from every thing which I behold: but, alas, I am still at a distance from God! What is he to me? What does he require? Have I disobeyed the dictates of reason at any time? or neglected to serve him? If so will he pardon sin? and how am I to receive forgiveness? Neither reason nor sense can answer these inquiries, nor silence the clamors of conscience.

It is faith rising on the wing of Revelation that introduces me into the heaven of heavens, unlocks the mystery, and unfolds the seven-sealed book. Here I read the covenant of mercy. Here I receive the promise of pardon.

Here I learn all that I would know, and anticipate all that I shall hereafter enjoy. The pressure of the ills of life is lightened; and I "endure as seeing Him who is invisible."

Who can behold the fair structure of the heavens and the earth without feeling a powerful desire to understand their origin, and to be acquainted, in some measure at least, with the architect who reared them? Cold is the heart which kindles not into devotion, when the skies blaze with a thousand lamps; and grovelling the mind, which rises not through the system of the Universe to the Great First Cause! Blind is that understanding which cannot see, amid the vicissitudes of seasons, and the changing blessings of the Spring, the Summer, the Autumn, and the Winter, the superintendence of a faithful friend, and the bounty of an unwearied benefactor! Insensible is that man who can look upon this grand machinery, and live in the bosom of creation, yet perceive no harmony, no order, no loveliness, no design; or upon whom they make no impression! Let the friend of my choice be one who can relish the majesty of nature: who, on the close of the day, from the summit of some lofty mountain, will watch the

rising cloud, and observe the evening spread her gray and dusky mantle over the features of the landscape, till they are lost and extinguished: whose eye is fixed with delight on the stars as they break one by one through the increasing obscurity; and who withdrawing from the world, and penetrating the forest, can rejoice with the laughing scenes around him, and can relish retirement, nor envy the dissipation of life, as he hears its noise swelling on the gale of the evening. The Friend of God, and the Admirer of nature, is the man whom I would choose as my companion, and love as my own soul.

It is not possible for the spirit of man to be encircled with the present Deity, without inquiring after the fountain of existence. Every thing above us, around us, beneath us,-lives. Every clod of earth teems with animation. Every drop of water swarms with animalcules; imperceptible indeed to the naked eye, but plainly visible when the organ of vision receives assistance from art. Probably myriads floating in the air which we breathe, are drawn into the lungs in the act of respiration. Curiosity must stimulate our inquiries, even if we had no other, and no better motives: nor can we examine, without emotions of gratitude, a system in which every thing ministers either to our necessities or to our convenience.

In truth, men of all ages, and at every period of time, have been solicitous to understand their own origin and that of things around them. Every power of the mind has been exerted, and no pains has been spared, in attempting to unravel this mystery. The spirit has been overwhelmed with extravagant and clashing hypotheses: or the man has sat down contented with uncertain rumors, and mutilated tradi

tions. The stream of his knowledge rose from the pure and undefiled fountain of Revelation; but it gathered pollution from the channels through which it passed, before he stooped to drink its defiled wave. The systems formed by Reason, and that suggested by Revelation, are each to pass in review; and when they are contrasted, we hope to prove, THAT THE MOSAIC

ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION IS THE ONLY RATIONAL ONE WHICH WE HAVE RECEIVED.

The different hypotheses of men, who either had not received Revelation, or who have refused its testimony and denied its pretensions, may be reduced to one of these two divisions: either that the world was the production of chance, or that it is eternal. The several opinions of ancient and modern times, appear to be neither more nor less, than ramifications or modifications of the one or the other of these systems. We shall examine them separately.

I. THAT THE WORLD WAS PRODUCED BY CHANCE.

When we behold a complicated, yet harmonious and well-constructed machine, we may be ignorant of the hand that formed it, but we find no difficulty in assigning it a maker. No rational man would ever imaggine that it was the production of chance: and if the idea were suggested to him, he would reject it with disdain as an insult to his reason. I gaze with delight upon a beautiful landscape-painting; color melts into color, and shade softens into shade. By the artful intermixture of light and of shadow, in some parts it dwindles into perspective; in others, it appears raised from the surface. Here, the figures seem to project from the canvass; and there the distant mountain bounding the horizon, just shews its diminished

elevation, scarcely distinguishable from the azure of the surrounding heavens. So exquisite is the combination of the various tints; that the instant I see it, I discover in it the hand of a master. Who in this. assembly gazing upon a transparent orrery, to have a correct idea of the motions of the earth, and of the heavenly bodies, would suffer his imagination to rest for a moment on the supposition, that the machinery so admirably adapted to a certain definitive purpose, was constructed merely by accident, without design, without skill, and without a maker? And shall any man attempt to persuade you, that the solar system, of which it is but an imperfect resemblance, was formed, arranged, and regulated by chance? Let me see it produce the orrery, before I give it credit for the construction of the system! It is strange that men should so easily agree in assigning to inferior productions some adequate cause, yet deny it to superior operations: that they should with such facility discover the agency of man in all his works, and yet not discern the hand of God in the visible creation.

Plain sense, independent of laborious investigation, or superior intelligence, uncontaminated by corrupt principles, and unbiassed by inveterate prejudice, is sufficient to overthrow this absurd system. Let but the man of a common understanding look abroad into the economy of nature, and give in his evidence. Ask him, whether chance placed a boundary to the restless waves, and said "hitherto shall ye come, but no further?" or command. ed the mountain to rise decked with verdure, and break the clouds as they passed? or clothed the valley with corn, and turned the course of the rivulet through it, to water the young plantation? or drew an atmosphere round this globe? or bade yonder worlds preserve

invariably the same orbit, during six thousand years, around the same luminary? Propose these questions to a mind of a common standard, accustomed to the exertion of its own powers, and unacquainted with the dispute between Revelation and Skepticism: and it is impossible that they should be answered in the affirmative. It would be less insane to conclude that the machine were self-constructed, and that chance disposed the several parts of the painting.

Those who demand the voice of reason on this subject shall be gratified by the testimony of a great man, to whom the light of Revelation never appeared. The mind of Cicero was too exalted to stoop to so degrading an hypothesis. He asks, "Can I forbear to wonder that there should ever be a man who could persuade himself, that this beautiful and well-finished world was produced by the fortuitous floating together of certain solid and indivisible bodies, necessarily moved by the force of their own gravity? I cannot imagine why he, who can thus conclude, should not also think, that if innumerable types (formed of gold or of any other substance, and representing the letters of the alphabet,) were cast carelessly upon the ground, they would form the annals of Ennius, so as to be perfectly intelligible: but I much doubt whether chance would be able to produce a single verse. How then can these men assert that atoms without color,* without any of that quality which the Greeks call wadrylat, and without intelligence, floating together at random, should by accident form a perfect world; or rather,

The Epicureans imagined that color, heat, and similar qualities, belonged only to compound bodies; and that size and weight were the only properties of atoms; or roughness and smoothness, resulting from their configuration.

† Plastic.