Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Conclusion Is not the reader prepared now to say, "Let me both live the life, and die the death of the righteous?" Is it not evident, that if in a Christian’s death there is something to be desired, there is also in his life that which claims our imitation?

We have aimed to rescue piety from the charge of making her votaries gloomy. We have endeavored to exhibit her influence, where it is allowed an unobstructed sway, as producing in the soul a "joy which is unspeakable." The impediments to this joy, especially such as exist in our day and country, have been dwelt upon, principally with the design of cautioning Christians against them; and some circumstances favorable to the development of pious joy have also been noticed, in order that they maybe fully appreciated and improved. As the mind glances back over the whole ground, what is the practical impression? What benefit, dear reader, is to accrue to your soul from these considerations? Shall the book be closed without one holy resolution, or one renewed struggle for the kingdom of heaven? Shall it be like a dream of the night, that is gone when the eye opens upon earthly scenes; and that, whether joyous or sad, is viewed only as a dream? Do you intend, after its perusal, to go forth into the world with the same unguarded heart; or without breathing up to God one additional prayer for his protection? Is this little volume to plant no one fragrant flower in your future path, nor to brighten your spiritual horizon with one beaming star? Then indeed has it, as it respects any good to you, been written and read in vain. But we will "hope better things of you, and things that accompany salvation." Are you a professor of piety; one by whom the sacred name of Christ has been named? Then may we hope, that the perusal of these pages will have strengthened what is good in the soul, and will lead you to unremitted efforts under God for still greater attainments. You must be convinced that piety will not make you happy in life, nor triumphant in death—if you allow her not her legitimate influence. She will not allow the market-men and money-changers to sit with her in the temple. She must be the sole monarch, or she will not reign at all. God and mammon can never occupy the same heart. Settle it in your mind, that all compromise for worldly gain or pleasure is the death of pious joy. That amaranthine flower grows only on Zion’s hill; and he who plucks it, must toil up the steep ascent, and leave the dull earth far behind him.

If you have been led astray, now is the time to retrace your steps. As the sigh of recollected, but departed joys heaves your bosom, seize the favored moment to plead with God that these "joys of salvation" may be restored.

It is time that Christians evinced more of the attractive features of their piety. Its power to make them happy is but seldom adequately shown. We have to appeal too often to the fears only of the impenitent. We ought to wear so heavenly an aspect, as to convince them of our superior felicity, and to compel them to admit, that, in the comparison, their groveling pleasures are empty and unsatisfying. How can we expect them to concede to the beauty—I had almost said to the reality—of our piety, if its loveliest fruits are not exhibited? Are we willing that souls should be repelled from the path of life, because we have obstructed its entrance, and withered every fragrant plant that grew around its gateway? Shall that which was given us to attract men to heaven, prove the perverted means of driving them down to hell? Shall our lamp go out, or burn so dimly as scarcely to direct our own steps, while, for the lack of its light, thousands are "stumbling on the dark mountains?" Christian reader, ask and answer these questions to your own soul! Or is my reader not only not a professor of piety, but one whose convictions of conscience assure him that he is not a possessor of true piety? Allow me to ask, if the perusal of these pages has not convinced you of, at least, one particular error—I mean the very common impression, that piety robs us of joy and felicity? Perhaps you have not fallen into this error. It may be that some very favorable specimens of living piety have come under your observation, and convinced you that true and substantial joy cannot be experienced, apart from piety. Is this your conviction? Why then do you remain where you are? Why attempt to satisfy yourself with husks, when "in your Father’s house there is bread enough and to spare?" But if you have stood off at a distance from piety, and taken your impressions of its influence from some merely nominal professors—or from some who, though truly pious, were afflicted with a constitutional melancholy—it is to be hoped that you will not any more charge upon piety what belongs to some accidental circumstances in connection with it; or what belongs to our remaining depravity; or what ought, in some instances, to be charged to downright hypocrisy. You must have seen that the Christian, with all his admitted failings, is the only happy man. His piety, where it is not obstructed, does pour sunshine into his soul. It makes life’s joys doubly precious, and life’s burdens easy to be borne. And in death, who has the advantage then? Whose prospects for eternity are the brightest?

Take what view you will of this subject—view the Christian when and where you will—it must be admitted, that to him belongs the only foundation of true and substantial joy. With this concession, let me ask you, what are your own expectations of felicity? Are you hoping to find it in the indulgence of the physical desires? Do the pleasures of sense put in a successful claim? Ah! how often has the cup been mixed, and as it touched the lip a momentary pleasure has flashed through the veins; but the soul exclaimed, "This is not happiness!" You have tried social bliss. Under the excitement of kindred minds you have seemed to enjoy the scene. But solitude has come, and in that solitude there was a voice which still spoke of misery. You have been impelled by the thirst of gain. Your success has been all that you anticipated. Or, you have "loved the praise of men," and have obtained it. But as the bright reward came into your hand, has not the unsatisfied soul still asked—"Is this all?" Every path which you have trod has failed to conduct you to the long-desired rest. Why is this? Because you have refused the only guidance that can conduct you to that rest. You have expected to find happiness in indulgence; whereas it is to be found in self-denial. You have looked for it in the pleasures of the world; when it is to be obtained by overcoming the world. You have shrunk from the cross of Jesus; when that very cross leads him who bears it to heaven’s unending joys. The lowly spirit you have not had. The tear of penitence you have not shed. The love of Jesus you have not felt. The hope of heaven has not dawned on your benighted soul; nor the Spirit of God breathed his peaceful influence there. How then can you be happy? "There is no peace, says my God, to the wicked." If you would be at peace, you must go where alone it can be found; and "forsaking all to obtain all," you must say, "Now I renounce my carnal hope, My fond desires recall; I give my mortal interest up; And make my God my All."