Reform is a word that sounds well.—Banners are inscribed with it and people toss up their hands and shout "reform." The temperance lecturer and the statesman; the reader of smooth and varnished essays, and the stump orator in his grand-eloquent extemporaneous harangues to the people, delight in displaying the beauties of reform. As we said before, words sound well, but it is not with sounds alone we have to deal. Many content themselves with the sound, and go no further to inquire into its significance.
Reform may be applied to religion as to nations. Ever since the days of Martin Luther, religious reform has been actively at work. But it has mostly toiled in one direction. Its object seems to have been to adjust the wheels in the great machinery so as to work harmoniously. To this end huge volumes have been compiled and the libraries of the world ransacked.
But there is one part of the great principle of reform that has been gladly consigned to oblivion, and in this particular the Church is at war with the true spirit of Christianity. Costly palaces and magnificent temples are the great fountains from which the gospel at the present day is proclaimed to the people. Sermons carefully prepared according to the strict rules of rhetoric, and better calculated to captivate the tastes than to convince the reason are delivered weekly, from sacred desks. The congregations recline on cushioned seats and criticise the sermon. The man of wealth has his pew fitted up with all the modern improvements to make attendance easy. Select music opens the service and the rich peals rolling in soft music burst from the organ at its close.—Worldly splendor paves the "narrow path" to heaven and dresses the Christianity of the church in inviting robes.
Whether such a state of things indicates true Christianity, might perhaps be doubted. The founder of Christianity was born in poverty while on earth.
His pulpit was the mountain rock, his audience sat on the naked ground, and his sermons were addressed to the poor. So great was his poverty that he had no where to lay his head. His mission was one of charity and mercy. He sought the poor, the ignorant, the lame and the blind. He delivered no elaborate sermons on doctrinal points from highly ornamented desks, to gentlemen in broadcloth, and ladies in silks and satin. When the rich sought him they did not seek him in splendid temples and gorgeous palaces, but sought him in the midst of his labors among the poor and the humble.
Here then lies the difference between the Christianity of the Church and the Christianity of Christ—the former is founded on worldly splendor, the latter in poverty.—Would it not be well, among the reforms of the age to introduce a reform in Christianity, and preach as they did of old—to poor as well as to rich.
[Lockport Telegraph.]
SUNDAY.
By Editor
[Read the following poetical effusion on Sunday. The writer says well. “our Sabbath;” for certainly the Lord never owned it as his.—Ed.]
The ancient Sabbath was an end—a pause—
A stillness of the world : the work was done!
But ours commemorates a work begun.
Why, then, subject the new to antique laws?
The ancient Sabbath closed the work, because
The world was finish’d. Ours proclaims the sun,
Its glorious saint, alert its course to run.
Vanguard of days! escaped the baffled jaws
Of slumberous dark and death—so fitly first
In Sunday rank’d before the secular days;
Unmeetly clad in weeds, with arms reversed,
To trail in sullen thought by silent ways.
Like the fresh dawn, or rose bud newly burst,
So let our Sabbath wear the face of praise!
[HARTLEY COLERIDGE.]
BEAUTIFUL ALLEGORY.
A TRAVELER who spent some time in Turkey, relates a beautiful parable which was told him by a dervish, and which seemed even more beautiful than Sterne's celebrated figure of the accusing spirit and recording angel. "Every man," says the dervish, "has two angels, one on his right shoulder, and another on his left. When he does anything good, the angel on his right shoulder writes it down and seals it, because what is done, is done for ever. When he has done evil, the angel on his left shoulder writes it down; he waits till midnight; if before that time the man bows down his head and exclaims, Gracious Allah, I have sinned—forgive me! the angel rubs it out, if not, at midnight he seals it, and the angel on his right shoulder weeps."
The following beautiful lines by J. C. Prince, entitled "Forgiveness," contain the same sentiment.
Man hath two attendant angels
Ever waiting by his side,
With him whereso'er he wanders,
Whereso'er his feet abide;
One to warn him where he walketh,
And rebuke him if he stray;
One to leave him to his nature,
And so let him go his way.
Two recording spirits, reading
All his life's minutest part,
Looking in his soul, and listening
To the beatings of his heart;
Each with pen of fire electric,
Writes the good or evil wrought—
Writes with truth, that adds not, errs not,
Purpose—action—word—and thought.
One the Teacher and Reprover,
Marks each heaven-deserving deed;
Graves it with the lightning's vigor,
Seals it with the lightning's speed;
For the good that man achieveth—
Good beyond an angel's doubt—
Such remains for aye and ever,
And cannot be blotted out.
One, (severe and silent Watcher!)
Noteth every crime and guile,
Writes it with a holy duty,
Seals it not, but waits awhile;
If the evil doer cry not—
"God forgive me!" e'er he sleeps,
Then the sad, stern spirit seals it,
And the gentler spirit weeps.
To the sinner, if Repentance
Cometh soon, with healing wings,
Then the dark account is cancelled,
And each joyful angel sings;
Whilst the erring one perceiveth—
Now his troublous hour is o'er—
Music, fragrance wafted to him
From a yet untrodden shore!
Mild and mighty is Forgiveness,
Meekly worn, if meekly won;
Let our hearts go forth to seek it
Ere the setting of the sun!
Angels wait and long to hear us
Ask it, ere the time be flown;
Let us give it, and receive it,
Ere the midnight cometh down!
Popular Infidelity of To-day.
By J. C. Ryle
It is not atheism I fear so much in the present times, as pantheism. It is not the system which says nothing is true, so much as the system which says everything is true. It is not the system which says there is no Saviour, so much as the system which says there are many saviours, and many ways to peace. It is the system which is so liberal that it dares not say any thing is false. It is the system which is so charitable that it will allow every thing to be true. It is the system which seems ready to honor other religions as well as that of our Lord Jesus Christ; to class them all together, and hope well of all who profess them. It is the system which will smile complacently on all creeds and systems of religion—the Bible and the Koran, the Hindoo Vedas and the persian Zendavesta, the old wives fables of rabbinical writers and the rubbish of patristic traditions, the Racovian catechism and the Thirty-Nine Articles, the revelations of Emanuel Swedenborg, and the Book of Mormon, by Joseph Smith; all are listened to; none are to be denounced as lies. It is the system which is so scrupulous about the feelings of others, that we are never to say they are wrong. It is the system which is so liberal that it calls a man a bigot if he dares to say, 'I know my views are right.' This is the system which I desire emphatically to testify against and denounce. What is it but a sacrifice of truth upon the altar of a caricature of charity? Beware of it, you who believe the Bible! Has the Lord God spoken to us in the Bible, or has he not? Has he declared to us the dangerous state of all out of that way, or has he not? Gird up the loins of your minds and look these questions fairly in the face, and give them an honest answer. Tell us that there is some inspired book besides the Bible, and then we shall know what you mean. Tell us that the whole Bible is not inspired and then we shall know where to meet you. But grant for a moment that the Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible, is God's truth and then I know not in what way you can escape the conclusion that sincerity alone will not save your soul. From the liberality which says every body is right—from the charity which forbids you to say anybody is wrong—from the peace which is bought at the expense of truth—may the good Lord deliver you!—J. C. Ryle.
The Path of The Just
By Thomas Hewlings Stockton
The path of the sun is a radiant path. It is not only glorious. That expresses but half the truth. It is glorious because it is radiant. The sun is not like the moon a mere reflector glittering with borrowed light. God has given it light in itself; therefore it shines, and cannot but shine. If the mountains could be lifted up till they should enclose it, like a wall; and the clouds ascending from the mountains, concentrate their masses, and overreach it like a roof—it would shine still. Nay, made the more intense by the confinement, it would turn the mountains into diamonds, and clouds into crystals, and flash through them all, and fill the world with new splendors.
So with the path of the just. His glory is from within. It is a radiation. Put him where you will; he shines, and cannot but shine. God made him to shine. For instance, Imprison Joseph—and he will shine out on all Egypt, cloudless as the sky where the rain never falls. Imprison Daniel—and the dazzled lions will return to their lairs, and the King come forth to worship at his rising, and all Babylon bless the beauty of the brighter and better day. Imprison Peter—and with an angel for his harbinger star, he will spread his aurora from the fountains of the Jordan to the wells of Beersheba, and break like the morning over mountain and sea. Imprison Paul—and there will be high noon over all the Roman empire. Imprison John—and the isles of the Ægean, and all the coasts around will kindle with sunset visions, too gorgeous to be described, but never to be forgotten—a boundless panorama of prophecy, gliding from sky to sky, and enchanting the nations with openings of heaven, transits of saints and angels, and the ultimate glory of the city and kingdom of God. Not only so; for modern times have similar examples; examples in the Church and examples in the state. For instance, bury Luther in the depths of the Black Forest—and "the angel that dwelt in the bush" will honor him there; the trees around him will burn like shafts of ruby, and his glowing orb loom up again, round and clear, as the light of Europe. Thrust Bunyan into the gloom of Bedford jail—and as he leans his head on his hand, the murky horizon of Britain will flame with fiery symbols—"delectable mountains" and celestial mansions, with holy pilgrims grouped on the golden hills, and hands of bliss, from the gates of pearl, hastening to welcome them home.—T. H. Stockton.
"I was Dumb."
Few public men or public institutions are free from misrepresentations and groundless complaints. Explanations and replies afford fresh occasions for fault-finding. Patient continuance in well-doing is perhaps the safest course. God will protect the right, and in his own time vindicate those who seek to do his will and trust his care.
The great and good Chalmers once said, "I have all along been vastly too much disquieted by the misconstructions of those who did not comprehend me; and have suffered much both from the fatigue of refuting and explaining the same thing a hundred times over, and from the vexation felt in finding that in spite of every effort, there is a character assigned to my views the very reverse of every principle by which I am actuated. But why should the opposition of men thus affect me? Does it not test my belief in the reality of an all perfect mind, that is now looking on when I suffer so painfully from the adverse understandings of the limited and subordinate minds by which I am surrounded? Would it not nobly accredit my faith in God, that in quiet communion with him I felt a refuge and resting-place when sorely urged by the strife of tongues? To him may I at all times patiently commit my cause, and be still in the thought that he is God. Let me consider Him who endured not merely the controversy of adverse judgments but of adverse wills—the contradiction of sinners—and let me not be weary, nor faint in my mind."
The Importance of Our Manner
Our very manner is a thing of importance. A kind no is often more agreeable than a rough yes.