tions he had already received, that his bosom heaved with irrepressible longings that the image might be completed, and the ceaseless cry of his soul was,

"Oh! for a closer walk with God."

He panted for such union with God, as would dim the vision and bewilder the spirit of a mortal. He longed to look in with a familiar gaze on those sacred mysteries which are hidden from human curiosity. He looked forward with eagerness to a sphere of exertion, where he should not stand up alone and unavailing against the arts of the world, but where newly endowed he should enter on some more successful and glorious mission for his king. His eye looked upward with no selfish impatience, but with strong and holy desire. He felt assured of the immortality of his being, and of its lofty destination; but he bowed in faithful submissiveness, and said, "all the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come." He was in a strait betwixt two, when he looked to earthly duty he chose to perform it, because it was his Father's will, but yet with Paul he said from his inmost soul, "to depart is far better." And how fit that those longings should have been early consummated, in the disrobing of the corporeal veil which obstructed his vision— when he was not—not in the gloom of spiritual famishment and dimness-not in the hard lot of the laborer who casts his seed upon the rocks, for God took him to himself, to the light and the nutriment of heavenly society, to the mission of angels.

Thirdly, Before the christian era, death was probably an object of greater dread than it has been since. Of all the patriarchs and prophets under the old dispensation, we read not of one who died in triumph. Of the antediluvian saints

it is simply recorded that they died. Of Abraham and Isaac, it is only written, that "they gave up the ghost in a good old age, and were gathered to their people." Jacob and Joseph

depart with brilliant and delightful visions of prosperity for the nation, but they die and give no sign of exultation for themselves. Throughout the poetical parts of the bible, the gloomiest figures are those connected with the grave, and if there are passages which express the longing for a future life, they are so few and so far apart as to evince that immortality had not yet been fully brought to light. The hope of heaven had not become so sure and so definite that it could throw its charm over the sepulchre, or light up the chamber where the good man met his fate. It did not assuage the pang of bereavement, it did not kindle rapt visions in the dim eye, or call forth strains of music from the faltering tongue. And the few, the favored ones whom God honored with a triumphal departure were not left to tread the dark pathway to heaven, but were caught up at once to meet him in the air. This was the reward of Enoch-that he should not lie down to a doom that was dark and hopeless, and enter through the tribulation of the last struggle into his final rest, but that he should be clothed on earth with an immortal nature, and without stopping his earthly song, the music of heaven should be breathed upon his ear.

Fourthly, At the commencement of the world's history, such an indication of the soul's immortal existence as was given in the removal of Enoch was an important part of the scheme for enlightening and saving man.

It was not God's design to leave the old dispensation in utter darkness. The light of a few examples, he afforded to animate the faith, and dispel the gloom of his chosen. If it did not make the death scene glorious, if it called forth expressions of hope but seldom and faintly, it kept the righteous from despair. The death of Abel startled the world into a fearful consciousness of what death was. They gazed on his pale face, they felt of his cold limbs, they buried his useless frame. The voice of his blood cried from the ground in words of terror and vengeance, but no voice came from his ransomed

spirit above, to bring peace and hope to those who looked forward to the same fate. Being dead he yet spoke, but he spoke of the favors which God imparts to a righteous man on earth, rather than of the rewards which he dispenses to the saints in heaven. But the translation of Enoch was a new chapter in the spiritual prophecy. "He was not"-men met not his face in their familiar walks, they ceased to hear his voice of faithful exhortation, but they had not gathered around his death bed, or carried him out slowly and heavily from his tent, or found his bones upon the mountains. He was not among them, but they knew that he was not dead. "God took him." There is then a home for the righteous soul with God, there is existence beyond the earth, there is reward for the faithful; and why not, was the ill-suppressed though faint whisper of ancient piety, why not look forward to the abode of Enoch as the mansion of all the blessed. "That little candle" threw its beams down through the ages of patriarchal and national history. It inspired the harp of David when he sung, "I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness." Even Job caught a glimpse of that glorious resurrection which it has been supposed to typify, and exclaimed in rapt and holy enthusiasm, "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in flesh I shall see God."

my

The discourse will be concluded by two brief reflections. First, There is nothing in Enoch's character which may not be imitated by modern Christians. He communed with God by faith, by sight, by prayer. So can we, for we have a surer word to inspire our faith, we can see God in richer and more glorious works, we can approach him by a new and living access to the throne of grace. He studied the divine character, and sought to grow in knowledge while he grew in piety. So may we, in the light of a clearer revelation, and a wider experience than he could consult. He sought to do the divine will-in labors and toils for his master, most

abundant. So may we, with higher advantages for pious activity, with a better soil on which to work. He was the friend of God-but "behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.” Oh! my brethren, with all this superior light, with the new and loftier claims of spiritual adoption upon our souls, how few Enochs are there among us walking with God—thus spiritually, intelligently, actively, harmoniously walking, and panting for a purer and better portion in heaven.

Finally, The death of a Christian "who walks with God," is more glorious than the translation of Enoch. It developes clearer and larger views, and exercises a brighter faith which can triumph even over the agonies of dissolution. Could the antediluvian saint have gazed in prospect upon a christian death scene, could he have entered the chamber lighted with gospel promises, could he have seen hope brightening up in the midst of weakness and pain, could he have heard such blessed words as often come from the lips of the dying, could he have seen death robbed of its sting, and swallowed up in the victory of the joyous and ransomed spirit,—could Enoch have known all this, he would not have asked for the privilege of miraculous translation; he would not have been ambitious for a seat in Elijah's chariot; he would not have sought to bring back the cloud on which Jesus went up, that it might bear him also into heaven, but his prayer would rather have been, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and my last end be like his."

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NOTE.

This was one of two sermons which Mr. Homer wrote in a single week. It was preached at South Berwick, Dec. 27, 1840.

SERMON XIV.

THE DUTY OF IMMEDIATE OBEDIENCE TO THE DIVINE COMMANDS.

I MADE HASTE, and delayed NOT TO KEEP THY COMMANDMENTS.— Psalm 119: 60.

THE Psalm from which the text is taken, is peculiar both in its structure and its style. It was probably written near the close of David's life, and comprises a collection of choice memoranda from his experience. Particularly is it rich in the variety of its commendations of the law of God, as the object of his love and his obedience. There is no connected train of thought through its different parts, and it has been aptly styled a vase of jewels, rather than a golden chain. Yet so significant and suggestive are its expressions that the mind dwells upon each isolated clause, and reads volumes in each recorded meditation. The writer in his alphabetical arrangement, designed not so much a display of mechanical skill, as a mode of impressing upon the memory each one of these living oracles.

Prominent in the Psalmist's experience was the trait alluded to in the text. No proof of love to the law was superior to this-the promptness with which he had complied with its requirements. He remembers how the beauty and fitness of God's claim upon him were presented to his mind in childhood, and how unhesitatingly he had yielded to the demand.