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no conviction of sin. It is true, my judgment is convinced; and my understanding assents to the awful truth that I am guilty before God. Yet I have no clear views of my sinfulness. The whole subject is confused to my sight. I wish to confront my iniquities as they are; and I would make them distinct to my view, whatever pain it might occasion. But I labour to effect this in vain." This difficulty belongs to no particular class of experience. It may be connected with much distress; and may be mentioned in the bitterness of despair. Or, it may belong to a more calm, but not less serious, operation of mind. But wherever it is found, it carries with it a train of apprehensions for which there may be much reason, and which are often exceedingly perplexing.

It is true, that without the knowledge of our sinfulness we shall not approach the Saviour so as to be accepted by him. It is equally true, that a clear discovery of our guilt and depravity is highly desirable. But still, it would be inexpedient to propose any invariable rule of judgment ; or to require the same distinctness and strength of conception in every awakened sinner. That very diversity of moral and physical constitution which produces a variety of degrees of feeling, may act with very similar effects on our conceptions of truth. I have known some of the most exemplary Christians who were always ready to

repeat the complaint before us; but who, notwithstanding, possessed almost every evidence that could be satisfactory to themselves, of having passed from death unto life. I have known others, who, in the commencement of their career, were equally solicitous on this account; but to whom the evil of their hearts was more distinctly presented as they advanced in life. And there may be frames of spirit within all of us which, without any assignable cause, render our views on this subject more discriminating, or more confused.

But I can come nearer to your state of mind, by bringing before you two examples of hourly observation. The grossly impure or profane have always near them such tangible proof of their guilt, that if they are awakened to serious reflection at all, they cannot escape a sense of the evil. Even the laws and sentiments of society arraign them; and perhaps lead them, in a moment of thoughtfulness, to compare their conduct with a more holy standard. Each act stands out prominently, and marks the temper and dispositions of the soul: and while it displays a total unfitness for heaven, justifies the sentence of condemnation. Such a man may be painfully sensible of his wickedness even before he has entered on a close examination of his life. There may be a living conscience within a heart that is dead. But, whenever such an investigation is fairly

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begun, remorse will accompany it with equal pace. There can be no subterfuge here; and there is very little room for sophistry. Whatever this sinner may finally do, he now pleads guilty to the charge of a witness within him.

On the other hand, one who is distinguished by an amiable and moral deportment, may be confronted by no such accusers. The secret belief of his safety, which he has so naturally cherished, and which is so congenial with our natural ideas of accountableness, assists in concealing the true state of his heart. Now the difficulty of convincing such a one of the evils of his soul consists in the following truth, that actions are more prominent to the sight than motives ; when the former are flagrant, the attention may be arrested and retained by them with comparative ease; but motives lie deeper; and it requires some strong inducement to lead us to a thorough examination of them.

I have seen a good illustration of this in a pious young friend who is still living, an ornament to the church to which he is attached. During a visit which he once paid me, while under distressing concern, he gave me substantially the following statement: "I do not know that I have ever been accused of what the world would call immorality. The acquittal of a satisfied conscience has constituted much of my happiness: and even to this

day, I do not know that either of my parents ever impeached my conduct of a more serious crime than neglect or carelessness. While I have sat under the sound of the gospel, I have admitted its excellence, and always believed myself embraced within its promises. I can remember, when the affecting interview between the Saviour and the young ruler was the subject of a discourse which awakened others around me. My own mind was, for a short season, startled. I wished to be made sensible of sin, but I could recollect no obvious charge against myself. I could fix my eye on nothing which could rivet its gaze; and, as I passed willingly and rapidly to the conclusion, that I kept nothing back from my God, my peace was not long disturbed. During all this time I knew nothing of myself. It had not occurred to me, that the heartlessness with which I discharged every duty, the secret pride which followed it, and the insipidity and tastelessness of my devotion, were melancholy proofs of my unfitness for the society of heaven. Or, if a doubt ever remained in my mind, it was easy to conclude that any change which I needed would accompany my transition into another world. I did not then see how this unscriptural reliance opposed the moral government of God; nor how the hope I had cherished, arrogantly superseded salvation by grace. In the midst of this security

a circumstance occurred which threw me as near despair as I had been to presumption.-It was a temptation to commit a sin where there was every thing to entice, and, in the event of detection, not much to lose in the eye of the world. It was a proposal of a sabbath day's excursion of pleasure. There was little time to reflect; and each moment swelled the force of temptation. I yielded. And from that hour remorse has never left me. In vain have I argued with myself that this is a solitary evil. In vain I appealed to my own heart. Even that seems changed. I see no more evidence of its innocence.

I behold a self

ish policy in all my motives, and a hatred of that holiness which I had flattered myself I esteemed. I am lost. And my doom is aggravated by the remembrance of a life and a peace in direct opposition to the scheme of the gospel." It is not necessary to finish this story: the application is plain.

But let us suppose the inducements to inquiry to be strong, in any such case. Let the judgment be convinced that all this morality is of no avail. Still, while there seems little palpable to lay hold of, and nothing which appears very near to admonish, and almost nothing to awaken the feelings to a lively interest in the subject; it may be exceedingly difficult to fix and concentrate the attention; or to single out the lurking evils of the heart.

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