John Angell James

You will die this year!

This is what the Lord says: "I am going to remove you from
the face of the earth. You will die this year!" Jerem. 28:16

This may be the case with any one of the readers of the
present address, and therefore every one of them should
seriously reflect upon such a possibility.

This year you may die—for you must die some time—and
that time may as likely come this year as any other.

This year you may die—because you have no revelation
from God that you shall not.

This year you may die—because you are ever and
everywhere exposed to the causes that take away life.

This year you may die—because life is the most
uncertain thing in the world, and you have not
the assurance of a single moment beyond the present.

This year you may die—for it is all but certain that
many of the readers of this address will die this year
—and why not you?

This year you may die, although there is now no
indication of approaching death; for many during
the past year have been cut off, and many during
the present year will die, who may now seem very
likely to live—and why not you?

How many, then, are the probabilities that before
next new year's day, your place will be vacant in
the family, at the scene of your daily occupation,
and in the house of God! Ought not this to induce
a habit of solemn, pensive, devout, practical,
profitable, reflection. Bring home the thought. Take
up the supposition, and say, "Yes, it is possible, by
no means improbable, that I may die—this year!"

Are you really prepared for your latter end, by being
a partaker of genuine faith, the new birth, a holy life,
and a heavenly mind? Or are you a mere nominal
professor, having a name to live, while you are dead?
Do you recognize in yourselves, and do others see in
you, the marks of a state of grace? Put the question
to your own hearts, ask yourselves, "What am I? Am
I a spiritual, heavenly, humble servant of God? Am I
really crucified with Christ, dead to the world, ripening
for glory? Is there anything heavenly about me? Is my
temper sanctified, my walk consistent?"

Is your soul in that state in which you would desire
it to be found when death strikes? Are you, in your
devotional habits, your temper, your general behavior,
as you should be—with eternity so near? Would you
desire to die—just as you are now?

How many false professors will be unmasked this
year, and appear with astonishment and horror, as
self-deceivers, formalists, and hypocrites! How many
in reply to the plea, "Lord, Lord, I ate and drank in
your presence"—will hear the dreadful response,
"Depart from me, I never knew you!" and thus find
there is a way to the bottomless pit—from the
fellowship of the church! In whatever state you die
this year—that you will be forever! The seal of eternal
destiny will be put upon you! Your last words in time,
and your first in eternity, might be, "I must be what
I am—forever!"

The grand secret is about to be revealed, whether you
are a child of God—or a child of the devil! That next
moment after death—which imagination in vain attempts
to paint, is to arrive—and, waking up in eternity, you will
shout with rapture, "I am in heaven!"—or utter with a
shriek of despair, and surprise, the dreadful question,
"What! Am I in hell forever!"

Ever walking on the precipice of eternity!

Reader! Did you ever, in serious moments, and in
a serious manner, ask such questions as these:

What am I?

Where did I come from?

Who sent me here?

What is my business in this world?

What is to become of me when I die,
and leave this present world?

Does not reason press such inquiries on your attention?
You find yourself in existence, possessing a rational soul;
you know you cannot remain here long, and must soon
go and lie down in the grave with your forefathers. But
does your history end there? Is there no world beyond
the tomb? There is! You are not only mortal, but immortal.

Immortality! What a word! What a thing! Did you ever
ponder the idea? A deathless creature—with an everlasting
existence! Such is your soul. You are ever walking on
the precipice of eternity—and any moment you may
fall over it!

Eternal duration alone, apart from the consideration
whether it is to be spent in torment or in bliss—is a
solemn idea. You are to live somewhere—forever!
Should this matter be allowed to lie forgotten among
the thousand unconsidered subjects? Should it be
treated with indifference, excite no reflection, produce
no concern? Ought you not to be concerned? Going on
step by step to eternity—should you not pause, ponder,
and say, "Where am I going?"

For a person to realize that he is immortal, and yet to
care nothing about where he is going to spend eternity,
is the most monstrous inconsistency in the universe!

Can any man know . . .
how holy God is,
how evil a thing sin is,
how great a blessing salvation is,
how glorious heaven is,
how dreadful hell is,
how solemn eternity is,
and not not be concerned about his eternal soul?

Astounding spectacle! A rational creature, anxious
about a thousand things, yet not concerned about
the eternal soul! Agitated, perplexed, inquisitive
about little matters of mere passing interest, which
the next day will be forgotten; and yet neglecting
that great subject, which swallows them all up, as
the ocean does the drops of rain that fall upon it.
Your health, your property, your prospects, your
friends, anything, everything, but your soul, and
your soul's salvation, seizes and carries you away!

Did you ever weigh the import of that most awful
of all words—hell?

Death is a dreadful monosyllable! From the cold touch
of that 'last enemy' all rational beings recoil with horror.

But death is only as the dark, heavy, iron-covered door
of the prison, which opens to, while it conceals, the sights
and sounds of the dungeon. Oh that first moment after
death! what disclosures, what scenes, what feelings
come with that moment! That moment must come—
and it may come soon!

Immorality, whether public or private, if it spreads through
society, and especially through the rising generation, will be
a canker to all that is great, glorious, and free, in this noble
nation; and England's flag, floating so loftily and proudly,
will be dragged down into the mud, and trampled
underfoot by a swinish generation!

Be thankful, be humble, be consistent, be watchful. There
is no logic so convincing, no rhetoric so persuasive, as the
power of uniform and conspicuous excellence. Add to
the substance of your moral worth, the brightest polish of
an amiable disposition, and all the kindnesses of life. Be
courteous, generous, benevolent, cheerful, active and useful.

How far people may go

It is amazing, how far people may go, and not
be really converted. They may have many and deep
religious impressions, many and strong convictions;
they may have much knowledge of their sinful state,
and a heavy and burdensome sense of their guilt;
they may look back upon their past lives and conduct
with much remorse; they may be sorry for their sins;
and may desire to be saved from the consequences of
them, being much alarmed at the prospect of the
torments of hell.

Was not Judas convinced of sin, and did not he weep
bitterly and confess his sin, and was not he filled with
remorse? Was not Cain convinced of sin? I have known
many people, who at one time appeared to be more
deeply impressed with a sense of sin, and to have
stronger convictions and remorse, than many who
were truly converted—and yet they went back again
to the world and sin. Nor is a detestation of sin always
a true sign of conversion. Unconverted people may even
wish to be delivered from the fetters of those corrupt lusts,
which have long held them fast; for there are few notorious
sinners, who do not frequently hate their sins, and wish and
purpose to reform. Yes, people may sometimes desire to
be delivered from all sin; at least they may desire it in a
certain way, because they think that it is necessary in
order to be saved from hell.

And as conviction of sin may exist without conversion,
so may religious joy. The stony ground hearers "heard
the word, and with joy received it," and yet they had
"no root in themselves, and endured only for a while."
The Galatians had great blessedness at one time, which
the apostle was afraid had come to nothing. Multitudes
rejoiced in Christ when he made His entrance into
Jerusalem, who afterwards became His enemies. Many
take great pleasure in hearing sermons, and going to
prayer-meetings, and singing hymns, and frequenting
church meetings, who are not truly born of the Spirit.
So also do many people leave off sinful actions, and give
up many wicked practices, and seem to be quite altered
for a time, and yet, by their subsequent history, show
that they are not converted.

There may be considerable zeal for the outward concerns
of religion, as we see in Jehu, without any right state of
mind towards God. Many have had great confidence of
the reality of their conversion; they have had dreams
and spiritual impressions, as they suppose—and yet
too plainly proved, by their after-conduct, that they
were under an awful delusion. But it would be almost
endless to point out the various ways in which men
deceive themselves, as to their state. Millions who
have been somewhat, yes, much concerned about
religion, have never been born again of the Spirit.
Perhaps as many are lost by self-deception, as by
any other means. Hell resounds with the groans
and lamentations of souls which perished through
the power of deceived hearts!

We need to re-study our Bibles

We need to re-study our Bibles, and learn
what real Christianity is—how holy, how heavenly,
how spiritual, how loving, how morally and socially
excellent a matter it is.

What separation from the world,
what devoutness,
what intense earnestness,
what conscientiousness,
what enlarged benevolence,
what unselfishness,
what zealous activity,
what unearthliness,
what seeds of celestial virtue—
our profession of godliness implies.

Having examined this, and obtained an impressive
idea of it, let us survey our own state, and ask if
we do not need, and ought not to seek, more of the
prevalence of such a piety as this, which, in fact, is
primitive Christianity.

Is our spiritual condition what it ought to be, what
it might be, what it must be—to fulfill our high
commission as the salt of the earth and the light of
the world? A Christian, acting up in some tolerable
measure to his profession, walking in the holiness
of the Gospel—is the strongest and most emphatic
testimony for God to our dark revolted world, next
to that of Christ himself

I would ask

I would ask, what there is among you . . .
of 'living by faith';
of the spiritual and heavenly mind;
of the victory over the world;
of devotional habits;
of Bible meditation;
of the practice of self-denial;
of Christian charity;
of the meekness and gentleness of Christ;
of the stamp of immortality;
of the anticipation of eternity;
of the patient waiting for the coming of our Savior,
all of which are enjoined in the word of God, and
implied in our profession of Christianity

Do we not see, almost everywhere, instead of these things,
a superficial, secular, and temporizing kind of piety; a piety
without any depth of feeling, any power of principle, or any
distinctness of character; a cold, spiritless orthodoxy, united
with a heartless morality; a mere exemption from gross vice
and fashionable amusements; an observance of forms and
decencies—but a lamentable destitution of love, of Christian
temper, and tenderness of conscience?

Enter the social spheres of professing Christians, listen to their
conversation, witness their entertainments, observe their spirit.
How frivolous, how worldly, how different from what might be
expected from redeemed sinners, from the heirs of immortality,
from the expectants of everlasting glory!

Follow them home to their domestic circle, and behold their
pervading temper—how irascible, how worldly, how destitute
of spirituality! Witness the cold and lifeless formality—the late,
hurried, irregular, and undevout seasons of their family devotions,
together with the shameful neglect of the pious instruction of
their children! Witness the shortness and inconstancy of their
times for private prayer, and think how little communion with
God, how little study of the Scriptures, how little self-improvement,
can be carried on during such fragments of time, snatched from
the greedy and all-devouring passion of earthly-mindedness!

The spirit of prayer is expiring amidst the ashes of its own dead
forms, and the Bible reduced, in many houses of professing
Christians, to the degradation of a mere article of furniture,
placed there for show—but not for use.

Who will deny that this is but too correct a representation
of modern piety; or admitting it, deny the need in which our
churches stand of a revival?

Fearfully secularized

If asked to point out the specific and prevailing sin of the
church in the present day, I cannot hesitate to reply—a
prevailing worldliness of mind, heart, and conduct. The
church is fearfully secularized in the spirit and temper
of her members. The love of the world is become the
master-passion, before which other and holier affections
have grown dim and weak.

The determination, as well as the concern, to be rich, has
crept into the church! Those who profess to have overcome
the world by faith, appear almost as eager as others, in all
schemes for getting wealth, and by almost any means.

This worldly spirit is also seen in the general habits
and tastes of professing Christians.
Their style of living,
their entertainments,
their associations,
their amusements,
their conversation—evince . . .
a conformity to the world,
a minding of earthly things,
a disposition to adapt themselves to the world around,
a desire to seek their happiness from objects of sense,
rather than from those of faith—which proves the extent
to which a secular worldly spirit is dominating the spirit
of piety in the church.

Sickness and disease

Christians, like others, are exposed to the attacks of
sickness and disease. "Wearisome nights, and months
of vanity, are appointed to them." But their religion
follows them into the sick chamber, and is their nurse,
their companion, and their comforter—giving patience
in the day, and songs even in the night. How soothing
are its consolations, how pleasant are its reflections,
how bright are its anticipations! It speaks to the sufferers
of the sources of their sorrows, and tells them that they all
proceed from their Father in heaven! It reminds them of . . .
His unerring wisdom,
His infinite love,
His unfailing fidelity,
His gracious presence in the scene of woe,
His merciful design in every chastisement of His hand,
the blissful outcome in which He will cause all to terminate.

They can bear confinement, for God is with them. Their
hours are not made heavy and irksome by the recollection
of the mirthful scenes from which they are cut off, and the
amusements to which they have no longer access. Their
entertainment has come with them; they have brought the
cup of their pleasure with them, and they can drink it amidst
the languor of disease, as a refreshing cordial, or an
exhilarating draught.

Your idol?

What is it, that you are looking to and depending upon for happiness? Is HEALTH your idol, and the source of your happiness? How soon may we be smitten with disease—and doomed to wearisome nights and months of vanity in the chamber of sickness. Will riches smooth the pillow of sickness? Will the counting money or the surveying estates, when it can be done only in imagination, enchant the sleepless hours, and cheer the long sad days of ceaseless pain? Will the recollection of the parties you have attended, the pleasures you have enjoyed but cannot any longer enjoy—enliven the gloom of the solitary chamber? Will the sound of carriages at midnight, taking the votaries of pleasure to or from the scenes of fashionable resort, impart to your feverish frame any relief, or to your distressed mind any comfort? Oh, what, in that long, dark season of trial which may be coming upon you, will the pleasures and possessions of earth do for you?

What is it, that you are looking to and depending upon for happiness? Is WEALTH your idol, and the source of your happiness? How justly is it called in Scripture, "uncertain riches!" and "deceitful mammon!" "Riches," said the wise man, "make to themselves wings and fly away as an eagle towards heaven." And is it not most strange folly to stake your happiness on that which, like an uncaged bird, may at any moment be upon the wing, and soaring where we cannot follow? What changes have we witnessed in the circumstances of men; what rapid falls from wealth to poverty! How many do we know who, by those vicissitudes which are ever going on in this commercial country, and in this speculating age, have descended from the sunny heights of prosperity—to dwell the remainder of their days in the gloomy valley of poverty below! This may be your case. Your treasure, like the volatile quicksilver, may slip through your fingers when you think you hold it firmest. What will you do for comfort then? Your friends, like summer birds, will migrate when your winter has come upon you! You will no longer be able to have parties—and who invites the child of misfortune to theirs? Those who once shared your hospitalities, will forget you in the season of your humiliation, for your presence will no longer grace their circle. What, then, will you do, when the world frowns—and you have no one else to smile upon you?

What is it, that you are looking to and depending upon for happiness? Is PLEASURE your idol, and the source of your happiness? How soon may you be unfitted by sickness or change of circumstances for this, and have the sweet and intoxicating cup dashed from your lips! How soon may your place be vacant at the resort of the mirthful and the fashionable! And then with what melancholy feelings will you contrast the amusements of the ball-room, the concert, or the party—with the abode of poverty or disease!

What is it, that you are looking to and depending upon for happiness? Are FRIENDS your idol, and the source of your happiness? Alas! alas! how soon may 'the spoiler' enter your earthly paradise, and convert that joyous scene into a desert, by the death of the most endeared objects of your affection! What! depend for your supreme felicity on the frail continuance of a beating pulse! Death enters, not only into the scenes of discord and strife, but also into those of the purest love and sweetest harmony—and, disregarding the entreaties of marital or parental love, bears off the object to which, more than all the universe besides, you looked for your bliss!

Where, then, will you find satisfaction? The finite has failed—and the infinite God has not been sought! The human and earthly has been taken away—and the divine and heavenly has not been acquired. That one death has covered earth with sackcloth, and has thrown a pall over all that it contains. Is happiness, then, to be found amidst such uncertainties?

The springs of true happiness

The springs of true happiness gush out from the
foot of the cross! But how little do many who profess
to have drank the living water, appear as if they had
been at the crystal stream, and were satisfied with it!

Mere 'religious professors' do not desire this spiritual joy.
They certainly would have some kind of enjoyment; they
desire to be gratified. But it is only the joy . . .
of friendship,
of health,
of success in business,
of a comfortable home, and
a quiet fire-side that they long for.
They do not desire . . .
the peace of believing,
the pleasure of communing with God,
the delight of holiness and hope,
the felicity of a sense of pardoned sin,
the gratification arising from the exercises of devotion

Oh wonderful, ineffable, inconceivable exchange!

The SUDDEN DEATH of a real Christian, is an
unspeakable blessing. Such a one is spared . . . .
the languors of sickness,
the racking pain,
the anguish sometimes almost intolerable,
and all the other terrible harbingers of death protracted
through wearisome nights and months of vanity! To be
exempt from the heart-rending pangs of separation at
the last faltering adieu; to be saved from those gloomy
apprehensions which sometimes arise in the minds of the
strongest and holiest of believers when contemplating
the portals of the tomb; to be carried through the iron
gates of death before we knew we were drawing near
to them; to wake up in a moment, as from a dream, at
the sound of the seraphim's song—and exchange in an
instant of time the sights of earthly objects for the
glorious realities of heaven—and the society of friends
below for the innumerable company of angels; to find
ourselves suddenly in the presence of God and the Lamb,
and see the smile of welcome upon the countenance of
the Savior—and with a burst of astonishment and
gratitude to exclaim,
"And is this heaven? and am I there?
How short the road! How swift the flight!"

Oh wonderful, ineffable, inconceivable exchange!

"In vain our fancy strives to paint
The moment after death,
The glories that surround the saint,
When he resigns his breath!

"Thus much, and this is all we know—
They are completely blessed,
Are done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Savior rest!"

Sudden death to a real Christian—is one mighty bound
from earth to heaven! Sudden death to an unconverted
sinner—is one dreadful stumble into hell. Oh, unutterable
horror—to be surprised, overwhelmed, confounded in a
moment—by exchanging the pleasures, the friends, the
possessions, the prospects of earth—for those doleful
shades, where peace and hope can never dwell.

You, too, may die suddenly. Are you ready, quite prepared
by repentance towards God, faith in our Lord Jesus Christ,
and a holy life—for death—for speedy death—for sudden
death? Prepare to meet your God! Prepare for death, for
judgment and eternity! Prepare! Prepare!

The base cares and the petty enjoyments
of the present world

Sin is raging all around us!

Satan is busy in the work of destruction!

Men are dying!

Souls are every moment departing into eternity!

Hell is enlarging her mouth, and multitudes are
continually descending to torments which knows
no mitigation and no end!

Heaven expanding above us!

Hell yawning beneath us!

Eternity opening before us!

How astounding is it sometimes to ourselves, that,
favored with a certain, though distant, view of the
celestial city, living almost within the sight of its
glories and the sound of its music, the base cares
and the petty enjoyments of the present world
should have so much power over us, as to retard us
in our heavenward course, and make us negligent
and indolent, heedless and forgetful.

Time is short, life uncertain, death at hand, and
immortality is about to swallow up our existence
in eternal life—or eternal death!

True religion

True religion is . . .
a principle of the heart;
an element of the character;
the habit of thinking, feeling, and acting
aright in all our social relations;
the basis of every virtue;
the main prop of every excellence;
the fear of the Lord, by which men depart from evil;
faith working by love;
such a belief in the gospel of Christ, as leads
to a conformity to His example.

True religion, though founded on a belief of doctrines,
and nourished by the exercises of devotion—diffuses
its influence over the entire character of man.

True religion is the belief, the love, the worship,
the imitation of Jesus.

True religion is sound morality, animated and
sanctified by the spirit of true devotion to Christ.

True religion prescribes, not only homage to God,
but follows him into the domestic circle.

God has no speechless children!

Nothing seems too hard or too difficult for prayer
to do. Prayer has a kind of omnipotence; for it
moves the hand which moves all things!

Faith and prayer are the two arms by which
the soul hangs upon the neck of infinite Love,
and grasps the hand of omnipotent Power!

Prayer is the homage of a dependent creature
paid to the author of its being, and the source
of its happiness.

Prayer has a moral reflex influence on the soul
of him who presents it, making him the holier
by his own devotions.

Prayer is a relief and comfort to the troubled soul.

Prayer is the communion of the regenerated
soul with its Divine Parent.

Prayer is God's own instituted means of obtaining
blessings from Him, the Fountain of life.

Prayer must be sincere—we must really be
desirous to obtain the blessings we ask.

Prayer must be holy—for if we "regard iniquity
in our heart, the Lord will not hear us."

Prayer must be pious—seeking to obtain blessings,
not for our own gratification merely—but for God's glory.

Prayer must be importunate—for it is the effectual,
fervent prayer of a righteous man, that prevails.

Prayer must be submissive—asking only for what
it is God's will to bestow.

Prayer must be in love—for if our brother has anything
against us, we must first go and be reconciled to our brother.

Prayer must be reverent—for our God is a consuming fire.

Prayer must be humble—for we are base, and sinful,
and unworthy to lift up our eyes to heaven.

Prayer must be persevering—for men ought
always to pray, and not to faint.

Prayer must be particular—for generalities
mean little or nothing.

Prayer must be universal—entering into everything,
all the concerns of life, all the means of grace.

Prayer must be of all kinds—social, domestic,
private, spontaneous.

Prayer must be grateful—abounding in thanksgiving.

Prayer must be expectant—waiting and
watching for answers.

Prayer must be believing—we must ask in faith.

Prayer must be consistent with the Word of God
—we may ask for everything God has promised.

Our life is a bubble!

"What is your life? You are a mist that appears
for a little while and then vanishes!" James 4:14

Our world is a valley of tears. Our life is a bubble,
raised from those tears, inflated by sighs; which, after
floating a little while, decked with a few gaudy colors
—is touched by the hand of death, and dissolves!

Poverty,
disease,
misfortune,
unkindness,
instability,
death,
all assail the travelers as they journey onward
to eternity through this gloomy valley.

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on
what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinth. 4:18

Consider Jesus!

"Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a
heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle
and high priest of our confession." Heb 3:1.

Jesus was so dead to this world, that He renounced
wealth, rank, ease and fame.

Jesus was so holy that He could appeal to the most
malignant of his foes for the sinless purity of His conduct.

Jesus was so submissive to the divine will, that
He drank the deepest, fullest, bitterest cup of human
woe, without a murmur.

Jesus was so meek and lowly, as to bear the greatest
injuries and insults with unruffled serenity and placability.

Jesus was so full of benevolence, as to pray for His
foes, to die for them, and save them.

Yes, we say to the world, "Look at Jesus of Nazareth in
His holy and beneficent career, or in his ignominious and
agonizing death—see him whose whole character was a
compound of purity and love—there is our model."

We confess that the salvation of immortal souls is
the most momentous interest in the universe; and
that our time, influence, talents and property—are
at Christ's command.

We profess that we have received Christ as the end
of our very existence.

We profess that we have ceased to live for wealth,
ease, or reputation, as the supreme object of pursuit.

We profess that we receive Christ as our pattern and
example, and that we are determined, as God shall
assist us—to conform ourselves to Him in our spirit,
temper, and conduct.

Like a ball and chain around his ankle!

"Let us throw off everything that hinders and the
sin which so easily besets you." Hebrews 12:1

Besetting sins are powerful hindrances to Christian
progress. In the case of most people, there is some
one sin to which, either from their situation, taste,
constitution, or other circumstances—they are more
powerfully tempted than to others.

Satan knows very well what in every case this is, and
skillfully adapts his temptations to it. He is an expert
angler, and never chooses his bait, or throws his line,
at random! Independently, however, of him, the very
tendency of the heart is in that direction.

That one sin, whatever it is, while indulged, will hold
you back! You cannot make progress in holiness, until
it is mortified. Even its partial indulgence, though it
may be considerably weakened, will hinder you!

Study then your situation, circumstances, and constitution.
You cannot be ignorant which temptation and sin, you are
most liable to succumb to. You must know in what way
you have most frequently wounded your conscience, and
occasioned to yourself shame and sorrow.

Is it an unsanctified temper?

Is it an impure imagination?

Is it a proud heart?

Is it a vain mind?

Is it a taste for worldly company?

Is it a proneness to envy and jealousy?

Is it a love of money?

Is it a tendency to exaggeration in speech?

Is it a fondness for pleasure?

Is it a disposition to censoriousness and backbiting?

Study yourselves! Examine your own heart! You must
find out this matter, and it requires no great pains in
order to know it. It floats upon the surface of the heart,
and does not lie hidden in its depths. There, there, is
your danger! As long as that one sin, be it what it may,
is indulged, you cannot advance in the Christian life!

Other sins are like unnecessary clothing to the racer.

Besetting sins are like a ball and chain around his ankle!

Is this your religion?

"If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all
mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith
that can move mountains, but have not love,
I am nothing!" 1 Corinthians 13:2

LOVE is a grace which many professing Christians
think far too little about; but it is of infinite value
in the eyes of God. Love is the most characteristic
feature of Christ's image in a renewed man. Love is
the most precious fruit of grace; and yet the fruit
which too many of His professed followers seem to
think themselves hardly under any obligation to
cultivate.

Christian love is that benevolent disposition
or kindness, which consists in good-will to all
creatures, and which leads us, as we have
opportunity, to promote their happiness.

The apostle has given us a description of the
exercises of this noble and god-like principle.

"Love is patient" and forbearing under injuries
and annoyances—and does not revile, revenge,
or retaliate.

"Love is kind," not harsh or crude—but ever ready,
willing, and pleased by looks, words, and actions,
to promote the comfort of others.

"Love does not envy." It does not pine and grieve
at the sight of another's superior possessions, fame,
happiness, or piety—and dislike him on that account.

"Love does not boast. Love is not proud." It neither
boasts its own gifts, achievements, and possessions,
nor despises others, nor makes insulting comparisons
—but is humble and gentle.

"Love does not behave unseemly." It modestly keeps
its place, and does nothing to offend by what is
unfitting its rank, station, or circumstances.

"Love seeks not her own." It does not selfishly want
to have its own way, or promote its own interest—to
the neglect of others.

"Love is not easily provoked." It governs its temper,
controls its passions, and is not soon or unreasonably
irritable or petulant.

"Love thinks no evil." It is not censorious, nor forward
to impute a bad motive to a doubtful action—but is
disposed to put the best construction on the actions
and words of others.

"Love rejoices not in iniquity—but rejoices in the truth."
It does not delight in the sins—but in the excellences
of an opponent.

"Love bears (or covers) all things." It does not divulge,
proclaim, aggravate faults—but hides them as far as it
can, and it is right to do so.

"Love believes all things," that are to the advantage
of another.

"Love hopes all things," where there is not sufficient
evidence to authorize belief.

"Love endures all things," bears hardships, sustains
labor, makes sacrifices—in order to accomplish its
purposes of good-will.

Such is love in exercise and act. This is benevolence
—this is a regard to the happiness of others. Whoever
acts thus, must promote happiness. He must bless all
around him. All things smile in his presence.

Beautiful description! Heavenly temper! Godlike mind!

Now, dear friends, look at love! Gaze upon . . .
its lovely form,
its beautiful countenance,
its graceful actings.

Observe its seraphic glow, its divine temper, until you
are all enamored with its charms. But look at it not only
as something to be admired—but to be possessed and
practiced. Unless this is your temperament, you are not
Christians. I do not say you cannot be Christians unless
you have love in perfection. But you must have the
principle of love, and must be living in its exercise. You
are Christians no further than you live under its influence.

No matter what knowledge you may have of the doctrines
of the gospel; what seeming faith you may possess; what
zeal you may manifest; what liberality you may exercise;
what regularity, and punctuality in attendance upon the
means of grace, you may maintain—if love is lacking, all
this is of no avail.

Nothing can be a substitute for love.

Christianity is love . . .
not a slavish attendance on ceremonies;
not receiving the sacraments;
not zeal for orthodoxy;
not a form of church government;
not belonging to any particular church.

God's eternal thoughts and purposes in election,
Christ's redeeming work upon the cross,
the Spirit's omnipotent agency in regeneration,
are not merely to bring us under a particular
ecclesiastical regimen—but to deliver us from
the dominion of selfishness, and place us under
the reign of love—and thus make us like God!

If an individual is destitute of love, he has no
saving religion. He may be zealous for the forms
of Christianity, but he is destitute of its living spirit.

And now, my dear friends, let me entreat you to
examine yourselves concerning this great essential
of the Christian character. Are you experimentally
acquainted with this disposition? Is this your
religion? Is your temperament thus molded? Is
that one word 'love' characteristic of your spirit?
Has God's love to you, changed you into its own
likeness? Do you know what it is to have pride,
passion, envy, malice, selfishness—subdued,
repressed, resisted—by a meek, gentle, lowly,
forgiving, forbearing, generous, self-denying
temper? Are the harshness, hardness, asperity
of the fallen nature, displaced by the softness,
sweetness, and kindness of true love?