiar; it does indeed differ widely from that of most persons to whom divines have had opportunities of addressing the consoling doctrines of Jesus Christ. You have now bid adieu to your native land, the pleasures of which most of you must make up your minds to relinquish for ever. It is indeed very natural that the land which gave us birth, the spot where we first beheld the light of Heaven, should long be remembered with tenderness the most endearing. That we should cherish the finest feelings of affection for our native land, is directed by a great and irresistible law of nature, which was first implanted in our breasts by the hand of the Creator himself; and I can easily fancy the emotions that must swell your hearts, when the fond recollection of youthful joys, and innocent pleasures, returns upon your memory. To be thus cut off from your country, relations, friends, and acquaintances, is indeed a heavy affliction; and if your hope be placed on nothing above this earth, I pity you from my soul: but, if you can repose on the promises of God, and seek refuge in the merits of his blessed Son, our Redeemer, the proudest individual in this world has cause to envy you.
I think enough is comprised in the foregoing observations, to deter all rational beings from the commission of crime, and thereby exposing themselves to the vengeance of that awful Majesty that can crush them in an instant. Before I quit this subject, it may be expected that I mention a few of the motives that ought to incite us to virtue. These are so obvious, even to the most superficial observer, that it is hardly possible for any one who thinks at all, to hesitate which is to be chosen in preference, vice or virtue—happiness or misery. A good life is the surest pledge of a happy death. The promises of God are not less encouraging to the righteous, than disheartening to the wicked. In the 3d chapter and 33d verse of Proverbs, we read, “The curse of the Lord is in the house of the wicked, but he blesseth the habitation of the just.” Again, of the same 13th chapter, and 21st verse, “Evil pursueth sinners: but to the righteous, good shall be repaid.” The faith of a righteous man drawing towards the close of life, is beautifully expressed in the 23d Psalm, 4th and following verses. The Psalmist, reposing securely under the shelter of divine protection, says, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” By the Scripture term faith, I understand the inspired writers to mean, that a sinner, after forsaking the corruptions of sin and the flesh, and steadily persevering in the course of virtue and obedience, which the Christian religion points out, shall place entire reliance in the mediation of Christ, for pardon of his offences, and acceptance with God.
It might here very properly be asked, whether you ever knew of any one who, having led a virtuous life, had cause to repent of it at the hour of death? But, on the contrary, have you not all seen many flying to God in the hour of sickness and keen affliction, as the only certain source whence the true penitent may always derive consolation? Even in this life the righteous man has cause to believe that the blessing of Heaven will be extended to him. This expectation is confirmed to him by the assurance of the Psalmist, who says, in the 37th Psalm, 23d and following verses, “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.” In the 16th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, 22d and succeeding verses, we have a wonderful instance of God’s providence, in the protection and deliverance of two of his servants, which I consider highly deserving of your notice: “And the multitude rose up against them; and the magistrates rent off their clothes, and commanded to beat them. And when they had laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the jailor to keep them safely; who having received such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks. And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one’s bands were loosed. And the keeper of the prison awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the prison doors open, he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled. But Paul cried out with a loud voice, saying, Do thyself no harm; for we are all here. Then he called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved? And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.”
Would my time admit of making further extracts from Scripture, I could fill a multitude of pages with accounts of the loving-kindness and patient forbearance continually exercised by God towards his creatures; but the Bible is in the hands of you all, and I earnestly entreat you to make yourselves acquainted with the salutary and cheering precepts which you will find inculcated in every line of that sacred volume. It abounds in consolations with which the thirsty soul of the weary traveller, who is seeking salvation, may be feasted and refreshed. The careful perusal of this most excellent book is not only granted to us as a privilege, but God enjoins it as a duty: He says, in the Gospel according to St. John[[20]], “Search the Scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.”
I fear I have already trespassed too long on your patience; but I feel a resistless impulse to give you a brief account of the dying moments of two persons with whom I was acquainted, and from which, beyond all doubt, the most impressive moral lesson may be learned. I select these from a great many similar cases which came under my observation in the course of professional avocation in various parts of the world.
These men through life professed sentiments very different from each other; and at the awful hour of dissolution, their feelings were indeed very opposite. They were both snatched away in the prime of life, one being twenty-four, and the other twenty-seven years old. A long and disinterested friendship with the former, induced him to request my attendance professionally; but all human skill was vain: the cold hand of death had seized him. Never, in my life, did I see the cheering effects of a religious life more strongly exemplified than on this occasion. His wife, his mother, and his five sisters, with myself, were present. Observing his female relations in tears, he requested them to come near, and, after a little pause, addressed them in nearly the following words: “Beloved friends, I perceive with regret the anguish of your souls; I say regret, because I had promised myself nothing but tranquillity and happiness, while the partition is breaking down that separates me from my God. I am entering on my last journey, which, so far from being terrible, is inviting and delightful.” A paroxysm of pain here interrupted the interesting account, and for a minute he lay apparently insensible; but opening his eyes again, with a placid smile, he said, “I feel the infirmity of nature, but my sense of pain is lost in my ardent hope of salvation. I have heartily repented of all my sins, and firmly believe, through the benignant mercies of my God, and the redeeming merits of my blessed Saviour, I shall in a few minutes be numbered with the chosen of God. O my wife! my mother! my beloved sisters! I beseech you not to mourn my departure. I feel happiness unspeakable opening on my soul, as it bursts from this wretched tenement.” Then grasping my hand, he faintly exclaimed, “Ah, my friend! virtue is its own reward. See the effect of a religious life, and the blessed composure of a dying Christian:” he continued, “My lamp is nearly out; but, blessed be God, I feel that it has not burned in vain, O Lord God! excuse my impatience, I am ready to obey thy call, and anxious to receive thy promised rest.” Here his voice failed,—his tongue faltered,—and his spirit took its flight to the bosom of its Father in heaven.