Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 25, 1856
ON KEEPING THE HEART. No. 10.
By Flavel
Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.—Proverbs iv, 23.
IX. THE ninth season wherein the greatest diligence and skill are necessary to keep the heart, is the hour of temptation, when Satan besets the christian's heart, and takes the unwary by surprise. To keep the heart at such times is not less a mercy than a duty. Few christians are so skillful in detecting the fallacies, and repelling the arguments by which the adversary incites them to sin, as to come off safe and whole in those encounters. Many eminent saints have smarted severely for their want of watchfulness and diligence at such times. How then may a christian keep his heart from yielding to temptation? There are several principal ways in which the adversary insinuates temptation, and urges compliance.
1. Satan suggests that here is pleasure to be enjoyed; the temptation is presented with a smiling aspect and an enticing voice: "What, are you so dull and phlegmatic as not to feel the powerful charms of pleasure? Who can withhold himself from such delights?" Reader, you may be rescued from the danger of such temptations by repelling the proposal of pleasure. It is urged that the commission of sin will afford you pleasure. Suppose this were true, will the accusing and condemning rebukes of conscience and the flames of hell be pleasant too? Is there pleasure in the scourges of conscience? If so, why did Peter weep so bitterly? Why did David cry out of broken bones? You hear what is said of the pleasure of sin, and have you not read what David said of the effects of it? "Thine arrows stick fast in me, and thy hand presseth me sore; there is no soundness in my flesh because of thine anger, neither is there any rest in my bones because of my sin," &c. If you yield to temptation, you must feel such inward distress on account of it, or the miseries of hell. But why should the pretended pleasure of sin allure you, when you know that unspeakably more pleasure will arise from the mortification than can arise from the commission of sin. Will you prefer the gratification of some unhallowed passion, with the deadly poison which it will leave behind, to the sacred pleasure which arises from fearing and obeying God, complying with the dictates of conscience, and maintaining inward peace? Can sin afford any such delight as he feels who, by resisting temptation, has manifested the sincerity of his heart, and obtained evidence that he fears God, loves holiness, and hates sin?
2. The secrecy with which you may commit sin is made use of to induce compliance with temptation. The tempter insinuates that this indulgence will never disgrace you among men, for no one will know it. But recollect yourself. Does not God behold you? Is not the divine presence everywhere? What if you might hide your sin from the eyes of the world, you cannot hide it from God. No darkness nor shadow of death can screen you from his inspection. Besides, have you no reverence for yourself? Can you do that by yourself which you dare not have others observe? Is not your conscience as a thousand witnesses? Even a heathen could say, "When thou art tempted to commit sin, fear thyself without any other witness."
3. The prospect of worldly advantage often enforces temptation. It is suggested, "Why should you be so nice and scrupulous? Give yourself a little liberty, and you may better your condition: now is your time." This is a dangerous temptation, and must be promptly resisted. Yielding to such a temptation will do your soul more injury than any temporal acquisition can possibly do you good. And what would it profit you, if you should gain the whole world and lose your own soul? What can be compared with the value of your spiritual interests? or what can at all compensate for the smallest injury of them?
4. Perhaps the smallness of the sin is urged as a reason why you may commit it; thus, "It is but a little one, a small matter, a trifle; who would stand upon such niceties?" But is the majesty of heaven little too? If you commit this sin you will offend a great God. There is great wrath treasured up for those whom the world regard as little sinners. But the less the sin the less the inducement to commit it. Will you provoke God for a trifle? Will you destroy your peace, wound your conscience, and grieve the Spirit, all for nothing? What madness is this!
5. An argument to enforce temptation is sometimes drawn from the mercy of God and the hope of pardon.—God is merciful, he will pass by this as an infirmity, he will not be severe to mark it. But stay: where do you find a promise of mercy to presumptuous sinners? Involuntary reprisals and lamented infirmities may be pardoned; "but the soul that doth ought presumptuously, the same reproacheth the Lord, and that soul shall be cut off from among his people." If God is a being of so much mercy, how can you affront him? How can you make so glorious an attribute as the divine mercy an occasion of sin? Will you wrong him because he is good? Rather let his goodness lead you to repentance, and keep you from transgression.
6. Sometimes Satan encourages to the commission of sin, from the examples of holy men. Thus and thus they sinned, and were restored; therefore you may commit this sin, and yet be a saint and be saved. Such suggestions must be instantly repelled. If good men have committed sins similar to that with which you are beset, did any good man ever sin upon such ground and from such encouragement as is here presented? Did God cause their examples to be recorded for your imitation or for your warning? Are they not set as beacons that you may avoid the rocks upon which they split? Are you willing to feel what they felt for sin? Dare you follow them in sin, and plunge yourself into such distress and danger as they incurred?—Reader, in these ways learn to keep your heart in the hour of temptation.
THE SCRIPTURE AUTHORITY AND OBLIGATION OF THE SABBATH EXAMINED.
By Rev. W. M. O'Hanlon
BY REV. W. M. O'HANLON, BURNLEY, LANCASHIRE.
(Continued.)
OUR last paper was devoted to an examination of the views of Paley and Henstenberg on the question of a primeval Sabbath. This led to a consideration of the subject of septenary institutions, and some of the modes in which writers have attempted to account for these institutions, while they have denied that original appointment of a periodic time, (six days' labor followed by one of rest) which seems to us the only satisfactory explanation of the prevalent, if not absolutely universal, extension and establishment of this hebdomadal arrangement.
The topic of the primeval Sabbath, however, is by no means exhausted, as all must be aware who have made themselves at all acquainted with the literature of the question.
One method by which the force of any argument derived from the first pages of Genesis on behalf of a primitive Sabbath is sought to be weakened, if not annihilated, is, that the account given by the writer is to be considered simply in the light of a political cosmogony, and not at all as a real and veritable history of the work and process of the creation. This is the position maintained by Professor Powell of Oxford, as seen in his elaborate article on "Creation" in Kitto's Cyc. of Biblical Literature. He alleges that the principle of accommodation or adaptation to the "apprehensions, the prejudices, and the previous belief of the Jewish people," pervades the Scriptures of the Old Testament, and is to be found largely in the opening portion of the Bible. "In the present instance," he observes, "the adaptation to the people of Israel was manifestly of the greatest importance,58in order to secure their attention to points of vital moment in connection with the worship of the one true God, and their renunciation of idolatrous superstition. With this end, the first great truth with which they were to be impressed was the unity, omnipotence, and beneficence of the Creator. And then he represents these doctrines as taught by means of "a narrative proceeding step by step, in a minute detail, to assert in each individual instance the power and goodness they were thus led to recognize in every familiar detail of the natural world, and which could thus alone be effectually impressed on their minds." After stating what he conceived to have been a second great object of the author of the book of Genesis (the subversion of the worship of animals) in this, as he deems it, poetic and popular style of narration, he proceeds thus:
"These remarks refer yet more directly to what doubtless was the third and chief object in this representation of creation—the institution of the Sabbath. This remarkable observance, the peculiar badge of the chosen people to distinguish them from all other nations, was appointed them before the delivery of the rest of the law; and as the work of creation with reference to the different classes of beings was associated in their minds with each of the six days, so the seventh was identified, in the order of the narrative, with the entire completion of the work, the divine rest and cessation from it, and the solemn sanctification of it pronounced to consist in a precise abstinence from any kind of labor by themselves, their households, and even cattle. They were thus led to adhere to this duty by reflections connected with the highest truths impressed under the most awful sanctions; and the wisdom of the injunction, not less than the means thus taken to promote and secure the fulfillment, cannot but the more fully appear, the more we examine the character and genius of this singular people for whom it was ordained, and to whose peculiar condition it was in every way so remarkably adapted. The narrative, then, of six periods of creation, followed by a seventh similar period of rest and blessing was clearly designed by adaptation to their conceptions, to enforce upon the Israelites the institution of the Sabbath, and in whatever way its details may be interpreted, it clearly cannot be regarded as a historical statement of a primeval institution of a Sabbath—a supposition which is on other grounds sufficiently improbable, though often adopted."
And subsequently this writer says:
"As to the particular form in which the descriptive narrative is conveyed, we merely affirm that it cannot be history—it may be poetry."
The italics in these quotations are in the article, and must be presumed to be the author's own.
Now, it is in this manner learned critics venture to deal with the sacred Scriptures, a mode in which the most hardy of them would be slow to treat any other ancient document. The reconciliation of the narrative in the commencement of Genesis with the conclusions and facts of modern science, has engaged many pens in recent times; and it may be freely conceded that none of the solutions proposed entirely obviate all the difficulties of the subject. But the labors of the Rev. Baden Powell are directed not to the solution of the difficulties in question, but to something far easier—their evasion. He finds it more expeditious and facile to cut the Gordian knot than to unloose it. Certainly, if we are to regard the opening chapter of the divine revelation as a mere poetic and fabulous representation, and not as a real narrative of events which actually occurred, there can be no difficulty in reconciling scripture and science; for, in fact, there is nothing to reconcile according to this supposition. But a far greater and more insuperable difficulty is thus created within the sphere of scripture itself. For, assuredly, if we may apply such a principle to the interpretation of this portion of the word of God, bearing as it does all the semblance of a veritable history, and entering the details in the way which might be expected in such a history, then there is no part of the sacred Volume, whether of the Old or New Testament, that can be shielded from a similar replication and a like process. The Bible in whole, or in a great part at least, will or may be thus reduced to a series or concatenation of poetic legends, to be interpreted and understood according to any fashion which the prevailing philosophic system or organon of the age may seem to dictate or require.
It is no part of our present object to discuss the comparative merits of the several methods by which it has been attempted to harmonize the language of Genesis with the incontestable facts of science. But to treat it either as a myth, or as a poetic and fanciful ful cosmogony, is to do violence to the most obvious principles of sound and legitimate interpretation. Whether the "days" refer to periods of indefinite duration, or the limited space of time usually so denominated; whether the magnificent series of geological revolutions, whose records are written upon the pillars and foundations of the earth, took place before "the beginning" indicated in this book, or whether we are to find room for them between the event announced in the first verse, understood as the creation of the material of the universe, and the events disclosed in the subsequent verses, understood as the ordering and arranging of the present condition of our planet, or a portion of it, or whether, again, their place and period are fixed within the "days" understood as lengthened eras in the history of the system—whatever view we adopt on these points, we are shut up by all the laws of a valid exegesis, to take the account as a narrative of real phenomena, defined, it is true, in a poetic form, expressed in terms of lofty eloquence, and dealing largely, no doubt, in anthropomorphism, but nevertheless real and true. And this is our position, whatever hypothesis we may form as to the conditions under which the narrative was composed (whether from pre-existing materials or not,) and whatever opinion we may entertain as to its date. Let the Bible be explored by the lights of a sound and just, and inductive philosophy, and we may have no fear as to the results. Not a few of our modern sciences have seemed at the outset of their course to assume an antagonistic aspect to revelation; but in each and every instance, the issue of further investigation has only served to illustrate more clearly the divinity of the Bible. But in order to realize such an issue Nature and Scripture, (both revelations from God,) must each be studied according to its own distinctive laws, neither being allowed to invade the province of the other, or to supersede its rightful claims. This however by no means forbids the inquiry, so important in our times, Can the scriptural narrative of creation be so interpreted, as that, while no sacrifice is made of the principle now stated, its several parts shall seem to be in perfect unison with the conclusions which are necessitated by our inquiries in another field? It is perfectly possible that the current interpretation of certain portions of the Bible may be false; but as the word of God, it is utterly impossible that any portion should be found incapable of being reconciled with truth, in whatever department that truth presents itself.
Having said so much, however, we must not advance further in this line of observation. We believe there must be a close and intelligible connection between the reason assigned in the fourth commandment for the observance of the seventh day, and the order and sequence of time mentioned in the beginning of Genesis. The "days" must mean the same thing in both places, if there is any validity or coherence in the language of the decalogue. It has been suggested by a recent writer, that the "day" of Genesis might be used for an indefinite period, and yet this term in the fourth commandment be employed to denote a natural day; and that still the language of the decalogue enforcing the observance of a seventh portion of our time for sacred uses by a reference to a sevenfold division and order of the epochs of creation, might be perfectly warrantable and just. But we confess our inability to take this view of the matter. It is the dedication of each revolving seventh day, and not merely of a seventh portion of existence, that is enjoined in the Sinaitic law, and the measure and interval of time are alike ordered by a consideration of the time of the creative process and the time of the Creator's rest; and this in such a manner that we cannot but regard the Divine as a model and exemplar of the human. The reasoning of Mr. Powell, (if such it may be called,) presents another instance of the way in which men of great ability impose upon their own understanding, when there is some favorite scheme of opinion to be supported. Who can for a moment seriously believe that the great fundamental truth of religion could be rendered more impressive, and clothed in more commanding forms, by having recourse to deceptive representations?—and deceptive they must be regarded, since they were presented in the guise of veritable history, and made the basis of actual and positive re-
ligious institutes. Does this not seem very much like doing evil that good may come? How these truths could be said to be, by this method, "impressed under the most awful sanctions," and the means thus taken to promote and secure the fulfillment of Sabbath observance be regarded as proof of "wisdom," we are entirely unable to discover. In our estimation, the whole would only exemplify the sinister expedient to which human policy resorts in its weakness, rather than the wisdom and righteousness that must ever characterize the legislation of God in his majesty and strength. Besides, if the "work of creation with reference to the different classes of beings was associated in the minds" of the Jews "with each of the six days," this could be only as the result of oral or written tradition, credited as fact and history, before the time of Moses, or at all events, before the composition of Genesis in its present form: and if this be admitted, there is no possible ground to doubt that "the seventh day was identified with the entire completion of the work, the divine rest and cessation from it," also, before the era when the inspired narrative was penned. The weakness of the reasoning exhibited in this part of the article, can be paralleled only by the reckless daring displayed in the closing assertion—"It cannot be history—it may be poetry." If the first chapter of Genesis be poetry, then what of the second and following chapters? And where is the point of transition from fiction to fact, from the creations of fancy to the sober realities of truth? The writer of the book has certainly furnished no marks or criteria, by which this important and vital point can be determined: nor does it seem possible to us, except by the aid of an hypothesis which begs the whole question, to draw any line of distinction where the style of narration, or of apparent narration, is throughout so uniform, so straight forward, and so simple. In conclusion we must say, that assumptions should not be mistaken for arguments, or preconceived theories for the sound conclusions of a patient and extended process of induction. We are greatly in need of a more faithful application of the great Baconian principle in the sphere of theological, not less than that of ordinary and natural science. This would terminate many a controversy which has agitated the church; and while it would tend to dry up the sources of logomachy, it would open wide the fountains and well springs of truth.
It constitutes no part of our present object to endeavor to define the mode in which the Sabbath was at first observed. But regarding this primeval appointment as the foundation-stone of the whole structure of Divine legislation upon the subject, it is important to keep in view the three inscriptions, or emblematic devices, it contains.
It speaks of rest, of blessing, and of sanctification. God "rested from all work." The figure, no doubt, is anthropomorphic; but there is a real solid fact beneath, and one full of meaning and suggestiveness. We might have supposed that the Omnipotent, by a single fiat, would have at once summoned into being the entire creation in its full magnificence and perfection, instead of extending the creative process over a series of days. How did He need repose who "fainteth not neither is weary," who "worketh hitherto," probably in the actual formation of new worlds and system, but certainly in what may be deemed equivalent, as regards power and majesty, in the sustenation and government of those which exist. But the whole work was thus lengthened out and thus closed and crowned, perhaps for other reasons at present inscrutable to us, but obviously for this special one, that we might have a Divine model and law of successive labor and repose. And this repose, it is manifest, was one associated with blessings adapted to the lofty nature and destinies of the new made creature. It would indeed be a style unworthy of inspiration, as well as a sad mockery of the high faculties and yearnings of the great and holy soul, fresh from its Maker's hand, and bearing upon it the Divine stamp and impress, to speak thus of blessing and setting a period, the benefits and privileges of which terminated and centered on the59mere animal nature and condition of man. Doubtless the day was encircled by a spiritual halo and brightness, such as could be caught only from the light of the celestial throne falling upon it in fuller, richer radiance, than upon any other of the seven.
Doubtless it was a day in which heaven seemed to bend down more sweetly, and to embrace more lovingly, the new made world with its garden of delights, because on this day man, freed from even the slightest earthly cares, and ceasing from "his own works as God did from his," was wholly absorbed in the more elevated engagements and the more rapturous pleasures of immediate, uninterrupted communion with his Father, God.
As yet the creation had not been doomed to groan beneath the burden of human transgression, and to long for deliverance from the "vanity" to which it has since become "subject." As yet, it found a voice and interpreter in man, still unfallen, and with a soul attuned to perfect harmony with its every tone and utterance. He, the high-priest of Nature, offered up her morning and even incense, fresh and untainted, to the God of all.
"These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame.
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine."
But it was in the serene, unclouded heights and depths of his own being, in the brighter and more divine forms of existence within, in the glorious intuitions and visions of his own soul, that he found the chief incentives of his noblest and purest sacrifice of thanksgiving and adoration. And what had the external creation, with all its revelations been to him, but for this richer apocalypse within? A blank, an enigma. In his own breast he found the key that unlocked all its varied treasures—the cipher which explained all the hieroglyphs that God had hung up on sun and star, and written all over earth and sky. It was thus he read and understood Nature, then not as now an opaque body (because the eye of man is covered with an earthly film,) but a luminous and transparent thing, through which God shone forth in visible splendor, and guided, as in primal Epiphany, the worshiper of earth to his own shrine and dwelling place.
But it was on the day "chosen of God and precious," that Nature would seem to wear her brightest aspects, and fulfill her loftiest ministries; that the thoughts and faculties of man would find their freest and fullest scope heavenward; that Jehovah himself would grant the most impressive signals of his presence, and communicate the highest lessons of his wisdom; and that the primeval pair, kneeling at the altar of Eden, would experience the deepest, divinest thrill, as by the electric touch of God, fulfilling his gracious promise to sanctify and bless this day.
Man fell "like Lucifer, son of the morning." The star sinks downward from its sphere. But it is not left to perish in utter darkness. There is a mysterious hope thrown upon the pathway of humanity. There still rests upon it the lustre and beauty of the Sabbath. This became to man, in his altered circumstances, the memorial of the past, the solace of the present, and the bright harbinger of the future. On it, the curse of toil was removed and Paradise was already half regained.
Distant gleams of a purer Eden would shoot through the gloom and fall upon his spirit. Its gates, on this day, seemed to open and invite his approach, and no cherubic sword waved its stern rebuke and no prohibition there. Then, too, he beheld another fairer and richer "tree of life, in the midst of the paradise of God;" and, standing at the entrance, the repenting and returning soul called the Sabbath a delight; and, believing, it would there enter into rest.
(To be Continued.)
PRAYER AND PRAISE.
By H. L. S.
"We praise thee, O God; we acknowledge thee to be the Lord"
The first-born rose of vernal prime
That opes its bosom rare,
In gentle sighs of fragrant breath
Doth make its morning prayer.
The summer-bird on raptured wing,
That cleaves the vaulted sky,
Doth to the great Creator pour
Its gushing minstrelsy.
Rich Autumn, with her fruitful hoard,
Her harvests ripening fair,
The golden sheaf, and loaded wain,
Doth praise the Giver's care:
Even Winter in its Sabbath rest
Adores the King of might,
And every snow-flake speaks of him
Who robes the earth in white.
Thou art his servant, O my soul,
By birth, by choice, by vow,
By bounties of each rolling year—
Prove thy allegiance now:
Yea, prove it as each passing day
Unfolds its pinions fleet,
By deeds of love, by thoughts of prayer,
By strains of worship sweet.
Make this brief a song of praise
Where'er thy lot may be;
And learn the language here below
Of heaven's eternity. [H. L. S.]
A GLORIOUS THING.
As John Foster approached the close of life, and felt his strength gradually stealing away, he remarked on his increasing weakness, and added, "But I can pray, and that is a glorious thing." Truly a glorious thing; more glorious than atheist or pantheist can ever pretend to. To look up to an omnipotent Father, to speak to him, love him; to stretch up as a babe from the cradle, that he may lift his child in his everlasting arms to the resting-place of his own bosom—this is the portion of the dying Christian. He was overheard thus speaking with himself: "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!" The eye of the terror-crowned was upon him, and thus he defied him.
Syria and the Holy Land.
By Editor
[Bro. Smith: If you think the following extract from a lecture on the condition of Syria and the Holy Land, would benefit or interest your readers, I would be happy to see it in the columns of the Review and Herald. I copy it from the Type of the Times, Vol. IX, No. 22, published at Cincinnati, O.—E. M. L. Cory.]
We are indebted to Henry Oldright of Halifax, Nova Scotia, for a printed copy of his phonographic report of a course of lectures delivered in his city by Gregory M. Wartabet, Esq., a native of Syria, on the condition of his country. The following will interest the reader:
The subject of this evening's lecture is one of deep interest to every one who calls himself a Christian. Look at the Crusaders. Were they pious men? No, some were murderers and some were thieves; yet mark the emotion they felt on beholding Jerusalem, that tear which rolled down their furrowed cheeks. I love to see a tear on a man's face. On the face of woman the tear of sympathy is lovely and interesting; but much the more so on the face of man, as it shows a greater depth of feeling. That tear called forth by the mere sight of Jerusalem spoke ten-fold more for the Crusaders in my opinion, than their greatest conquests. Now, what is there in Syria to bring all this great audience together? There is no very great difference between Syria as a country, and Nova Scotia. There are rivers there just like those here, hills, trees, &c. The inhabitants are not very different from yourselves. I am a native of Syria, and I have hands, feet, eyes, &c., very much like your own. But you love to hear of Syria, because it is the scene of Christianity, the land of the Bible, to which Israel came with Joshua at their head.
Christ was born there—Christianity was born there. There you will see the inn in which Christ was born. The inns in Syria are in the form of a quadrangle, and are several stories in heighth. You enter by an arch-way, and a circular staircase inside conducts you through the building to its summit. The lower tier of rooms is used for stables, and the upper tiers for rooms for guests. During fairs I have seen those stables used as rooms for poor people. Mary was put into one of those stables, and there in one of them in a manger was Christ born.
Now let us compare this very advanced age with Syria. Go and view the mighty ruins of Balbec, which lies between Lebanon, and Anti-Lebanon. That town was buit by Solomon, and is so wonderful that your architects are struck dumb with astonishment on viewing it. Its buildings are wonderful for their conception. Some of the stones in those buildings are sixty-four feet long, (one in particular, sixty-nine feet,) twelve feet high and seventeen feet wide. They were all cut out of a quarry half a mile distant, and all polished before they were put into the buildings. They are fitted so closely to one another that you cannot find the seam between them. It seems as if the city could not have been the work of man. Gaze for a while on its columns ninety feet in heighth, with the entablature surmounting them. What do you think of it? You cannot think any longer. A person asked me what I thought of that mighty cataract Niagara. I told him that when I saw it I did not think at all, I could do nothing but gaze! So it is with the beholder of these magnificent ruins. And why is it that Syria's architecture is unequaled? It is said by a mouth that cannot lie, that there never has been and never should be any one like unto Solomon. The great queen of Sheba said the half of Solomon's wisdom and prosperity had not been told her, and this anglo-saxon age is not equal to Solomon's, although it is three thousand years in advance of it. Syria's architecture is unrivaled yet—Solomon is unequaled—and God's truth remains true.
But Syria was not only great in architecture, but also in the arts and sciences. The Sidonians were celebrated for painting on glass, an art which has been lost to the world. The Tyrians also were distinguished for the beautiful dye called Tyrian purple, which has been hitherto inimitable. Syria was also distinguished for the knowledge of astronomy and navigation. This country was known to them. The wise men of the present know a great deal and assume a great deal more. I can prove to you from the Bible that this country was known in Solomon's time, and that its inhabitants were of the same race as our Bedouins or Ishmaelites. You talk of the wealth of the present age. Do you know what Balbec cost? There is not a king, or a dozen of kings, on the earth at present, who could build it. A whole quarry, (and in some instances three or four,) was exhausted for every stone there. The persons who were quarrying the stones would go to a neighboring hill, cut it down some thirty or forty feet, until they came to a rock. They would probably find it cracked, and therefore unfit for their purpose. They would then go to another hill, and another, and perhaps after cutting down some four or five hills, they would find a rock which was sound. Then they would have to cut, shape, form, and at last, carry the rock. Now what do you suppose would be the cost of one stone? What the cost of the whole building? What the cost of the entablature? If this city built by Solomon on the confines of the Holy Land, in honor of an Egyptian queen, cost so much, what do you suppose must have been the cost of the temple at Jerusalem? of Solomon's own house? of the whole of Jerusalem? Think also of the other cities which Solomon built—of Bal-Hamon, Bal-hanon, &c. Think of Solomon's private expenditures, for he had a thousand wives. Think of all this, and you may have some idea of the riches of Solomon. Come with me to Jerusalem. Jerusalem being surrounded by high hills, cannot be seen until you are close upon it. It is forty miles distant from the sea, and as you leave the shore early in the morning, you generally reach the city a little before sunset. Your first idea of that crowning city is, where is the first, the second, the third wall? Where is the tower of Antonia? Where is Zion? Where is mount Moriah? You search for even fallen ruins, but can find none. The scene is one which really brings your heart down. I have often gazed with pleasure upon the ivy-covered ruins of England: I love that dear, little, affectionate, fond ivy. It seems to say to the ruin, "Never mind, I will be your friend throughout; though all forsake you yet will I cling to you."
But in looking upon Jerusalem you can see no ruins, not even a sprig of ivy to cheer you. It is a small town encumbered with hovels. As you gaze, sadly upon it, the infidel says to you, "Surely, sir, this is not Jerusalem." But yes, it is Jerusalem; for there is mount Olivet where our Saviour retired to pray, there is the brook Cedron, there is the pool of Siloam, there is mount Zion, mount Moriah. It is Jerusalem; but O how changed!
When we see a rich man reduced to poverty, we feel sorry for him; and that is generally the feeling one has on viewing a decayed city. But that is not the feeling which you will have on seeing Jerusalem. The idea that fills your mind is, that Jehovah has passed over the country. An awful feeling creeps over you. When I first saw Jerusalem, I felt as if I stood before a dead body; in fact I cannot tell you what I felt, or how I felt. Even the infidel experiences the same feeling. Is this Jerusalem, where Christ lived and died? where he was mocked, scourged and crucified? Is this the birth-place of Christianity? You pause and think. You feel as if you were following some dear friend to the grave.
Let me now speak to you of the Church of the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem. This church is built over mount Calvary, where our Saviour was crucified, and over what is said to be his sepulchre. It was about the dome of this church that the late war commenced. It became dilapidated, and France and Russia quarrelled about which of them should repair it. It is still unrepaired.