DIVINE PLANS IN HARMONY WITH DIVINE

PERFECTIONS.

In the operations of Deity all is order, beauty, and consistency. In the works of creation element balances element: the preponderation of one is counteracted by the pressure of its opposite, and thus an equilibrium is maintained among the whole. Equally harmonious and consistent are the mysterious plans of providence. To us they are like chaos, "without form and void "—dárk, profound, unfathomable. Does it follow that they are so in themselves? To the eye of superstition the comet carries in its luminous train war, and famine, and pestilence, and whatever scourge can afflict guilty nations: while, perhaps, it is the messenger of peace to distant worlds, rolling far beyond the extent of our vision, through the immensity of space. To the eye of ignorance the starry heavens present a mingled, confused display of trembling lights. To the eye of the philosopher, they wear an appearance far different. Yonder spark he discovers to be a sun, and conceives it the centre of another system. That cluster of glittering specks is to him what the finger-post or the mile-stone is to the traveller; it is a mark of measurement between one quarter of the heavens and another. Those wandering lamps, he perceives, describe a regular orbit; and he predicts, to an hour, their arrival at such and such a point of heaven-or their passage through a given con

stellation. Such are the plans of providence now to us, a majestic, but confused and boundless piece of machinery: and such shall they become in the world of light, when we shall see them all reduced to order. So in religion-dispensation answers dispensation-the anti-type is exactly delineated in the type--the shades of colouring melt into each other-and, from the present confused masses, the matchless skill of the divine Artist shall produce and perfect his own grand design. In the mean time, let us wait the issue, and in inspecting the progression of the work let us not decide as though it were already accomplished, nor pronounce our judgment, as though we were masters in the science, while we are only allowed to be spectators, or at most scholars.

GRAND EPOCHS IN HUMAN LIFE.

THERE are certain periods in every man's life, distinguished, above all others, for their importance. The magnitude of the events suspended upon them, of the purposes which they bring to maturity, or of the advantages which they secure— impart to them dignity and value. Some of these periods are pleasing, and some are painful: they are hours of joy, or of sorrow: and the heart anticipates them with rapture, or expects them with dismay. Affliction has its distinctions as well as felicity; and in the catalogue preserved in a man's fam

ily, of memorable events, the day of his death finds a place as well as the day of his birth. But life seldom flows a stream of even tenour: the expansion of its shallow wave is ruffled by the gale of prosperity, or by the blast of adversity; and it rolls, with perpetual variation, along a channel exposed to every breath of heaven, till it is lost in eternity.

The mother looks back upon the period when her first born came into the world, with inexpressible delight. She hails the return of the day, year by year, with growing pleasure. She sees him increase "in wisdom, and in stature, and in favour with God and man." She remembers no more her sorrow; nay, it was absorbed in the day when she smiled through her weakness upon his sleeping countenance, and first feebly pressed his cheek with her maternal lip.

The young man is looking forward to the day when he shall attain full age, and be his own mas ter. How slowly weeks, and months, and years appear to creep along! He calculates not upon the train of ills that the world, which appears so enchanting at a distance, will open upon him. Is life to be new-modelled for him? Are the plans of providence to be changed that he may walk along a velvet path through this wilderness? Will the flowers spring spontaneously beneath his steps wherever he places his foot? Is the house of his pilgrimage to be always swept and garnished? Yet he flatters himself that life is full of consolation, that its scenes are ever new, and ever pleas

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ing-and that the future contains all which he wants at present.

But there is an hour of more importance than these-an hour of greater magnitude than any other which the hopes or the fears, the pleasures or the pains, the wisdom or the ignorance of man, distinguish in the swift revolutions, and the incessant fluctuations, of this transitory state of existence. It is the hour when the account with heaven must close--when the balance must be struck-when time shall finish with us when the body shali fall into the dust, and the spirit shall appear naked before God. This is a day which man is, alas! too unwilling to anticipate. This deserves to be noted above all others; whether you consider the certainty of its approach, the solemnity of its features, or the magnitude of its consequences.

MAN HAS NOTHING OF HIS OWN IN WHICH TO GLORY.

MAN has nothing of his own in which to glory. In his best estate he had not anything whereof to boast: but, since his apostasy, and in his present degraded condition, few properties of excellence remain; and he can scarcely take any view of himself, which ought not to cover him with shame and confusion.

Take a momentary survey of the situation of Adam, as he came from the hand of God. You

must regulate your conceptions on this point, by the intelligence respecting it which the Scriptures have communicated: and by those deductions which may be fairly inferred from its concise, but important testimony. He was armed in the panoply of innocence. He reflected the radiance of divine glory. He enjoyed perfect and undisturbed felicity.

Youth, beauty, majesty, immortality, were all impressed upon him; and he stood at the head of that creation which God himself pronounced "very good "—proudly pre-eminent. The Deity favoured him with his presence and converse. Angels were his companions. The harps of heaven were heard mingling with his morning and evening devotions; and its songs rolled along the temperate air of blissful Eden. The voice of God, more charming than these, whispered among the trees of the garden; and the communication between earth and heaven was easy, was immediate, was constant. And had this favoured creature nothing in which to glory? Nothing! Every thing commanded gratitude-nothing inspired boasting. He was exactly what God made him: and where there is no merit, glorying ought to be excluded.

If this be true of man in his state of original rectitude, of what can he properly boast now that he is fallen and depraved? His beauty is faded; his primeval lustre is extinguished; his ancient magnificence is departed; his former dignity is degraded; and the image of God is defaced, and