accomplish these plans, and we cry: "O my God! take me not away in the midst of my days!"

Much more is it the case with those of the middle-aged, who have given themselves to a life of sensual pleasure. What was entered upon at first as a mere diversion, becomes at length the business of life. It supplants every rival, drives out every intruder, and possesses the whole heart. The young know nothing of the whole-souled attachment with which the middle-aged devote themselves to a life of pleasure; with which they pursue after the world, its pomps, its shows, and its fascinations. If they have come into the possession of fortune, they aim to be the leaders of the ton, the arbiters of fashion, the first of their class, and second to none. These are they that shape the manners and the amusements of the day. They get up the greatest parties of the season. They make fashionable life what it is. They are the principal patrons of the play, the opera, the rout, the assembly. They bear sway at Newport and at Saratoga. Their will is law in the world of folly. Never before had they so many plans on foot-so many schemes of pleasure to execute; and never before have they been so wedded to life. The very thought of death is dreadful to these elegant dames, and their companions. It must not be named. They have no time to die. They must live.

It follows, as a consequence of all this, that the class, of whom I speak,

IV. Are ordinarily less prepared for death than others.

The fact of their being so much occupied with the cares and concerns of this mortal life, and the intensity also of their attachment to worldly objects, preclude that attention to their spiritual affairs, that is indispensable alike to the attainment of saving grace, and the growth of that grace when attained. They love life all the more, and shrink from the thought of dying, because they are so poorly prepared, or not at all, perhaps, for an event so momentous; and because they have so little leisure and inclination to make the needful preparation. Therefore they cry, with true sincerity and awful earnestness: "O my God! take me not away in the midst of my days!"

Such are some of the reasons that give intensity to the love of life in the middle-aged, and that makes them so dread the thought of its coming to a perpetual end.

But, whether we desire it or not, we must die. We are quite as likely to die as others. Death is no respecter of persons. He pauses not because of our reluctance to meet and accompany him. It matters not to him how much we are attached to lifehow much we have to do, to endure, to love and desire. At the appointed time he makes his appearance, and claims us as his

own. The shafts of death have sped to many a man and woman among us of late, who were yet but in the midst of their days. Some on the bed of disease; some on the shattered or burning steamer-the Henry Clay, the Reindeer, the Independence, and the Ocean Wave; some on the watery deep, by collision with other vessels, as the Atlantic, the Arctic, and others; some by dreadful disaster on the railway, as, but a few years since, near Lake Michigan, and at Norwalk Bridge; and others, by similar calamities from among the middle-aged, have gone the way of all the earth. We, too, must die.

Let me ask you, friends and neighbors! the solemn, all important question-Are you prepared to die? Many of you have no reply to make. You greatly fear that death will put a final end to your joys. You have no interest in Christ, no inheritance in heaven, and probably, in some cases, never will have. You have always been prone to neglect religion, and to put off the work of repentance; but never more than since you passed the season of youth. Your love of life, instead of diminishing, as perhaps you thought it would have done, has grown upon you year by year. Your unwillingness to die is more deeply-seated. You are more bound up in the world than ever-wrapped up in its business, projects, cares, perplexities, pomps, and pleasures. You are in the midst of your plans, and fully embarked in the turmoil of life. Your hands, your hearts, your souls are full. You have become deaf to the calls of God. You have learned the art of sitting among the hearers of the truth, and hearing scarcely a word. You have so long practised the art of warding off the arrows of truth, of silencing the admonitions of conscience, of turning a deaf ear to the warnings of divine Providence, and of quenching the Spirit, that you can now sit unmoved under the most awakening, alarming, and affecting appeals. The young tremble, are melted and subdued. But your mountain stands strong. You are in the midst of your days.

You have great confidence in the vitality of your physical powers-greater than you yourselves imagine. You never look upon yourselves as in reality exposed to death.

"All men think all men mortal but themselves;"

especially the middle-aged. You have so often gained the victory over death that you scarcely heed his approach. Our appeals are parcelled out to the aged and to the young; seldom to such as you. Nothing reaches you, nothing moves you. You have no time to read your Bible, to meditate on eternal realities, to hear God's word, except on the Sabbath. And even then, while in the sanctuary, your hearts are busied with the world. Having eyes you see not, and having ears you hear not. Thus it has been for years. You are becoming more and more insensible from year to year. If you have children, they are growing

up in an atmosphere from which are excluded the voice of divine praise and humble prayer; unblest with a parent's pious instructions and example; and preparing to run the same worldly and ungodly course of life. If you have wealth, or rank, or influence, they are all unsanctified. You have not learned the heavenly art of making "friends of the mammon of unrighteousness." And if you have a soul, as you surely have, how certainly are you preparing it for the world of everlasting despair!

Thou art in danger, friend! of being taken away in the midst of thy days. Look at that brow! it is furrowed with care-that aching head, it is sprinkled over with the early frost. Come with me and look into thy grave; it will soon be ready. Hark to that stealthy tread! It is the step of the grim messenger. Noit is not; that tread thou canst not hear. Lighter than the snowflake is the footfall of Death. Thou shalt not know when he cometh. Already, perhaps, he is drying up thy life-blood, but thou knowest it not. He is stealing away thy life, and yet thou art dreaming of years, busy, joyous, and many, to be spent upon the earth in pleasure and in sin.

Awake to

Fellow-travellers to the grave! be admonished. your danger before the summons comes. Is there no soft place in your heart? Must we see the cold sleep of death stealing upon you, and not be permitted, not be able, to arouse you? Our hope is in God alone. To him we lift our cry, and say "O my God, take" them "not away in the midst of" their "days!"

A word to the young, before I close, is suggested by our theme. How impressively are you here taught that youth is the best time to seek the Lord! You, who are in the morning of your days, are prone to think that the "convenient season "is yet to come. How great, how fatal, your mistake! If, by the convenient season you mean a period that shall be free from business, care, perplexity, and distress, you must not look for it in future life. You will not find it in middle life; you will probably never be old; and if you should, you will sigh for the days of your youth. Listen to the voice of experience-hear the exhortation of wisdom-Eccle. xii. 1. Yes, remember your Creator now-now in the season of youth. Now is emphatically your time-the accepted time-the day of salvation. Young man! do you still doubt? Go, and ask that merchant with the furrowed brow; that tradesman with the heavy eye; that mechanic with his care-worn face. Make bold to question them; and say "Sirs! would you advise me to secure the salvation of my soul now? or to wait till I attain to the midst of my days? Young woman! go to that careful dame, that fond mother, that diligent housewife, who is just passing the meridian of her days, and has not yet found time to make her peace with God. Ask her, in all frankness and sincerity, the question--" Madam! what shall I do;

be a Christian now, or wait until, like you, I have passed the season of youth, and am approaching the winter of life?" And what will be the reply? Is there one of my coevals that will not join with me and say to each of these dear youth-"Seek first the kingdom of God?" "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth?"-Not one. Beloved youth! this is your day. Let it not be lost. Bow at your Saviour's feet: seek his grace and taste his love. Do it now.

"Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer;

Next day the fatal precedent will plead:
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life."

HYMN.

Go watch and pray; thou canst not tell
How near thine hour may be ;
Thou canst not know how soon the bell
May tell its notes for thee:

Death's countless snares beset thy way;
Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.

Fond youth, while free from blighting care,

Does thy firm pulse beat high?

Do hope's glad visions, bright and fair,

Dilate before thine eye?

Soon these must change, must pass away,
Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.

Ambition, stop thy panting breath!
Pride, sink thy lifted eye!

Behold the caverns, dark with death,
Before you open lie:

The heavenly warning now obey;
Ye sons of pride, go watch and pray.

-Spiritual Songs.

SERMON DCLIV.

BY REV. JOSEPH F. TUTTLE,

PASTOR OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, ROCKAWAY, N. J.

KEEPING THE DOOR OF THE LIPS.

"Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips."--PSALM CXli. 3.

Ir is the conjecture of commentators that David wrote this Psalm whilst residing in Gath, whither he had fled to escape the implacable enmity of Saul (1 Sam. xxvii). This is merely a conjecture, yet it harmonizes with the situation of David at that time. He was the guest of an idolatrous king, and was living among a people who had ever been the foes of Israel. His prayer in the text is, that he may be circumspect in his speech, so that he may not be guilty of sin in his words. Living among idolaters he prayed for grace to restrain him from saying any thing which might be construed into an approval of idolatry or a disapproval of the worship of Israel's God. Dwelling with the wicked, he prayed for grace to speak no words inconsistent with the character of one professing to be a friend and worshipper of the Lord, the only true God.

The figures of the "watch" or sentinel "to keep the door of his lips" are very expressive. The door is the place by which those within pass out, and those without pass in, and in a citadel or fortification, extreme care is necessary to allow no one to go out, or to come in, whose absence or presence may endanger the safety of the garrison. This is especially true when the citadel is surrounded with enemies. Accordingly, night and day, a sentinel stands on guard at the gate, and no one is allowed to come in or go out without showing that he has the right to do so.

The door of a private house is not thus guarded, yet serves to guard the privacy of domestic life from those who have no right there, and no one passes from the house without opening the. door. The Psalmist compares his lips to a door, and prays that God will set a watch or sentinel so that no words may issue from that door, which it were better should never be spoken. This, thought is one significant of practical reflections, always appropriate, and perhaps never more so than now.

I invite your prayerful attention to this striking petition, "Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips."

I. Let me ask you to consider articulate words as constituting one of the most tremendous agents in the world. I do not call it tremendous because it is necessarily destructive, but in the same