under whatever restrictions, to make ourselves " all things to all men," it must be with that view, and for that purpose only—that we may " by all means" gain some over to salvation.

. SERMON VI.

IGNORANCE OF THE FUTURE, A BLESSING.

Psalm Xxxix. 5.

Lord, let me know my end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified, how long I have to live.

It is most probable, that this petition of King David, however earnest in its language, ought to be regarded merely as the effusion of a momentary wish for that knowledge, which, on reflection, he could neither expect nor desire. ' The pathetic hymn, in which it is found, was evidently composed in circumstances of deep and peculiar distress: such, as might induce its royal'author, under the heavy pressure of disconsolate .feeling, to speak of life as if he were weary of it, #nd anxious to learn, within what period he might /hope to be released from the burthen of his sorro/ws.

The whole composition, indeed, most naturally

J

and ingenuously depicts the fluctuations of a pious but agitated mind.

The writer plainly admits, that he had felt it necessary to be upon his guard, lest, in a fit of impatience, he should break out into language unbefitting his piety and resignation. "I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I offend not in my tongue."" And he represents himself as having adhered to this resolution for a time, though not without a severe effort. "I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me."* At length, however, (as he proceeds to state) his feelings had overpowered him. "My heart," says he, "was hot within me; and, while I was thus musing, the fire kindled, and, at the last, I spake with my tongue:"' and the words which he thus spake, when he could no longer refrain, were no other than those which we are now more particularly contemplating: "Lord, let me know my end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified, how long I have to live."

Restored at length by reflection to a calmer state of mind, the royal sufferer considered, that the days of man, at the most, are but "as it were a span long;"'—that he "walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain:"* and thence he was led to recollect, where his hopes and his trust ought to be placed. "And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly, my hope is even in thee."' Having, therefore, implored the pardon of God for "all his offences," and entreated, that he would "not make him a rebuke (that is—an object of contempt) to the foolish,"'' he resolves to give no further utterance to his complaints. "I became dumb, and opened not my mouth, for it was thy doing." * Still, however, he prays earnestly, that the "heavy hand"-' of the Almighty may be taken away from him; and, in conclusion, foregoing his former petition—to be "certified how long he had to live"—he only sues for such a continuance of life, as may enable him to regain that state of resigned composure, which he knew to be, under all possible circumstances, most con

sistent with piety. "O spare me a little, tnat I may recover my strength, before I go hence and be no more seen.""

That divine Providence has determined kindly as well as wisely for man, in the general concealment of the future from his view, was ever the opinion of the most profound reasoners; but more particularly, with respect to the duration of life. It is remarkable, however, that the bulk of mankind have always displayed great eagerness to penetrate into futurity; insomuch, that every pretender to the developement of fate has found listeners and dupes. In all ages and nations, various means, often the most unpromising and absurd, have been resorted to, in the hope of searching, if possible, into the hidden things of God. Witness the crowds that flocked to consult the heathen oracles; the observance of omens, by which many, even of those, who could not be destitute either of information or discretion, have been led either to prosecute or abandon the most important desigtts; the attention paid to astrologers, /

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* Ps. xxxix. 15.