Earlier text: THE LAW OF GOD AND THE SABBATH WHICH IT ORDAINS.BOWER'S ESCAPE FROM THE INQUISITION.
The other instance of the cruelty of the Inquisition, related in the spurious account of my escape published by Mr. Baron, happened some years before I belonged to the Inquisition; and I do not relate it as happening in my time, but only as happening in the Inquisition of Macerata. It is related at length in the annals of that Inquisition, and the substance of the relation is as follows: An order was sent from the high tribunal at Rome, to all the Inquisitors throughout Italy, enjoining them to apprehend a clergyman minutely described in that order. One answering the description in many particulars being discovered in the diocese of Osimo, at a small distance from Macerata, and subject to that Inquisition, he was there decoyed into the Inquisition, and by an order from Rome, so racked as to lose the use of his senses. In the mean time the true person being apprehended, the unhappy wretch was dismissed by a second order from Rome; but he never recovered the use of his senses, nor was any care taken of him by the Inquisition. Father Piazza, who was then Vicar at Osimo to Father Monterecouli, Inquisitor at Macerata, and died some years ago a good Protestant, at Cambridge, published an account of this affair, that entirely agrees with the account I read of it in the records of the Inquisition. The deep impression that the death of my unhappy friend, the most barbarous and inhuman treatment he had met with, and the part I had been obliged to act in so affecting a tragedy, made on my mind, got at once the better of my fears; so that forgetting in a manner the dangers I had till then so much apprehended, I resolved, without further delay, to put in execution the design I had formed of quitting the Inquisition, and bidding forever adieu to Italy. To execute that design with some safety, I proposed to beg leave of the Inquisitor to visit the Virgin of Loretto, but thirteen miles distant, and to pass a week there; but in the mean time, to make the best of my way to the country of the Grisons, the nearest country to Macerata, out of the reach of the Inquisition. Having therefore, after many conflicts with myself, asked leave to visit the neighboring sanctuary, and obtained it, I set out on horseback the very next morning, leaving, as I proposed to keep the horse, his full value with the owner. I took the road to Loretto, but turned out of it at a small distance from Recanati, after a most violent struggle with myself, the attempt appearing to me, at that juncture, quite desperate and impracticable; and the dreadful doom reserved for me, should I miscarry, presented itself to my mind in the strongest light. But the reflection that I had it in my power to avoid being taken alive, and a persuasion that a man in my situation might lawfully avoid it, when every other means failed him, at the expense of his life, revived my staggered resolution; and all my fears ceasing at once, I steered my course, leaving Loretto behind me, to Rocca Contrada, to Fossombrone, to Calvi in the dukedom of Urbino, and from thence through the Romagna into the Bolognese, keeping the by-roads and at a good distance from the cities of Fano, Pesaro, Rimini, Forlì, Faenza, and Imola, through which the high road passed. Thus I advanced very slowly, travelling, generally speaking, in very bad roads, and often in places where there was no road at all, to avoid, not only the cities and towns, but even the villages. In the mean time, I seldom had any other support but some coarse provisions, and a very small quantity even of them, that the poor shepherds, the countrymen, or wood cleavers, I met in those unfrequented by-places, could spare me. My horse fared not much better than myself; but, in choosing my sleeping-place, I consulted his convenience as much as my own, passing the night where I found most shelter for myself, and most grass for him. In Italy there are a very few solitary farm-houses or cottages, the country people there all live together in villages; and I thought it far safer to lie where I could be any way sheltered, than to venture into any of them. Thus I spent seventeen days before I got out of the ecclesiastical state; and I very narrowly escaped being taken or murdered on the very borders of that state; it happened thus: I had passed two whole days without any kind of subsistence whatever, meeting with nobody in the by-roads that would supply me with any, and fearing to come near any house, as I was not far from the borders of the dominions of the Pope. I thought I should be able to hold out till I got into the Modanese, where I believed I should be in less danger than while I remained in the papal dominions; but finding myself, about noon of the third day, extremely weak and ready to faint away, I came into the high road that leads from Bologna to Florence, a few miles from the former city, and alighted at a post-house, that stood quite by itself. Having asked the woman of the house whether she had any victuals ready, and being told that she had, I went to open the door of the only room in the house, (that being a place where gentlemen only stop to change horses,) and saw to my great surprise, a placard pasted on it, with a most minute description of my whole person, and the promise of a reward of 800 crowns (about £200 English money) for delivering me up alive to the Inquisition, being a fugitive from the holy tribunal, and of 600 crowns for my head. By the same placard, all persons were forbidden, on the pain of the greater excommunication, to receive, harbor, or entertain me, to conceal, or screen me, or to be any way aiding and assisting me in making my escape. This greatly alarmed me, as the reader may well imagine; but I was still more affrighted, when entering the room, I saw two fellows drinking there, who, fixing their eyes upon me as soon as I came in, continued looking at me very steadfastly. I strove by wiping my face, by blowing my nose, by looking out of the window, to prevent their having a full view of me. But, one of them saying, “The gentleman seems afraid to be seen,” I put up my handkerchief, and turning to the fellow, said boldly, “What do you mean, you rascal? Look at me—am I afraid to be seen?” He said nothing, but looking again steadfastly at me, and nodding his head, went out, and his companion followed him. I watched them, and seeing them, with two or three more, in close conference, and no doubt consulting whether they should apprehend me or not, I walked that moment into the stable, mounted my horse unobserved by them, and while they were deliberating in an orchard behind the house, rode off at full speed, and in a few hours got into the Modanese, where I refreshed both with food and with rest, as I was there in no immediate danger, my horse and myself. I was indeed surprised to find that those fellows did not pursue me; nor can I in any other way account for it, but by supposing, what is not improbable, that as they were strangers, as well as myself, and had all the appearance of banditti, or ruffians flying out of the dominions of the Pope, the woman of the house did not care to trust them with her horses. From the Modanese I continued my journey, more leisurely through the Parmesan, the Milanese, and part of the Venetian territory, to Chiavenna, subject, with its district, to the Grisons, who abhor the very name of the Inquisition, and are ever ready to receive and protect all who, flying from it, take refuge, as many Italians do, in their dominions. However, as I proposed getting as soon as I could to the city of Bern, the metropolis of that great Protestant canton, and was informed that my best way was through the cantons of Ury and Underwald, and part of the canton of Lucern, all three popish cantons, I carefully concealed who I was, and from whence I came. For, though no Inquisition prevails among the Swiss, yet the Pope’s nuncio, who resides at Lucern, might have persuaded the magistrates of those popish cantons to stop me, as an apostate and deserter from the order. Having rested a few days at Chiavenna, I resumed my journey quite refreshed, continuing it through the country of the Grisons, and the two small cantons of Ury and Underwald, to the canton of Lucern. There I missed my way, as I was quite unacquainted with the country, and discovering a city at a distance, was advancing to it very slowly, as I knew not where I was; when a countryman whom I met, informed me that the city before me was Lucern. Upon that intelligence, I turned out of the road as soon as the countryman was out of sight; and that night I passed with a good-natured shepherd in his cottage, who supplied me with sheep’s milk, and my horse with plenty of grass. I set out very early next morning, making the best of my way westward, as I knew that Bern lay west of Lucern. But, after a few miles, the country proved very mountainous, and having traveled the whole day over mountains, I was overtaken among them by night. As I was, looking out for a place where I might shelter myself during the night, against the snow and rain, (for it both snowed and rained,) I perceived a light at a distance, and making toward it, got into a kind of a foot-path, but so narrow and rugged that I was obliged to lead my horse, and feel my way with one foot, (having no light to direct me,) before I durst move the other. Thus, with much difficulty, I reached the place where the light was, a poor little cottage, and knocking at the door, was asked by a man within, who I was, and what I wanted? I answered that I was a stranger, and had lost my way. “Lost your way?” replied the man, “there is no way here to lose.” I then asked him in what canton I was, and upon his answering, that I was in the canton of Bern, “I thank God,” I cried out transported with joy, “that I am.” The good man answered, “And so do I.” I then told him who I was, and that I was going to Bern, but had quite lost myself, by keeping out of the high roads, to avoid falling into the hands of those who sought my destruction. He thereupon opened the door; received and entertained me with all the hospitality his poverty would admit of; regaled me with sour crout and some new-laid eggs, the only provisions he had, and clean straw with a kind of rug for my bed, he having no other for himself and wife. The good woman expressed as much satisfaction and good nature in her countenance, as her husband, and said many kind things in the Swiss language, which her husband interpreted to me in the Italian; for that language he well understood, and spoke so as to be understood, having learned it, as he told me, in his youth, while servant in a public house on the borders of Italy, where both languages are spoken. I never passed a more comfortable night; and no sooner did I begin to stir in the morning, than the good man and his wife came both to know how I had rested; and, wishing they had been able to accommodate me better, obliged me to breakfast on two eggs, which Providence, they said, had supplied them with for that purpose. I then took leave of the wife, who, with her eyes lifted up to Heaven, seemed most sincerely to wish me a good journey. As for the husband, he would by all means attend me to the high road leading to Bern; which road, he said, was but two miles distant from that place. But he insisted on my first going back with him to see the way I had come the night before; the only way, he said, I could have possibly come from the neighboring canton of Lucern. I saw it, and shuddered at the danger I had escaped; for I found that I had walked and led my horse a good way along a very narrow path on the brink of a very dangerous precipice. The man made so many pious and pertinent remarks on the occasion, as both charmed and surprised me. I no less admired his disinterestedness than his piety; for, upon our parting, after he had attended me till I was out of all danger of losing my way, I could by no means prevail upon him to accept of any reward for his trouble. He had the satisfaction, he said, of having relieved me in the greatest distress, which was in itself a sufficient reward, and he cared for no other. I reached Bern that night, and proposed staying some time there; but being informed by the principal minister of the place, to whom I discovered myself, that boats were frequently down the Rhine, at that time of the year, with goods and passengers from Basil to Holland, and advised by him to avail myself of that opportunity, I set out accordingly the next day, and crossing the popish canton of Soleurre in the night, but very carefully avoiding the town of that name, I got early the next morning to Basil. There I met with a most friendly reception from one of the151ministers of that place, having been warmly recommended to him by a letter I brought with me from his brother at Bern. As a boat was to sail in two days, he entertained me very elegantly during that time at his house, and I embarked the third day, leaving my horse to my host, in return for his kindness. The company in the boat consisted of a few traders, of a great many vagabonds, the very refuse of the neighboring nations, and some criminals flying from justice. But I was not long with them; for the boat striking against a rock not far from Strasburgh, I resolved not to wait till it was refitted, (as it was not my design to go to Holland) but to pursue my journey partly in the common diligence or stage-coach, and partly on post-horses, through France into Flanders. Having got safe into French Flanders, I there repaired to the college of the Scotch Jesuits at Douay, and discovering myself to the rector, I acquainted him with the cause of my sudden departure from Italy, and begged him to give immediate notice of my arrival, as well as of the motives of my flight, to Michael Angelo Tamburini, general of the order, and my very particular friend. The rector wrote, as I had desired him, to the general, and the general, taking no notice of my flight, in his answer, (for he could not disapprove it, and did not think it safe to approve it,) ordered me to continue where I was till further orders. I arrived at Douay early in May; and continued there till the latter end of June, or the beginning of July, when the rector received a second letter from the general, acquainting him, that he had been commanded by the congregation of the Inquisition, to order me wherever I was, back to Italy; to promise me, in their name, full pardon and forgiveness, if I obeyed; but if I did not obey, to treat me as an apostate. He added, that the same order had been transmitted, soon after my flight, to the nuncios at the different Roman Catholic courts, and he, therefore, advised me to consult my own safety without further delay. Upon the receipt of the general’s kind letter, the rector was of opinion that I should repair by all means and without loss of time, to England, not only as the safest asylum I could fly to in my present situation, but as a place where I should soon recover my native language, and be usefully employed, as soon as I recovered it, either there or in Scotland. I readily closed with the rector’s opinion, being very uneasy in my mind, as my old doubts, in point of religion, daily gained ground, and new ones arose upon my reading (which was my only employment) the books of controversy I found in the library of the college. The place being thus agreed on, and it being at the same time settled between the rector and me, that I should set out on the very next morning, I solemnly promised, at his request and desire, to take no kind of notice, after my arrival in England, of his having been any ways privy to my flight, or of the general’s letter to him. This promise I have faithfully and honorably observed; and should have thought myself guilty of the blackest ingratitude if I had not observed it, being sensible that, had it been known at Rome, that either the rector or general had been accessory to my flight, the Inquisition would have resented it severely in both. For, although a Jesuit in France, in Flanders, or in Germany, is out of the reach of the Inquisition, the general is not; and the high tribunal not only have it in their power to punish the general himself, who resides constantly at Rome, but may oblige him to inflict what punishment they please on any of the order obnoxious to them. The rector went that very night out of town; and in his absence, but not without his privity, I took one of the horses of the college, early next morning, as if I were going for change of air, being somewhat indisposed, to pass a few days at Lisle; but steering a different course, I reached Aire that night, and Calais the next day. I was there in no danger of being stopped and seized at the persecution of the Inquisition, a tribunal no less abhorred in France than in England. But, being informed by the general, that the nuncios at the different courts had been ordered, soon after my flight, to cause me to be apprehended in Roman Catholic countries, through which I might pass, as an apostate or deserter from the order, I was under no small apprehension of being discovered and apprehended as such, even at Calais. No sooner, therefore, did I alight at the inn, than I went down to the quay; and there, as I was very little acquainted with the sea, and thought the passage much shorter than it is, I endeavored to engage some fisherman to carry me that very night, in one of their small vessels, over to England. This alarmed the guards of the harbor; and I should have been certainly apprehended as a person guilty, or suspected of some great crime, fleeing from justice, had not Lord Baltimore, whom I had the good luck to meet in the inn, informed me of my danger, and pitying my condition, attended me that moment, with his company, to the port, and conveyed me immediately on board of his yacht. There I lay that night, leaving every thing that I had, but the clothes on my back, in the inn; and the next day his lordship set me ashore at Dover, from whence I came in the common stage to London. Prophecy is History in Advance. THE GREATNESS OF GOD'S WORKS.
By Adolphus Smith
“Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Almighty.” Rev. xv, 3. WHEN the sun is set, and darkness covers the earth beneath, not only the lover of the marvelous and sublime, but especially the true child of God, can find in the starry vault above him a boundless sea of contemplation, an exhaustless mine of wealth. Man with the aid of the telescope has laid hold upon distant worlds and subjected them to his scrutinizing gaze; has determined their density, and weight in tons; has measured their circumferences and diameters, and even the hight of mountains upon their surfaces; has ascertained the exact time of their diurnal and yearly revolutions; and determined all the general laws that govern their existence as planets in the canopy of heaven. Our earth, the third planet in order from the sun, is found to be nearly eight thousand miles in diameter. Saturn is nine hundred, and Jupiter fourteen hundred times larger than the earth. And yet all these revolve round, and derive their light and heat from the same sun, which is ascertained to be thirteen hundred thousand times larger than our earth. Notwithstanding the vast size of the sun, it is believed to be much smaller than some of the fixed stars, the nearest of which is distant about thirty-eight thousand millions of miles. Our sun is believed to be one of the stars of the milky way, situated in the south and inner side of the ring; which ring is termed an astral system; numbers of which systems like our own appear in the depths of space, as we raise the power of our telescopic instrument. Stars so remote that their light, traveling at the rate of two hundred thousand miles a second, would occupy thirty-five hundred thousand years in reaching our earth. Amazing thought! And yet if we could stand upon one of those distant worlds and stretch our vision to the heavens beyond we should doubtless discover them filled with the works of God. “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork.” Is it possible that the Almighty can for a moment regard our mundane sphere, which is as it were, impalpable dust as compared with the whole creation of God? And more: can man, vile, rebellious man, who has insulted that God, and defied the wrath of Heaven, be made the object of his favor, or partaker of his glory? “And can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring?
Make slaves the partners of thy throne,
Decked with a never-fading crown?” Yes, it is possible. With God all things are possible. Man has broken the law of God, and must needs incur its penalty. But Jesus has redeemed man. “For what the law could not do in that it was weak through the flesh, God sending his own son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh.” Rom. viii, 3. “For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye, through his poverty, might be rich.” 2 Cor. viii, 9. Yes, Jesus, the Son of God, commander of the hosts of Heaven, took our flesh, and dwelt among us; was tempted, afflicted, despised; wept over human woes; stooped to wash the feet of his servants; was condemned to a cruel, shameful death; and all for us. Yes, reader, for you and me. “Amazing love, and can it be,
That thou, my Lord, shouldst die for me?” “No,” says the objector. “The infinity of God's creation forbids the possibility of so great a sacrifice being made for so worthless an object; almost the lowest order of created things.” Before pronouncing too hastily let us take that magnifying glass and examine the eye of this butterfly. We find it contains seventeen thousand lenses, each as perfect as the human eye. Amazement! And yet this is only one of the wonders of the world beneath, unfolded to our astonished gaze by microscopic power. Again: we divide a particle of matter into halves, and each of these parts into halves again; and so on. Now I ask, is it possible so to reduce these particles in size, as that they shall no longer possess the properties of one half, one fourth, &c.? I think not, even though our finite minds and imperfect vision cannot trace its intricacies below a certain point. As there are hights above us that we cannot measure, so also there are depths below us that we cannot fathom: but “All things are naked and open to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do.” As therefore God has created the glories of the world above us, so also has he created the wonders of the world beneath us. Nothing is beneath his notice. “If I ascend up into Heaven thou art there; if I make my bed in hell; behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.” As God is infinite in power, honor, and glory, so also is he infinite in love. The gift of his only Son is proof of that love. “If the seas with ink were filled,
And were the skies of parchment made,
And every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry,
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
If stretched from sky to sky.” DO THE ANGELS COME ABOUT US?
By Jennie Dewey
Do the angels come about us?
Do they listen to our prayer?
Do they hover gently o'er us,
And our sorrows help to bear?
Do they bring us love and blessings?
Do they whisper words of cheer?
Do they give us faith for asking?
Do they tell us not to fear? Do their wings bring joy from sadness?
Do they smile amid our woe?
Do they bring us hope and gladness?
And our fondest wishes know?
When the night is dark and starless,
And the heart sinks back in fear;
When the tempest rages wildest,
Do the angels hover near? Do they bring the morning brightness
Over shadows dark and drear?
Do they tell us that the midnight
Of our sorrow brings us cheer?
Do they tell us where the star gem
Of a sweeter faith is found,
And still point us to the glory
When in Heaven we wear the crown? Yes the angels come so near us,
That they hear our heart's deep prayer,
Fold their pinions gently round us,
Sooth our grief, dispel our care
And they bring us love and blessings,
Bring us hope and gladness bright'
Bring sweet joy and light and pleasure,
From the sadness of our night. If we suffer then, who knoweth
What the angels may return;
If the Father gives us angels,
What sweet lessons may we learn.
If our path be one of sorrow,
Thorny, steep, and full of woe,
We may rest, for on the morrow,
Joy again our hearts shall know. Health Institute, Aug. 5th. THE SEVENTH-DAY SABBATH.—IS ITS OBSERVANCE BINDING.
By W. C. G.
HAVING now disposed of the ten commandments by making them the first covenant, and having that covenant abolished, because it was faulty, Mr. B. now gives us the following as a reason why it was faulty: “This covenant we are told is faulty; and it is so in this respect: it neither teaches love to God, nor love to our neighbor. It does indeed speak of love; but not in such a way as to make it a part of the ten commandments. “And showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me AND keep my commandments”—the love being quite different from the commandments. Those only got the blessing who did both. A person may obey without love; but cannot love without obeying what is obligatory.” Does he believe this, or does he say it to evade the force of the magic word love, contained in the commandments? We think it must be the latter, for how can a man in his senses, declare that a “person may obey without love.” Hear the apostle on this point: “For this is the love of God that we keep his commandments.” 1 Jno. v, 3. Love and the keeping of the commandments, are here shown to be one and the same thing, and obedience without love is simply impossible. But let us see about the faultiness of these commandments. David says, “The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul; the statutes of the Lord are right,” &c. Ps. xix. Now one of two things must be true: the psalmist was speaking of the ten commandments, and they could not therefore be the faulty covenant; or, he referred to some other law. Aside from the ten commandments, which alone are called a law, we have in the former dispensation the law of commandments contained in ordinances. One of these two must therefore be the perfect and right law. But Paul shows conclusively that it could not be the latter, for he calls that “carnal,” and says “it made nothing perfect,” and “could not make him that did the service perfect,” &c. Hence we are compelled to believe that the law in which David delighted, and which Paul himself called “spiritual,” was God’s moral law of ten commandments, and not the “faulty” covenant which waxeth old and vanisheth away. To further strengthen his position he now takes refuge in the seventh chapter of Romans. The “blindness of mind” which characterizes our antinomian opponents is made apparent by their appeals to this testimony, which proves upon examination, to be a convincing chapter on the perpetuity of those very commandments our opponents would have it abolish. He first admits that Paul here has reference to the ten commandments by the use of the following language: “Now the apostle seems to draw a comparison between the law of the land and the law of God; for it is this law he is speaking of as we can see by reading verse 7; for it is the same law all the way through. ‘Nay, I had not known sin, but by the law; for I had not known lust, except the law had said, Thou shalt not covet! That law is the one forbidding covetousness; hence the one brought in here by Paul—the law written on stone.” Now before giving what we believe to be the apostle’s true meaning in this chapter, we would like to ask Mr. B. how in the name of reason and common sense an old dead law, which waxed old and vanished away at the cross, could have been instrumental in converting Paul thirty years this side of the cross, and without which he “had not known sin?” and how that law which he calls “faulty,” can be the same one that Paul calls “holy, just and true” in the 12th verse of this same chapter? When he can harmonize these difficulties perhaps he will not be so muddled with regard to the true meaning of this chapter. THE SIN AGAINST THE HOLY SPIRIT.
By James White
“Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men; but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man it shall be forgiven him; but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.” Matt. xii, 31, 32. Despair, which I have myself felt keenly, is usually the result of believing and feeling that one has committed the sin which hath no forgiveness. Such persons I think are all mistaken. At least many of them are, as each will point you to a distinct sin, differing from that of the others. But as the text teaches that there is but one such sin, those only who commit this sin have good cause to despair. That all such despairing, fearing, trembling souls are mistaken, I judge from the fact that the Bible represents the careless as on the way to certain ruin, while it lavishes promised blessings upon those who tremble at the word of God and fear that they will fail of everlasting rest. For examples, see the boasting Pharisee, and the repenting Publican who dare not even raise his eyes to heaven. He smote his own breast and prayed, God be merciful to me a sinner. Again, those that are really lost, feel not the strivings of God’s Spirit, but lay at ease in the arms of Satan. Those for whom there is hope have the care of good angels, and the Spirit strives with them. Satan strives for them, hence the person feels the collision of spirits, causing a great variety of feelings, one of which is despondency. The time will come when the lost will feel their condition; but I think no such one feels it now; hence all those persons with large conscientiousness and small hope, who feel that they are lost, are only imposed upon by Satan. They may have committed sin and in despair have given up the Sabbath. But they hear the evidences again, and feel deeply and weep over their condition; but feel that it is no use for them to try again to keep all the commandments of God. To such I would say, You have not committed that sin. You are all feeling. Those guilty of this sin are as unfeeling as the stones in the bottom of the ocean. Take hold of the truth again. And to all who are in despair let me address you in the language of the apostle, and the assurance of my own soul, “Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.” But what is the unpardonable sin? If I can give a distinct answer, the reader can know whether or not he has committed it. Mark the following points: 1. There is but one sin of this kind in the reach of sinners. The following expressions in the text prove this: “All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. He that speaketh against the Holy Ghost it shall not be forgiven him.” A man may break each of the ten commandments, yet not commit the sin which hath no forgiveness. Without repentance and faith he must be lost. With these he may be saved. 2. Murder is considered the highest crime. The law of our country punishes it with the severest penalty. The Sabbath commandment may be greater than the precept, “Thou shalt not kill.” But when we take into the account the education and views of the American people relative to these two precepts, the decision must be that murder is the highest crime. When the Lord said, “All manner of sin,” he must have included murder. Thank God, that by the precious blood of his dear Son, even the crimson stains of this terrible crime may be washed away. Despair not, dear, fainting brother. Your deep feelings have nearly driven you to insanity, and have almost unfitted you to reason calmly. God knows this, and by his prophet calls upon you in the following touching language, “Come now and let us reason together. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” Isa. i, 18. 3. Sin cannot be committed against that of which men have no knowledge. Those who have no knowledge of God do not sin against him. Where there is no law, consequently no knowledge of the Lawgiver, there is no transgression. Hence those who know nothing of the Holy Spirit, have never felt its power or seen its influence upon others, have not sinned against it. 4. Those who feel its influence to a degree, but do not yield complete obedience so as to enjoy its fullness; though they may have seen its influence upon others, but have hesitated, neither confessing the work of God nor rejecting it, do not commit this sin. They may by their extreme caution, and fear to commit themselves, even “quench the Spirit;” yet that grieved Spirit lingers and strives. Such do not commit the sin against the Holy Ghost. 5. But he who has knowledge of it, feels it and sees its influence upon others, and professes the work to be of God, then denies it and rashly says it is the work and power of the Devil, commits the sin which hath no pardon. Attributing the work of the Holy Spirit to Beelzebub was this sin in the days of Christ. It is the same now. This is very apparent from the fact that in close connection with my text is the following: “And Jesus knew their thoughts, and said unto them, Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand. And if Satan cast out Satan, he is divided against himself. How shall then his kingdom stand? And if I by Beelzebub cast out devils, by whom do your children cast them out? therefore they shall be your judges. But if I cast out devils by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God is come unto you.” Verses 25-28. Here are the historical facts, eighteen centuries old. The text declaring that there is but one such sin, and pointing that sin out, is the conclusion given as a warning to the rash and the comfort of the trembling, till the close of time. A word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven, but a word against the Holy Spirit, never. When a boy I listened with great interest to the relation by my father of the words of an aged servant of God as he was laboring to lift from the mire of despair some doubting souls who concluded from their bad feelings that there was no mercy for them. They doubted because they felt bad, and felt bad because they doubted. Oh! how cruel the Devil is to harness bad feelings up with doubts, and fasten them upon the mind, and set them running with lightning speed to hurl conscientious souls down the precipice of despair. But to return to the relation. Said the minister: “But few persons have committed the unpardonable sin. In the so-called religious wars of the past, when an infidel led on his army against a professedly Christian nation, he was overcome and fell in battle. A ball entered his breast. The blood poured out in a stream. He caught his hands full of it, and in insult to the Son said, as he threw it toward heaven, ‘Thou hast overcome me, thou Nazarene!’ This man committed the sin which hath no forgiveness.” That this General found no pardon we believe, first, because he had no time to seek for it; and, secondly, he had no disposition to seek pardon. But the last words he spoke were not against the Holy Ghost, they were against the Son. If that heaven-daring sinner had not before committed the sin unto death, and if he had had time and a disposition to repent, he could then have found mercy, even after he had flung the crimson current from his own veins into the face of the Son of God. All manner of sins shall be forgiven save one. I close by saying, I present this subject to help the desponding, and as a warning to the rash whose hope ever rushes them forward, and whose conscientiousness, of which they have none too much, never blocks the wheel. Dear reader, the way to life is narrow; but the door of hope opened through the death of Christ into this narrow way, is as wide as the world. The love and pity of Christ is exalted as high as all your sins, piled one upon the other. The remedy will search and cure to the very depths of all your crimes, if you are not guilty of the one sin. Christ came not to call the righteous to repentance; but to call and save just such repenting, despairing sinners as you are. You feel unworthy. Then look away from unworthy self to Christ, and be lost in the153worthiness of the Lamb. The hypocrite and the deceived plead their own worthiness, and thank God that they are better than other men, while the humble plead for pardon, and as faint hope revives, exalt the Lamb. The secret, if not the out-spoken sentiment, of their soul is, “Worthy, worthy is the Lamb,
That once was slain.” To those in particular who have turned away from the present truth, and in consequence are desponding or in despair, I would say, “Repent of your transgressions, believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and be baptized, washing away your sins, that you may walk here in newness of life and hereafter share ever that life which is perennial.”
JAMES WHITE.
Greenville, July 6, 1867. DISCIPLINE
By JOS. CLARKE.
COMES to us in different ways. Sometimes the child is disciplined, sometimes the man. It may be a kind earthly parent chastises his child; or our Heavenly Father applies the wholesome correction; or it may be a church that attempts to restore an offending member. In whatever way discipline may be applied, we may not consider it as punishment, but a kind and merciful hand which aims to save us. When an intoxicated person or one insane would throw himself into the sea, his friends and acquaintances gather around him and use all the art and persuasion possible to dissuade him from so wild a freak; so the church aims only to save their offending members from self-destruction; and the madman who stubbornly persists in throwing himself into the sea, is not more beside himself than he who resists wholesome discipline; neither are the consequences less disastrous; one destroys his body, the other loses eternal life. The drowning man is overjoyed if a friend throws him a plank or a life preserver, to which he may cling until a boat arrives to bring him to land. Why should not we thank God for wholesome discipline, whether it come from God or man; whether severe or mild, when it is so necessary to save us from shipwreck of our faith. As writes the poet; “Why should my foolish heart complain,
When wisdom truth and love
Direct the stroke, inflict the pain,
And point to joys above?”