recorded, he readily admits, however painful, and employs himself no more either in doubting, or finding fault. To the former he has bidden adieu: the latter he knows to be fruitless. However guilty the Bible exhibits him, he is prepared to consider himself as being at least equally guilty. However dangerous it declares his case to be, he is prepared to acknowledge the danger.

In this distress, it will be easily supposed, he also searches for the means of deliverance. For these he labours with the deepest concern. Hence he reads, examines, and ponders, with an interest, new and peculiar; with fear and trembling; with critical attention to every sentiment, declaration, and word; with an earnest disposition to find relief and consolation in any and every passage, where it can be found. The Bible is now no longer the neglected, forgotten, despised book, which it formerly was; but his chief resort; the man of his counsel; the rule of his conduct. To him it has now become, for the first time, the word of God, and the means of eternal life.

All the difficulties, which heretofore prevented him from being present in the house of God, have now vanished. The disagreeable weather, the personal indispositions, the indolence which seemed like an indisposition, the plainness of the preacher, the inelegance of the sermon, and the imperfection of the psalmody, keep him at home no more. In this solemn place he listens to all that is uttered; and watches all that is done. The preacher's words become as goads; piercing to the dividing asunder of the soul and the Spirit, of the joints and marrow.

At his former listlessness he is now amazed; as well as at that, which he still beholds in others around him. The Sabbath, no longer a dull, wearisome day, of which the hours dragged heavily, and during which he could hardly find any tolerable means of passing the time, now becomes a season of activity and industry, unceasing and intense; a season, waited for with anxiety, and welcomed with hope and joy. The sanctuary, no longer regarded as a place of mere confinement, as the scene of tedious, dull, unmeaning rites, where grave people were believed to assemble for scarcely any other purpose, except to keep gay ones in order, has now become the house of the living God, and the Gate of Heaven; the place, where he expects to find, if he finds at all, an escape from death, and the way to eternal life.

In the mean time, he cries mightily unto God for deliverance from sin and ruin. Prayer, long, perhaps from the beginning of his life, unused, unknown, and unthought of, or, if thought of at all, and attempted, always a burden, now becomes his most natural conduct. He sees, and feels, that God alone can deliver him; and therefore irresistibly looks to him for deliverance; oftentimes, indeed, with fear even to pray, from the strong sense which he entertains of his absolute unworthiness; and his unfitness to perform this first, most natural, most reasonable, of all religious

services. Sensible how impure an appearance he must make before that God, in whose sight the heavens are unclean, and whose angels are charged with folly, he feels unwilling, like the Publican, even to lift up his eyes towards Heaven; but, smiting his breast, cries out with importunate anguish, God be merciful to me, a sinner! But he cannot be prevented from praying. His cries for mercy, and those at times involuntary and ejaculatory, are forced from him by the sense of his guilt, and his fears of perdition. They often break out in his walks, in the course of his daily employments, and in his occasional journeyings: they spring from his meditations; they ascend from his pillow. The question, whether a sinner shall be directed to pray, has become nugatory to him; and has been decided, not by metaphysical disquisition, but by the controlling anguish of his heart.

During this season of struggling for salvation, it is no unfrequent thing for his despondency to continue, to return at intervals with more weight, and to sink him deeper in distress; according to the different states of his mind, and the nature of the different subjects, which occupy his thoughts.

It is all along to be kept in view, that, as I have heretofore remarked, this state of things is very different in different persons; varying almost endlessly in manner and degree; in some instances comparatively calm, quiet, and of an even tenour; in others disturbed, distressed, and tumultuous. Still it is also to be remembered, that substantially it is the same.

During this state of mind, it is further to be observed, the sinner forsakes, of course, many of his former favourite objects; especially his diversions, his gayety, his loose companions, and his haunts of sin. These he now perceives, and feels, to be the seats, and sources, of temptation, danger, and sorrow. Hence he shuns them with vigilant care, and lively dread; not from virtuous motives, but from the fear of rendering his case more dreadful and hopeless.

But none of his efforts give him rest. Neither his affections, desires, nor labours, are virtuous in the Evangelical sense, or commendable in the sight of God. His sense of danger only, and his apprehension of the inestimable importance of escaping, originally asleep or dead; is now alive and awake. This feeling, and its necessary effects, constitute the only change in his condition. No real goodness, no moral excellence, nothing really acceptable to God, is yet begun in his mind, or supposed to be begun. To be sensible that we are sinners, is not the result of virtue. There is no real goodness in being afraid of the anger of God. There is not, necessarily, any thing holy in acknowledging, that God is just in inflicting punishment, which has been deserved. These things may all exist without any hatred of sin, and love to God, or any faith in the Redeemer.

The prayers, which he daily offers up to his Maker, are not the offspring of piety, but of terror. The Child, who sees the rod brought out to view, and beholds correction at the door, is ever ready to supplicate for pity and forgiveness, and to promise whatever may contribute to his escape from the impending danger. Yet he is not of course a dutiful child.

Still these efforts of the sinner are useful to him. No unregenerated man was probably ever convinced, except by trying his own strength, that he was unable, of himself, to perform virtuous actions; to pray, to serve, and to glorify God: unable, I mean, in this sense; that he has no heart, no inclination, to perform these duties; and that he will never possess a better disposition, but by the renovating agency of the Spirit of God. The more he labours, however, the more clearly he will perceive his services to be all essentially defective, and really sinful. The more he prays, the more unworthy he pronounces his prayers. An unconvinced sinner always believes that he can pray in a manner acceptable to God: a convinced sinner readily declares, that he cannot pray in a manner, acceptable, not to God, but even to himself.

In the struggle thus continued, and thus earnestly conducted, he learns how obstinate his sinful dispositions are, and with what hopeless difficulty they are to be overcome. Convinced at length, that all his efforts must, without the immediate assistance of God, prove entirely vain, he casts off all his dependence on himself, and turns his eye to God, with the feelings of Peter, when beginning to sink, and cries out in his language, Lord save me, or I perish!

REMARKS.

1st. From these observations we learn the use and influence of the Law of God in promoting the work of conversion.

The Law evidently begins this work in the soul; or, perhaps, in more accurate language, it begins, and produces, that state of thought and affection, in which the Soul is usually turned to God. Without the terrors of the Law this state of mind would manifestly never be produced, unless the whole tenour of Divine Providence should be changed. Yet this, so far as we can see, is a natural and necessary pre-requisite to conversion. The sinner entirely needs thus to understand, and feel, his condition; his guilt, his danger, his helplessness, and his absolute necessity of being renewed by the Spirit of Grace. By the Law alone is he enabled clearly to see, and strongly to feel, these interesting things. From the same source of instruction he learns the true nature of his own efforts: for it is by a comparison of them with this standard of perfection, that he sees how destitute they are of all real holiness, and how unavailing to recommend him to God. In a word, from the Law only does he gain the knowledge, that he is spiritually sick, and stands in infinite need of the divine Physician.

services. Sensible how impure an appearance he must make before that God, in whose sight the heavens are unclean, and whose angels are charged with folly, he feels unwilling, like the Publican, even to lift up his eyes towards Heaven; but, smiting his breast, cries out with importunate anguish, God be merciful to me, a sinner! But he cannot be prevented from praying. His cries for mercy, and those at times involuntary and ejaculatory, are forced from him by the sense of his guilt, and his fears of perdition. They often break out in his walks, in the course of his daily employments, and in his occasional journeyings: they spring from his meditations; they ascend from his pillow. The question, whether a sinner shall be directed to pray, has become nugatory to him; and has been decided, not by metaphysical disquisition, but by the controlling anguish of his heart.

During this season of struggling for salvation, it is no unfrequent thing for his despondency to continue, to return at intervals with more weight, and to sink him deeper in distress; according to the different states of his mind, and the nature of the different subjects, which occupy his thoughts.

It is all along to be kept in view, that, as I have heretofore remarked, this state of things is very different in different persons ; varying almost endlessly in manner and degree; in some instances comparatively calm, quiet, and of an even tenour; in others disturbed, distressed, and tumultuous. Still it is also to be remembered, that substantially it is the same.

During this state of mind, it is further to be observed, the sinner forsakes, of course, many of his former favourite objects; especially his diversions, his gayety, his loose companions, and his haunts of sin. These he now perceives, and feels, to be the seats, and sources, of temptation, danger, and sorrow. Hence he shuns them with vigilant care, and lively dread; not from virtuous motives, but from the fear of rendering his case more dreadful and hopeless.

But none of his efforts give him rest. Neither his affections, desires, nor labours, are virtuous in the Evangelical sense, or commendable in the sight of God. His sense of danger only, and his apprehension of the inestimable importance of escaping, originally asleep or dead; is now alive and awake. This feeling, and its necessary effects, constitute the only change in his condition. No real goodness, no moral excellence, nothing really acceptable to God, is yet begun in his mind, or supposed to be begun. To be sensible that we are sinners, is not the result of virtue. There is no real goodness in being afraid of the anger of God. There is not, necessarily, any thing holy in acknowledging, that God is just in inflicting punishment, which has been deserved. These things may all exist without any hatred of sin, and love to God, or any faith in the Redeemer.

The prayers, which he daily offers up to his Maker, are not the offspring of piety, but of terror. The Child, who sees the rod brought out to view, and beholds correction at the door, is ever ready to supplicate for pity and forgiveness, and to promise whatever may contribute to his escape from the impending danger. Yet he is not of course a dutiful child.

Still these efforts of the sinner are useful to him. No unregenerated man was probably ever convinced, except by trying his own strength, that he was unable, of himself, to perform virtuous actions; to pray, to serve, and to glorify God: unable, I mean, in this sense; that he has no heart, no inclination, to perform these duties; and that he will never possess a better disposition, but by the renovating agency of the Spirit of God. The more he labours, however, the more clearly he will perceive his services to be all essentially defective, and really sinful. The more he prays, the more unworthy he pronounces his prayers. An unconvinced sinner always believes that he can pray in a manner acceptable to God: a convinced sinner readily declares, that he cannot pray in a manner, acceptable, not to God, but even to himself.

In the struggle thus continued, and thus earnestly conducted, he learns how obstinate his sinful dispositions are, and with what hopeless difficulty they are to be overcome. Convinced at length, that all his efforts must, without the immediate assistance of God, prove entirely vain, he casts off all his dependence on himself, and turns his eye to God, with the feelings of Peter, when beginning to sink, and cries out in his language, Lord save me, or I perish!

REMARKS.

1st. From these observations we learn the use and influence of the Law of God in promoting the work of conversion.

The Law evidently begins this work in the soul; or, perhaps, in more accurate language, it begins, and produces, that state of thought and affection, in which the Soul is usually turned to God. Without the terrors of the Law this state of mind would manifestly never be produced, unless the whole tenour of Divine Providence should be changed. Yet this, so far as we can see, is a natural and necessary pre-requisite to conversion. The sinner entirely needs thus to understand, and feel, his condition; his guilt, his danger, his helplessness, and his absolute necessity of being renewed by the Spirit of Grace. By the Law alone is he enabled clearly to see, and strongly to feel, these interesting things. From the same source of instruction he learns the true nature of his own efforts: for it is by a comparison of them with this standard of perfection, that he sees how destitute they are of all real holiness, and how unavailing to recommend him to God. In a word, from the Law only does he gain the knowledge, that he is spiritually sick, and stands in infinite need of the divine Physician.

VOL. II.

56