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SERMON III.

THE NEW YEAR.

And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art thou?-GEN. xlvii, 8.

THERE are few meditations more important and salutary than those which call upon us, at stated periods, to reflect upon the time gone by; to inspect, with vigilant attention, the various motives by which our conduct has been directed, and to judge and condemn with rigid impartiality all that conscience disapproves. To this end, the question asked by Pharaoh of the Patriarch Jacob, is one which every man should propose to himself, with tenfold seriousness, at the expiration of another year. That year is, as it were, committed to the grave of time, and we stand, as mourners above its monument, with recollections fitted either to inspire bitter regret, or patient hope and permanent tranquillity. We trace back the various events which have illumined or darkened its existence, and a tear should alike fill the eye at the memory of that which has been done amiss, and that which we have neglected to do.

The history of the last twelve months has, indeed, been fruitful in momentous occurrences ;* and all of us have been more or less concerned in their effects. Can we revert to the track pursued, and not discover much that is calculated to be a source of profitable warning-and not feel that, in the dispensations of the past, clemency has been mingled with justice, and that, while our transgressions have been manifold and enormous, our punishment has been comparatively light? Can we inquire of each other, "How old art thou?" and not in the flood of thought, which suddenly rushes through the mind, discover that of which we have much reason to be ashamed?—important duties undischarged, in order to make way for sinful pleasures, for unprofitable occupations, for idle pursuits, for "things that are not convenient." Perhaps, like the Patriarch, the days of our pilgrimage have been "few and evil;" perhaps, like him, we complain that, in growing old, afflictions have pursued us, and hardships been the companions of our way. Perhaps our dearest hopes have been defeated, and our joys withered, when they looked the brightest and promised best. was not all this produced by our own misconduct? And has not time, in its steady course, observed, that we grew aged without growing wise? that

But

*The allusion here and afterwards, is to the destruction rioted in by incendiaries; and to the Birmingham and Newport seditions.

we mistook craft for wisdom, and the fear of this world for the fear of God? Then let us not rate our age by our years, nor deem that we have attained the maturity of manhood, while our actions have the folly without the innocence of the child.

It is not by our years that the spiritual life of man may be estimated. In the beautiful language of the Psalmist, "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard." And yet to the heart of man it is inaudible, or, at least, instead of teaching lessons of high and heavenly wisdom, speaks only of the debasing passions of humanity, of time misemployed, and the advantages of nature perverted. "How old art thou?" occasionally strikes the ear, but the heart remains unimpressed with the sentiment which the words would convey. The mind refuses to embrace a doctrine always repugnant to the bosom's sensual indulgences. The question of the Egyptian King ought to present itself to the Christian as a question springing from the King of Kings, from the Saviour of this sinful world. As Jacob and his family in the land of Canaan, we were altogether destitute of spiritual supplies. "The famine was over all the face of the earth," and, but for the protecting arm of a watchful and Almighty Providence, who brought us into another country, and there

opened to us the treasures of his grace, eternal death must have been our doom. And, as with infinite reluctance Jacob parted with his favourite child at the bidding of the unknown ruler of Egypt, so do we reluctantly surrender our favourite passions at the command of Jesus Christ. From year to year we continue in disobedience, under the heavy yoke of sin and Satan; and when at last pressed by the famine from without, and by the bitterness of remorse from within, we enter the country of Christ, and are asked, "How old art thou?" we answer too frequently, like Jacob, by sullen murmurs of dissatisfaction, and by bitter complaints-" Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been."

Alas! it may be but too true, that the bygone years were accompanied by afflictions that struck to the very heart of peace; that tore away the cup of happiness from the parched and quivering lip, and dashed it pitilessly to earth. The eye of virtuous affection may have been glazed by the hand of death; and the fair, and the young, and the good, hurried from the scene of their anticipated joys, to another world and brighter expectations. But this-this is the least calamity of time. "The righteous are only taken away from the evil to come." And though the bosom of wounded tenderness may recoil in terror at the sudden overthrow of its hopes; though the smile may be suspended, and the tear furrow

with hot streams the cheek of the forsaken; yet are they but indications of temporary grief. There is "balm in Gilead" for such wounds as these there is consolation ready to break forth from behind the dark cloud of adversity, and to gild with its sunset glow the winter of fading life. But if, amid the retrospections of the past, the parent witnesses the ruined hopes, the blighted happiness, the temporal and eternal death of one intrusted to his care of one, to whom he should have been the vigilant protector and the unshrinking friend, but whom, in the perverse selfishness of his heart, he left to become the prey of vicious propensities and the outcast of God:-then, indeed, the demon of remorse strikes the cruel parent from the sepulchre of his child; and, pointing with a grin of scorn to the hoary head and crippled person of the delinquent, terrifically thunders in his ear, "How old art thou?" The grave yawns, and "they are at hand who shall carry thee out." "Prepare to meet thy God," and to "render an account of the talent committed to thy care." Ah, then, the reply of Jacob suits the miserable man— "Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been;" and it may stand recorded upon his monument, a warning and a by-word unto future times.

When fraud hath prospered, and built up the palace of pride and pomp; when the cries of

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