A Fearful Introduction to a Sermon.
THERE was a church—no matter where—that heaved up its arches, and lengthened down its spacious aisles, for the accommodation of a large and wealthy audience. On a certain occasion this church and the audience within it, presented one of the strangest and most fearful sights that ever met the human vision. It is related of one of the polar navigators that he discovered a ship frozen up and embayed in the northern Arctic ocean, with every soul on board frozen stiff at their various employments, in all the attitudes of seeming life. Years had rolled away since the frost of death had congealed the blood in their veins, yet no decay had passed either upon their features or their forms. It was, in fact, an ancient ship's company, preserved in ice, awaiting the judgment. Such, in many particulars, was the scene presented by the audience in the church to which we have alluded. Long ranks of well-dressed women and well-dressed men were to be seen—still, hushed, immovable. The plumes on their bonnets waved with the gentle zephyr, the glitter of rich apparel lent new radiance to the sunbeams that stole in at the lofty windows—yet there was an appalling hush in the great congregation. Not an eye rolled in its socket; not a hand moved; not a heart beat there; not a sigh, or a groan, or a tear or a smile, gave evidence of human feeling, joy or agony. Raised in the pulpit the minister stood, leaning in the attitude of speech, as if he had a message of solemnity upon his tongue. His hand was lifted in sublime appeal to heaven; but, lo! there was no utterance—his eyes too were glazed. It was an unburied congregation, with its unburied minister. Passionless, deep and unbroken were the slumbers that had fallen like a curtain of lead upon the hearts of all within the walls and dome of that sepulchral church. Poor expectants of judgment they seemed to be, frozen up in their sins and their virtues. More terrible were they than unsheeted ghosts, because soul and body both were revealed in the dread apparition. The storms of time seemed to be forever over; a hand, fearful as that which wrote upon the monarch's wall, had affixed the seal of deep and utter silence upon that once living mass of humanity. Was this a natural or a moral view? It was a moral prospect. It was a congregation "dead in trespasses and sins." The Spirit of God lent no efficacy to the means of grace. Dead was the pastor, and chill as Borneo's cliff the people.—Miss. Christian Herald.