training to which we call attention, is unbelief. Christian parents do not generally expect their children to grow up pious. They believe that a religious education will, very likely, be highly beneficial to them in various ways; that it will restrain them from vice, and furnish their minds with valuable knowledge, and facilitate their conversion at a later period; but we seldom find a father or mother who really looks upon Christian education as a divinely-appointed means of grace, and as God's chosen agency for the salvation of their offspring. They pray that sanctifying, saving grace may be showered down upon their babes, even before they can walk or speak; but, with a strange inconsistency, postpone all hope of receiving answers of prayer to a future period, distant by many years. They follow a theory which allows, and almost requires, a career in sin and impenitence, before a gracious state is attained. When the subject shall have been thus prepared for bitter repentance, they trust he will be arrested in his folly, and, under the influence of some prevalent, powerful religious excitement, brought to bow to the cross. The revival is the agency often looked to for a result which God proposes to accomplish by his blessing on Christian education. The theory will have years of transgression; the divine word would forestall all of this guilt and danger by training up the child in the way he should go, not that he may come into it at a mature age, but that he may walk in it all along, and never depart from it. Upon this theory, then, which does not expect the result promised in the divine word, parents do not seek it nor work for it. The exertions which they actually put forth do by no means satisfy the idea of training. That involves the notion of patient, protracted, incessant effort; of earnest, trustful prayer; of effective, intelligible, appropriating faith; of a holy, emphatic example; of a gentle, winning, loving spirit; of an obedient, all-embracing, and intense piety, which should transform our homes into Bethels, and our hearths into holy, consecrated

L

altars, upon which incense and peace-offerings shall blaze evermore. They err grievously who conclude that such results as are proposed by the theory here discussed would supersede revivals. They would wrap the Church in a heavenly flame and triple its energies. They would beautify it with holiness. Influences, powerful as the Pentecostal spirit, would stream out on every side; and sinners, of whom Charity itself has ceased to hope, would be penetrated by the moral power of a sanctified church. The "unlearned and the unbeliever," on coming into the presence of such a Christian congregation, would be compelled to recognize, in the "still small voice" of its universal testimony, an authority more potent than the miracle of “ tongues." Convinced of all and judged of all," the secrets of their hearts would be made manifest, "and so, falling down on their faces, they would worship God, and report that God is in you of a truth."

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Our argument is suggestive of many practical, impressive lessons, of which the limits prescribed to a sermon do not allow us to make application. In the bosoms of many Christian parents we are sure we shall have awakened deep and perhaps unavailing regrets, but also, we trust, high and holy purposes. To pastors our subject appeals in the thrice-repeated, earnest words addressed by the great Teacher to Peter-"Feed my lambs." The Sunday-school teacher, who has been raised up in this age of changes to fulfill a class of duties much neglected by both parent and pastor, will discover, we think, in the doctrines here set forth, clear intimations of the dignity and usefulness of his benevolent and truly evangelical function. It is, however, foreign from our object to follow out these practical details. Content to have thrown out some important suggestions, which, as it has long seemed to us, are too little heeded in our evangelizing plans, we leave their fuller discussion and their application to some future

occasion.

XI.

THE GRAIN OF MUSTARD-SEED.

The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard-seed, which a man took and sowed in his field; which, indeed, is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.-MATTH., xiii., 31, 32.

IN comparing the labors of men with any of the Divine operations, we shall be struck with this characteristic difference between them: in the former, what chiefly attracts our attention is the great outlay of effort, and instrumentality, and appliances; in the latter there is no ostentation of means. The hand of God is, for the most part, invisible, and can only be discovered by the most careful investigation. The results alone strike the spectator. Man proceeds to rear a habitation to shelter himself from the elements and from the public gaze. Think of the turmoil, the confusion, the various activities that are put in requisition for the accomplishment of this object. The ax-man enters the ancient forest, and fells its giant pines; the miner penetrates the caverns of the earth in quest of material; the quarrier blasts and fashions the granite or the marble; the four quarters of the earth contribute resources, which are to be collected by the agency of wind, and tide, and steam, and the toil of man and beast. Then comes the strain of sinews and of complicated machines to elevate the massive blocks to their places, and arrange them in their order. Artisans and artists are now called to supply the infinite details of convenience and decoration; and at last, after months, it may be years, of toil and confusion, the work is completed. The din ceases, the scaffoldings are removed, the mechanical contrivances disappear, the rub

upon

bish is cleared away, and a structure stands out to view, elegant, or decent, or humble, according to the skill or means of the builder. Such is the work of man in his constructive efforts. The struggle with difficulties, the ceaseless noise and turmoil, the wear and tear of the laborers from day to day, through so long a period, are what most engage our attention. What a contrast with God's operations! He spoke, and the earth stood forth. He said, Let there be light, and there was light. He ordained the moon and the stars, and they entered their career. There is no parade of means -no turmoil. The quiet, unobtrusive power of God has achieved all in silence, and with infinite ease. So his universe fulfills all its functions. All the heavenly bodies revolve and shine, without noise or friction, with less appearance of effort than attends the simplest of our mechanical or household operations. How mighty-how skillful-how wonderful in counsel and excellent in working! The changes of the seasons, the more frequent vicissitudes of day and night, all the aspects and variations of nature, illustrate this idea. We close our eyes at night to sleep, unsuspicious of change. In the morning, the earth, through many degrees of latitude and longitude, over whole realms and empires, is clad in robes of dazzling whiteness. "He scattereth his hoar-frost like ashes." In another day, by a process equally noiseless and unobserved, the vast fields of snow are dissolved, and a sombre vail is again spread over the earth. How glorious the gorgeous picture spread out upon the face of nature by every clear, bright sun-rising! It is an immense creation of incomparable beauty, lavished upon the world to awaken its joyous gratitude to God, of whom "day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge."

In those occupations in which human labor is more manifestly dependent upon the divine co-operation, we may find ample illustration of our leading thought. The husbandman does his work with toil and painstaking. He clears the soil

of its encumbrances, gathers out the stones thereof, and builds up walls to protect it from the incursions of wild beasts. He plows, and manures, and sows, and tills, and watches, and waits. It is the business of his toilsome life day and night to act his part as a laborer together with God, who alone giveth the increase. How different the divine process! How quiet, and silent, and unobserved! By-and-by comes the former rain. The sun shines in his noiseless career, and the tender shoot begins to show itself. By degrees imperceptible, and by agencies and laws unseen and inappreciable, the growth advances from stage to stage, till the glad husbandman is rewarded with the ripened harvest. The increase is of God; but the toil, the anxiety, the bustle, all of the human agent.

Another illustration, for which the history of every family and every individual offers materials, will bring us nearer to our present object. The mental training of a child, an object so very simple in itself, is only attained as the result of many years of incessant labor, and watchfulness, and painstaking, not only on the part of the parent, but of teachers, and of the child himself. Think of the endless inculcations and repetitions-of the expenditure of time, and toil, and of money-of the books, and models, and charts, and instruments of the going and returning-of the long journeys, and the sad partings, and the tedious absences which usually occupy one fourth part of the entire period of life. This parade of means and efforts, which constitutes the visible history of the individual through a series of years, leads to a modification of mind and character, important, indeed, but so slow and gradual that the most attentive and sagacious observer is unable to mark the successive steps of the progression. A succession of impressions, constituting a great mental transformation, has been made upon the individual. He has imperceptibly received new endowments for influence, for action, and for enjoyment, never to be lost in this