Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 15, 1861
THE LAW OF GOD
By B. F. Snook
BY B. F. SNOOK.
CHAPTER III.
1. THE law of good is his COVENANT. 2. It is holy, just and good. 3. It is a rule of action. 4. To violate it is sin. 5. To keep it is righteousness. 6. It was commanded forever. 7. It is a condition of inheriting the land.
I. God's covenant. The word covenant signifies dispensation, contract, bargain, institution, constitution, a body of laws. We understand the word when spoken of as God's covenant to mean as last defined, constitution, or a body of laws. In worldly governments we find a code of first laws or principles commonly called the constitution. This is preëminent in all governments. The laws of all provinces must be in subjection to and in harmony with this constitution. It is so in the moral government of God. He has a constitution or code of laws which is supreme. The constitution and laws of all dispensations must submit to and be in perfect harmony with his covenant or constitution. The question now is, what is his covenant? For be it what it may it is the supreme law. Oh how important that we have a knowledge of his covenant that we may love, venerate and obey it, and thus honor its divine and holy Author!
The Scriptures are plain in answer to this most important question. God has not left his people in the dark relative to a subject of such vital importance. Deut. iv, 13 unfolds and brings to light the whole matter: "And he declared unto you his covenant which he commanded you to perform, even ten commandments." This is enough on this branch of the subject. This is plain enough to satisfy all believers in the word of God. How beautiful the thought that as the constitution of the United States is the center and fountain head of this great national government, and that as the sun, the "great king of day" is the center of the solar system diverging and shooting off in all directions countless myriads of rays of streaming light, dispelling the darkness and gloom of earth, so the great constitution of God, the law of ten commandments is the center of the moral universe, the fountain-head of the moral government of God. That as nations and states can change and abolish their state constitutions without abolishing or changing the great federal constitution, so in the dispensation of the divine beneficence, dispensational constitutions can be abolished and done away without abolishing the covenant of God, the federal constitution of all dispensations. What would you think of the saneness and wisdom of the man who would argue that to abolish or destroy one of the planets would be to abolish the great center of the planetary system? Ans. We would place his sanity and wisdom in the same class with his who maintains because the Mosaic covenant or dispensation was abolished that therefore the covenant of God, the ten commandments was abolished.
II. It is holy, just and good. The holiness of this covenant gives it a perfect adaption to the design appended to it. It is spoken of as a whole as being holy. Daniel speaking of the king who should exalt himself above every God, said that he should have "indignation against the holy covenant;" "and his heart shall be against the holy covenant." Chap. xi, 28, 30. The same is spoken of in chapter vii, 25: "He shall think to change times and laws," thus showing that the law and covenant are the same. Again. "Thou camest down also upon mount Sinai and spakest with them from heaven and gavest them right judgments and true laws, good statutes and commandments." Neh. ix, 13 This testimony is further proof of the identity of God's covenant and the ten commandments. It is also conclusive proof that as a whole this law is right, true and good, i. e., naturally so. The testimony of Paul is equally to the point. "Wherefore the law is holy, and the commandment holy, just and good." For we know that the law is spiritual. Rom. vii, 12, 14. From this we conclude that in Paul's time the law was neither abolished, nor had lost its holiness. From the foregoing it is apparent the law as a whole, i. e., the ten commandments is 1. Holy. 2. True, or truth. 3. Just. 4. Good. 5. Spiritual. Hence in obeying it we can have characters which, are holy, true, just, good and spiritual. Such a character as this has always been, and will ever be well pleasing to God.
III. It is the rule of action. Solomon said, "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man." Eccl. xii, 13.
A rule of grammar is that "a noun without an adjective is taken in its broadest sense, is not limited." Then it is the duty of all men to fear God and keep his commandments. But if it is not the duty, or was not the duty of all men to keep his commands, then those excepted were not required to fear God; for these duties are joined together and no law of language will sanction their separation. Hence when the law ceases to be a rule of action, the duty of man to fear God will also cease. David, speaking of the righteous, said, "The law of his God is in his heart and none of his steps shall slide." Ps. xxxvii, 31.
The reason assigned why none of the steps of the righteous man shall slide, is that the law of his God is in his heart. Oh that all would permit this blessed law of light and truth to dwell in their hearts! They would then not walk in the dark, but have sure and unerring light to direct them. Our Saviour taught the same: "If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments." The young man saith unto him which? Query, which, what? Which commandment? No. But which commandments. Evidently showing that two codes of laws were binding, and that the young man did not know to which he was referred for a rule of life. Jesus then referred him to the decalogue showing that to be the law to which he enjoined obedience. Matt. xix, 16, 17. Again he testifies to the same in the following. "Blessed are they that do his commandments that they may have right to the tree of life and may enter in through the gates into the city." Rev. xxii, 14. How blessed to walk after such a rule of life! What a rich reward! Well might David say, "Moreover by them is thy servant warned, and in keeping them there is great reward." But do those walk according to this rule who violate the fourth precept? No more than if they violated the sixth, seventh, or eighth precepts. Neither do those walk according to it who say that it has been abolished.
How careful then commandment-keepers ought to live. They should ever be careful to maintain good works; to depart from all iniquity; to be meek and lowly in heart, and ever be found walking in the footsteps of their Redeemer in glad obedience to the law of God. The faith of many will be tried. Their trials will be hard; their persecutions severe. But beyond the present reign of the dragon there is no wicked power to oppress the obedient children of God. The warlike and persecuting spirit of the dragon cannot follow us into the kingdom. His deeds of darkness are confined here to this world of sin. Then let us persevere through floods and flames and whatsoever may come upon us. The reward is sure. It cannot fail. Soon the scattered and world-forsaken remnant will stand with the glorified Lamb on mount Zion and with their immortal voices shout the victory over the beast, his image, his mark, and the number of his name.
THE LOVE OF GOD.
By Hannah More
Our love to God arises out of want. God's love to us out of fullness. Our indigence draws us to that power which can relieve, and to that goodness which can bless us. His overflowing love delights to make us partakers of the bounties he graciously imparts, not only in the gifts of his providence, but in the richer communications of his grace. We can only be said to love God when we endeavor to glorify him, when we desire a participation of his nature, when we study to imitate his perfections.
We are sometimes inclined to suspect the love of God to us. We are too little suspicious of our want of love to him. Yet if we examine the case by evidence as we should examine any common question, what real instances can we produce of our love to him? What imaginable instance can we not produce of his love to us? If neglect, forgetfulness, ingratitude, disobedience, coldness in our affections, deadness in our duty, be evidences of our love to him, such evidences, but such only, we can abundantly allege. If life, and all the countless catalogue of mercies that make life pleasant be proofs of his love to us, these he has given us in hand; if life eternal, if blessedness that knows no measure and no end be proofs of love, these he has given us in promise—to the Christian, we had almost said, he has given them in possession.
It must be an irksome thing to serve a master whom we do not love; a master whom we are compelled to obey, though we think his requisitions hard and his commands unreasonable; under whose eye we know that we continually live, though his presence is not only undelightful, but formidable.66
Now every Christian must obey God, whether he love him or not; he must act always in his sight, whether he delight in him or not; and to a heart of any feeling, to a spirit of any liberality, nothing is so grating as constrained obedience. To love God, to serve him because we love him, is therefore no less our highest happiness than our most bounden duty. Love makes all labor light. We serve with alacrity where we love with cordiality.
Where the heart is devoted to an object, we require not to be perpetually reminded of our obligations to obey him; they present themselves spontaneously, we fulfill them readily, I had almost said, involuntarily; we think not so much of the service as of the object. The principle which suggests the work inspires the pleasure; to neglect it would be an injury to our feelings. The performance is the gratification. The omission is not more a pain to the conscience than a wound to the affections. The implantation of this vital root perpetuates virtuous practice and secures eternal peace.
Though we cannot be always thinking of God, we may be always employed in his service. There must be intervals of our communion with him, but there must be no intermission of our attachment to him. The tender father who labors for his children does not always employ his thoughts about them; he cannot be always conversing with them, or concerning them, yet he is always engaged in promoting their interests. His affection for them is an inwoven principle, of which he gives the most unequivocal evidence, by the assiduousness of his application in their service.
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,” is the primary law of our religion. Yet how apt are we to complain that we cannot love God, that we cannot maintain a devout intercourse with him. But would God, who is all justice, have commanded that of which he knew we were incapable? Would he who is all mercy have made our eternal happiness to depend on something which he knew was out of our power to perform, capriciously disqualifying us for the duty he had prescribed? Would he have given the exhortation and withheld the capacity? This would be to charge omniscience with folly, and infinite goodness with injustice. No, when he made duty and happiness inseparable, he neither made our duty impracticable, nor our happiness unattainable. But we are continually flying to false refuges, clinging to false holds, resting on false supports; as they are uncertain they disappoint us, as they are weak they fail us; but as they are numerous, when one fails another presents itself. Till they slip from under us, we never suspect how much we rested upon them. Life glides away in a perpetual succession of these false dependencies and successive privations.
There is, as we have elsewhere observed, a striking analogy between the natural and spiritual life, the weakness and helplessness of the Christian resemble those of the infant; neither of them becomes strong, vigorous and full grown at once, but through a long and often painful course. This keeps up a sense of dependence, and accustoms us to lean on the hand which fosters us. There is in both conditions an imperceptible chain of depending events, by which we are carried on insensibly to the vigor of maturity. The operation which is not always obvious, is always progressive. By attempting to walk alone, we discover our weakness; the experience of that weakness humbles us, and every fall drives us back to the sustaining hand, whose assistance we vainly flattered ourselves we no longer needed.
In some halcyon moments we are willing to persuade ourselves that religion has made an entire conquest over our heart; that we have renounced the dominion of the world, have conquered our attachment to earthly things. We flatter ourselves that nothing can now again obstruct our entire submission. But we know not what spirit we are of. We say this in the calm of repose and in the stillness of the passions; when our path is smooth, our prospect smiling, danger distant, temptation absent, when we have many comforts and no trials. Suddenly, some loss, some disappointment, some privation tears off the mask, reveals us to ourselves. We at once discover that though the smaller fibres and lesser roots which fasten us down to earth may have been loosened by preceding storms, yet our substantial hold on earth is not shaken, the sap root is not cut, we are yet fast rooted to the soil, and still stronger tempests must be sent to make us let go our hold.
It might be useful to cultivate the habit of stating our own case as strongly to ourselves as if it were the case of another; to express in so many words thoughts which are not apt to assume any specific or palpable form; thoughts which we avoid shaping into language, but slur over, generalize, soften and do away. How indignant, for instance, should we feel (though we ourselves make the complaint) to be told by others that we do not love our Maker and Preserver. But let us put the question fairly to ourselves. Do we really love him? Do we love him with a supreme, nay, even with an equal affection? Is there no friend, no child, no reputation, no pleasure, no society, no possession, which we prefer to him? It is easy to affirm in a general way that there is not. But let us particularize, individualize the question—bring it home to our own hearts in some actual instance, in some tangible shape. Let us commune with our own consciences, with our own feelings, with our own experience; let us question pointedly, and answer honestly. Let us not be more ashamed to detect the fault, than to have been guilty of it.
This then will commonly be the result. Let the friend, child, reputation, possession, pleasure, be endangered, but especially let it be taken away by some stroke of providence. The scales fall from our eyes; we see, we feel, we acknowledge with brokenness of heart, not only for our loss, but for our sin, that though we did love God, yet we loved him not superlatively, and that we loved the blessing, threatened or resumed, still more. But this is one of the cases in which the goodness of God bringeth us to repentance. By the operation of his grace the resumption of the gift brings back the heart to the giver. The Almighty by his Spirit takes possession of the temple from which the idol is driven out. God is reinstated in his rights, and becomes the supreme and undisputed Lord of our reverential affection.
There are three requisites to our proper enjoyment of every earthly blessing which God bestows on us—a thankful reflection on the goodness of the giver, a deep sense of the unworthiness of the receiver, and a sober recollection of the precarious tenure by which we hold it. The first would make us grateful, the second humble, the last moderate.
But how seldom do we receive his favors in this spirit? As if religious gratitude were to be confined to the appointed days of public thanksgiving, how rarely in common society do we hear any recognition of Omnipotence even on those striking and heart-rejoicing occasions, when “with his own right hand, and with his glorious arm he has gotten himself the victory?” Let us never detract from the merit of our valiant leaders, but rather honor them the more for this manifestation of divine power in their favor; but let us never lose sight of him “who teacheth their hands to war and their fingers to fight.” Let us never forget that “he is the rock, that his work is perfect, and all his ways are judgment.”
How many seem to show not only their want of affiance in God, but that “he is not in all their thoughts,” by their appearing to leave him entirely out of their concerns, by projecting their affairs without any reference to him, by setting out on the stock of their own unassisted wisdom, contriving and acting independently of God; expecting prosperity in the event, without seeking his direction in the outset, and taking to themselves the whole honor of the success without any recognition of his hand; do they not thus virtually imitate what Sophocles makes his blustering Atheist boast: “Let other men expect to conquer with the assistance of the gods, I intend to gain honor without them.”
The Christian will rather rejoice to ascribe the glory of his prosperity to the same hand to which our own manly queen gladly ascribed her signal victory. When after the defeat of the Armada, impiously termed invincible, her enemies, in order to lower the value of her agency, alleged that the victory was not owing to her, but to God who had raised the storm, she heroically declared that the visible interference of God in her favor, was that part of the success from which she derived the truest honor.
Incidents and occasions every day arise which not only call on us to trust in God, but which furnish us with suitable occasions of vindicating, if I may presume to use the expression, the character and conduct of the Almighty in the government of human affairs; yet there is no duty which we perform with less alacrity. Strange that we should treat the Lord of heaven and earth with less confidence than we exercise towards each other! That we should vindicate the honor of a common acquaintance with more zeal than that of our insulted Maker and Preserver!
If we hear a friend accused of any act of injustice, though we cannot bring any positive proof why he should be acquitted of this specific charge yet we resent the injury offered to his character; we clear him of the individual allegation on the ground of his general conduct, inferring that from the numerous instances we can produce of his rectitude on other occasions he cannot be guilty of the alleged injustice. We reason from analogy, and in general we reason fairly. But when we presume to judge of the Most High, instead of vindicating his rectitude on the same grounds, under a providence seemingly severe; instead of reverting, as in the case of our friend, to the thousand instances we have formerly tasted of his kindness, instead of giving God the same credit we give to his erring creature, and inferring from his past goodness that the present inexplicable dispensation must be consistent, though we cannot explain how, with his general character, we mutinously accuse him of inconsistency, nay of injustice. We admit virtually the most monstrous anomaly in the character of the perfect God.
But what a clue has revelation furnished to the intricate labyrinth which seems to involve the conduct which we impiously question? It unrolls the volume of divine providence, lays open the mysterious map of infinite wisdom, throws a bright light on the darkest dispensations, vindicates the inequality of appearances, and points to that blessed region, where to all who have truly loved and served God, every apparent wrong shall be proved to have been unimpeachably right, every affliction a mercy, and the severest trials the choicest blessings.
So blind has sin made us that the glory of God is concealed from us, by the very means which, could we discern aright, would display it. That train of second causes, which he has so marvelously disposed, obstructs our view of himself. We are so filled with wonder at the immediate effect, that our short sight penetrates not to the first cause. To see him as he is, is reserved to be the happiness of a better world. We shall then indeed “admire him in his saints, and in all them that believe;” we shall see how necessary it was for those whose bliss is now so perfect, to have been poor, and despised, and oppressed. We shall see why the “ungodly were in such prosperity.” Let us give God credit here for what we shall then fully know; let us adore now what we shall understand hereafter. They who take up religion on a false ground will never adhere to it. If they adopt it merely for the peace and pleasantness it brings, they will desert it as soon as they find their adherence to it will bring them into difficulty, distress, or discredit. It seldom answers therefore to attempt making proselytes by hanging out false colors. The Christian “endures as seeing him who is invisible.” He who adopts religion for the sake of immediate enjoyment, will not do a virtuous action that is disagreeable to himself, nor resist a temptation that is alluring, present pleasure being his motive. There is no sure basis for virtue but the love of God in Christ Jesus, and the bright reversion for which that love is pledged. Without this as soon as the paths of piety become rough and thorny, we shall stray into pleasanter pastures.67
Religion however has her own peculiar advantages. In the transaction of all worldly affairs, there are many and great difficulties. There may be several ways out of which to choose. Men of the first understanding are not always certain which of these ways is the best. Persons of the deepest penetration are full of doubt and perplexity; their minds are undecided how to act, lest while they pursue one road they may be neglecting another, which might better have conducted them to their proposed end.
In religion the case is different, and in this respect easy. As a Christian can have but one object in view, he is also certain there is but one way of attaining it. Where there is but one end it prevents all possibility of choosing wrong; where there is but one road it takes away all perplexity as to the course of pursuit. That we so often wander wide of the mark is not from any want of plainness in the path, but from the perverseness of our will in not choosing it, from the indolence of our minds in not following it up.
In our attachment to earthly things, even the most innocent, there is always a danger of excess, but from this danger we are here perfectly exempt, for there is no possibility of excess in our love to that Being who has demanded the whole heart. This peremptory requisition cuts off all debate. Had God required only a portion, even were it a large portion, we might be puzzled in settling the quantum. We might be plotting how large a part we might venture to keep back without absolutely forfeiting our safety; we might be haggling for deductions, bargaining for abatements, and be perpetually compromising with our Maker. But the injunction is entire, the command is definite, the portion is unequivocal. Though it is so compressed in the expression, yet it is so expansive and ample in the measure; it is so distinct a claim, so imperative a requisition of all the faculties of the mind and strength; all the affections of the heart and soul, that there is not the least opening left for litigation, no place for anything but absolute, unreserved compliance.
Everything which relates to God is infinite. We must therefore, while we keep our hearts humble, keep our aims high. Our highest services indeed are but finite, imperfect. But as God is unlimited in goodness, he should have our unlimited love. The best we can offer is poor, but let us not withhold that best. He deserves incomparably more than we have to give. Let us not give him less than all. If he has ennobled our corrupt nature with spiritual affections, let us not refuse their noblest aspirations to their noblest object. Let him not behold us so prodigally lavishing our affections on the meanest of his bounties, as to have nothing left for himself. As the standard of every thing in religion is high, let us endeavor to act in it with the highest intention of mind, with the largest use of our faculties. Let us obey him with the most intense love, adore him with the most fervent gratitude. Let us “praise him according to his excellent greatness.” Let us serve him with all the strength of our capacity, with all the devotion of our will.
Grace being a new principle added to our natural powers, as it determines the desires to a higher object, so it adds vigor to their activity. We shall best prove its dominion over us by desiring to exert ourselves in the cause of heaven with the same energy with which we once exerted ourselves in the cause of the world. The world was too little to fill our whole capacity. Scaliger lamented how much was lost because so fine a poet as Claudian, in his choice of a subject, wanted matter worthy of his talents; but it is the felicity of a Christian to have chosen a theme to which all the powers of his heart and of his understanding will be found inadequate.
PARDON.
By Ob. Evan.
It is instructive to think how the idea of pardon for sin broke upon the human mind in the earliest ages of time; how step by step it developed itself and brought forth the fruits of peace, love and trust towards God.
We do not get a full view of this subject until we consider how slow the human heart is to admit this wonderful idea. Whether we ascribe this slowness of heart to believe in a pardoning God to that oppressive sense of ill desert which just views of our sin are sure to beget, or to the consciousness that we are by no means inclined naturally to forgive those who have wronged us—whence we are prone to infer that God must naturally feel a like aversion to pardon; or whether it be due to the instincts of justice which are spontaneous in all intelligent minds, the fact cannot be denied that such pardon as we need from God does naturally strike us as being wonderful, not to say strange. No honest mind ever yet saw its own sins in their true light without having this impression strongly made by that view, viz., that mercy equal to the pardon of such sin must be exceeding great. Now in the light of this great fact let us trace the development of the idea of pardon as it revealed itself under the ancient dispensation.
One day each year was set apart especially as a great day of atonement. No other day was so solemn as this. On this day only might the High Priest enter the Most Holy place and appear before the mercy seat where the glorious presence of Jehovah was made visible to mortal eyes. Before he might enter he must needs purify himself with special solemnities. He must bear the blood of a sinless animal slain in sacrifice, to make atonement first for his own sins, before he could offer for the sins of the people. Then two goats are brought before the Lord at the door of the tabernacle; lots are cast upon them; one is thus indicated for sacrifice and the other for a scape-goat. The blood of the former is borne into the most holy place and sprinkled there seven times upon the mercy-seat. Upon the latter, Aaron, acting for all the people, lays both his hands and confesses over him "all the iniquities of the children of Israel and all their transgressions in all their sins, putting them upon the head of the goat, and then sends him away by the hand of a fit man into the wilderness." Thus by a solemn institution engrafted into that significant system of purification and sacrifices did the Lord provide a perpetual memorial of the way in which sin might be forgiven, and also taken away, so as to be remembered against the sinner no more at all forever. How impressive must this solemn transaction have been to those broken hearted penitents who were longing for some manifestation of divine mercy towards them in the pardon and removal of their sins!
King David had often gone up with the multitude that kept this holy day of atonement. One bitter hour he had occasion to remember the lessons of those yearly days of atonement. It was when Nathan the prophet brought to his mind his great sin in the matter of Bathsheba and Uriah. Perhaps it was his remembrance of those days that saved him from sinking into hopeless despair under his sense of awful guilt. The hope inspired by those symbols of pardoning mercy drew him near to God, and breathed forth from his heart those strains of broken prayer: "Have mercy upon me, O, God, according to thy loving kindness; according to the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions." It was a most blessed truth, taught even under that dispensation—God can forgive. This truth rings out with clear and blessed tone in many of the songs of Christian experience in those ancient days. Here is one from Psalm ciii.
"The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide, neither will he keep his anger forever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins, nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him."
It strikes us as specially beautiful that in Isa. lv, where the prophet exhorts to repentance and promises free pardon from the Lord, and the Lord himself breaks in to endorse the promise, and to rule out of our souls the inference that unbelief is prone to draw from our thoughts to God's thoughts. Isaiah was saying, "seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him, and to our God for he will abundantly pardon."
Thus far the prophet, speaking indeed for God, but yet the words are his. He had spoken strongly for his God, of the richness of his mercy, and of his great readiness to pardon; and it might be a question in some minds whether God himself would endorse it all. This question is soon put to rest. The Lord himself interposes, not only to endorse all Isaiah had said but to forestall that impulse of unbelief that prompts the suggestion—how can it be that God should forgive sin so great as mine when I know it never was in my thoughts to forgive those whose wrongs against me were not to be named along side of my great wrongs against him.
"For my thoughts," says Jehovah himself, "are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord." Judge not my thoughts by yours. Bring not my mercy down to the grade of yours.
"For as the heavens are high above the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." So we may bid away from our heart that argument for unbelief, and repose in the certainty that the mercy of the Lord is above the heavens!
That this forgiving mercy of the Lord is surpassingly wonderful, and that it puts forgiven sin forever away is admirably said by Micah just at the close of his prophecy.
"Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? He retaineth not his anger forever, because he delighteth in mercy. He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea."
These words—"wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea"—come to us freighted with a blessed truth—just the same which appears in Jeremiah xxxi. 34, and which is quoted in Heb. viii. "Their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." Verily there is sweet comfort in this idea that the sins we have been so deeply ashamed of, and which we wish could forever cease to be our own, may be so forgiven as to be cast into the depths of the sea, never to be seen again. No wonder the prophet cries out, "Who is a God like unto thee," to pardon so, to forgive sin so fully, and cause it to pass away, even almost as if it had never been! Must we not suppose that our gracious Father longs to restore to our torn bosoms the confidence of love and trust and everlasting friendship? This fulness of pardon is the most blessed element in it. O, it gives us such proof of God's deep sincerity when he forgives! It so reveals the love of his heart! Why should not all this sinning race be drawn home to the bosom of such forgiving love? — Ob. Evan.
The Pitiable Waste of Time
Those who trifle away time are pitiable characters.