remember our friends, retain some recollection of form and look, and character, without this material object. But not so freshly and clearly, not so strongly and vividly. This simple memento is a golden chain, one end of which I hold in my hand, the other my friend beyond the cloud of mist in the realm of holiness, holds in his; and through this chain run from him to me, and me to him, the electric currents of thought and love.

This illustrates how we are helped by the forms of worship. These forms assist our memory and our moral sight.

Bishop Clark, in his "Primary Charge to the Clergy" of his Diocese, remarks that—"The position of the Church in respect of Christian worship, is, at the present moment peculiarly important. We stand," he says, "between two vicious extremes. On one side, there is displayed a ritual, glittering with gold and vermillion, embroidered with pagan tinsel, alternating between the sublime and the absurd, with its chancels glistening like the grottoes of the Arabian fable; draperies of lace and artificial flowers and painted crockery and elaborate dolls forming the paraphernalia of worship; but mingling with all this childish display much to charm the senses and move the feelings, fragments of ancient liturgies, music tones which sweep the cords of the soul like a sweet evening breeze, earnest words of prayer which martyrs might have chanted in the flames, with occasional glimmering of holy truth which remind us of what Rome might have been, and what she might have done for

the world, if she had only repelled the temptings of the sorcerer. On the other hand, we have a worship in which there is nothing to identify the present with the past, nothing to remind us of the beauty of holiness; which is altogether dependent on the taste, the culture, and spiritual elevation of him who happens to officiate for its effect; and which, in unskilled hands, must of necessity become dry, barren, tedious, and unprofitable." If we add such forms as I have proposed, to our present worship, we may take this view as our own, more strictly in fact, than the good Bishop does with his English Church; and we may becomingly occupy the ground where we stand, as a Church of Christ, and draw to ourselves all the blessings we need for our various spiritual wants and aspirations.

Though we stand out from both Rome and England, farther than almost all other Protestant communions, we are yet endowed with the rest of God's children with a religious nature; and under the influence of the broadest and grandest views, the noblest and loveliest ideas, we can heartily and frankly acknowledge that we believe that "the ritual instinct that belongs to humanity, cannot be permanently repressed;" that "nature, with its gorgeous temple of worship, its melodious sounds, its splendid drapery, its daily matins and vespers, and its yearly calendar ministers to this instinct; and that while "the more simple our worship, the better does it accord wih the spirit of Christianity, yet "meagerness is not simplicity."

Ceremonial, which means nothing, or which symbolizes error, should be abjured. A frigid, stately pomp

is most unbecoming in the house of prayer. A mere mechanical routine of rites is sadly out of place. But the most barren outline of worship may become as cold and mechanical as the most elaborate. Nothing is gained in the way of spirituality, by the absence of decency and good taste." Accepting the forms of worship as religious helps, we may with love and reverence towards God, and in the consciousness of growing strength and increasing peace, here say as with one heart, and one voice: "O come, let us sing unto the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. . . . . O come let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our Maker. For he is our God; and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his care."

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DISCOURSE XII.

PRAYER.

LUKE XVIII. 1.

AND HE SPAKE A PARABLE UNTO THEM, TO THIS END, THAT MEN OUGHT ALWAYS TO PRAY, AND NOT TO FAINT.

In nothing does Christianity show its divinity and superiority over all other systems, more clearly than in the faith and hope with which it inspires its disciples. The spirit of this religion enters into the minds of believers, not as lacking in the slightest degree spiritual power or assistance, but as containing unlimited aid, and encouraging them to persevere to the grandest and most blessed ends. This religion knows nothing of hopelessness, nothing of despair. Whatever man's circumstances, or trials, or discouragements, may be, it assures him that there is hope. Though he may have descended to the lowest plane of life, where his eyes can discern no outlet to a higher and brighter ground on which to run the race of existence, it persists in declaring to his darkened and bewildered soul, that there is an opening in the cloudy wall by which he is surrounded, through which he

may escape from his miserable imprisonment. It visits the spirits in prison to direct them to a boundless world of freedom and glory.

Christianity lends no force to the idea that there is a point in the road of the soul leading downward, from which there can be no ascent. It recognizes neither the idea, nor a necessity for it. In its ministry to man, though he be at the lowest stage in the path of sin, its constant and unabating effort, is, to convince him that he need not remain where he is, but that he may and should turn his eyes and climb towards the lofty region of holiness.

We are weak and short-sighted. In the labor of virtue we oftentimes faint. In our struggles for good we oftentimes flag. Many of us are apt to think that certain trials are too hard for us; that many of the temptations we meet are too powerful for us. And there are thousands in our world who grope along in darkness and sorrow, having no hope of light and joy, and making no determined effort to rise above their gloomy and sad situation. And there are human theories which afford us no encouragement; which hold up to us no prospect of relief when we faint, no prospect of success when we flag, in the sphere of righteous exertion; which put an end to all heavenward aspirations and tendencies in those who have gone down to the deepest chambers of sin, by telling them that from their habitations there is no way of deliverance. But Christianity comes to us all, to even the farthest removed from the upper realm of goodness and love, and, with a hope-lighted countenance,