"Dying love her heart attracted,
Soon she felt its rising pow'r;
He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more."
"I scarcely know which to admire most," said Mrs. Stevens, "the air or the hymn itself; there is plaintive melancholy in the music which accords with my feelings, and an exquisite delicacy in some of the expressions of the hymn, which I greatly like. How touching the allusion to our former state of indifference and insensibility! How correct the beautiful reference to the moral efficacy of the Saviour's death in exciting sorrow for sin! But the last stanza, in my opinion, is the most soothing and consolatory—
'He who Mary thus affected,
Bids his mourners weep no more.'"
"It is a favourite hymn of mine," observed Mr. Lewellin; "and the last stanza, to which you refer, brings to my recollection the lines of Cowper:—
'But with a soul that ever felt the sting
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing.'
But no sorrow is so deep and pungent as that which the mind usually feels when pierced by the convictions of guilt; and yet there is a sacredness in the passion which distinguishes it from unmingled anguish or grief. When first excited, it often occasions deep mental depression; but when relief is obtained, by a clear perception of the way of salvation through faith in the death of Jesus Christ, it is turned into a spring of grateful joy."
"But the generality of professing Christians," said Miss Roscoe, "scornfully reject those religious sentiments which commence their moral operations by inflicting pain in the mind. They are religious, but their religious opinions are not permitted to excite either the passion of sorrow or of joy; and as soon as a person begins to feel what he believes, he is denounced a fanatic."
"Yes," replied Mr. Lewellin, "when a person begins to feel the moral efficacy of the truth, he is regarded by many as falling into a state of idiotcy, or rising to a pitch of frenzy. We may feel the charm of music, but not the charm of devotional sentiment; we may be depressed when we give offence to an endeared friend, but a recollection of our transgressions against our Father who is in heaven must occasion no regret; the imagination may be delighted by captivating scenery, but not with the sublime visions of future bliss. No! An excitement which takes its rise in such causes is considered by the semi-Christians of the present age as a certain indication of a disordered intellect or degenerated taste."
"The veil of ignorance," observed the Rev. Mr. Guion, "which is thrown over the mind of the unregenerate, renders them incapable of forming any clear perceptions of the nature or design of the gospel. They reduce the whole of religion to a human arrangement, which merely requires an external homage to an established formula; and conclude that after they have uttered the solemn responses of the Liturgy, listened to the sermon which the clergyman delivers, and taken the sacrament, they have discharged the whole of their duty towards God; and as they have no clear perceptions of revealed truth, they cannot have any powerful religious impressions. Their heart is as cold during the service as the marble slab which bears down to succeeding generations the names of the deceased of past ages; and as they never feel deep sorrow for sin, nor ardent love for an unseen Redeemer, we ought not to be astonished if they treat with contempt the excitement of such emotions in the breast of others."
"Certainly not," replied Miss Roscoe; "I very well recollect being much surprised when I accidentally heard a little girl singing the following verse of a hymn, which I now much admire:—