SERMON II.

ON THE PARENTAL CHARACTER OF GOD.

Deut. xxxii. 6.

Is not he thy Father?

THE term Father implies all that is most tender and affectionate. The love of a Father is immeasurable. It extends to every thing which can affect the welfare of his offspring: it leads him to anticipate all the dangers to which his child is exposed, that he may guard against them; all the inconveniences to which it may be subject, that he may remove them; all its wants, ere yet they are felt, that he may supply them; all the advantages, comforts, and blessings which he can procure for his offspring, that he may obtain them. By day he labours for his child; by night he watches for him; and often are his eyes kept waking upon his bed while the welfare of his unconscious child is the subject of his anxious care.

His love is also unchangeable. The want of a suitable return will not extinguish it: sickness, infirmity, calamity, will not damp it: the disappointment of all

his hopes will not destroy it: time itself will not efface it. To the very last beat of the pulse, amidst all the languor of sickness, or even the pain of dying, under every circumstance which chills or suppresses the affection of others, a father feels the welfare of his child dearer to him than his own. It is true indeed that the love of a parent, like every thing else in this fallen world, partakes of the imperfections which cleave to human nature. Other passions may disturb its influence; the breast in which it resides may be unpropitious to its full development; folly and sin, the bane of every thing good, may poison its very sources; but the proper tendency of parental regard is what I have stated, and its general character such as I have described. For my own part, ever since I could form any observation of the human character, I have been accustomed to associate with the name of Father all that is venerable, tender, and affectionate. Many years have now passed since I could call any one by that endearing appellation; but no course of time will ever obliterate the memory of that unvarying kindness, that incessant solicitude, that perpetual watchfulness, that affectionate sympathy in my trouble, that abounding joy in my happiness, which for so many years I daily witnessed. I appeal for the truth of my representation of parental love to the oldest persons here present. I ask them whether, after the revolution of perhaps half a century, the impression of parental tenderness does not still remain indelible, whether memory does not upon this summons instantly call up innumerable proofs of kindness, which cause the heart to dissolve in grateful recollection. I appeal to the feelings of every parent in this numerous assembly, and ask them if the description I have given of a father's heart be not correct. They know with what anxiety they watch over their offspring, how incessant their cares, how unvarying regard; how much they live in the welfare of their children. I appeal to you who still enjoy the privilege of having a parent, if you do not daily witness such

proofs of regard and solicitude for your welfare as will justify the representation which I have made It is true that the painful, though necessary, restraints which are imposed upon you by parental authority, may check those feelings of grateful affection which else would force themselves upon your minds. You think you may complain of hardships which you perhaps sustain; but that very complaint originates in the high conception which you have justly formed of parental tenderness, and which you may conceive not to be realized in your particular case. But allow me to

observe, that you perhaps are at present very inadequate judges of the wisdom with which the cares of a parent are exerted. The time may arrive when you will be better qualified, from experience, to form a correct judgment of the proper effects of a well-regulated affection. And then you will probably observe, even in the restraints to which parental authority may have subjected you, solid and substantial proofs of the most tender regard.

Parental affection is implanted in the breast by the Author of our frame, for the protection and benefit of our offspring. It is not left to reason to shew its necessity, nor to conscience to urge the observance of it; but it is interwoven in the frame of man, and begins to influence his conduct as soon as its operation is necessary. Being thus implanted in us, it is cherished, by the dependent state of children, who know no other protectors but their parents, and have no house but theirs in which to find an habitation. But God has further strengthened the bonds of parental regard by the firmest ties of moral and religious duty. In savage nations, its force is felt with irresistible strength through the mere instinct of nature: but in more polished societies, it is still further enforced by the obligations of reason and religion, law and equity, honour and conscience; so important is it justly considered, so reproachful is the want of it esteemed, both by God and man.

But it is not my design in this discourse to shew the strength of parental tenderness, to enforce the practice of it, or to urge upon children the necessity of filial obedience. Great as these objects are, I have an end in view even higher and more important than these. I would call forth the warmest filial feelings of you that are children in this assembly: I would excite all your gratitude, your confidence, your love, and, without any diminution of your regard to an earthly parent, direct you to transfer them to him who is indeed our Father, the best as he is the greatest object of affection. Oh that you knew and loved him as you honour and love that tender earthly parent who derives all his regard for you from the care and providence of your heavenly Father! I would excite in you, ye parents! all that love and tenderness (not difficult to be excited) which dwell in your bosoms towards your beloved children; and whilst your hearts glow with affection, and the most fervent desires for their welfare, Í would say to you, Behold in those feelings the just emblem of that solicitude for the welfare of man, which dwells in the Divine breast. Yes, my brethren; we all have a Father whom we have not yet seen, but whose eyes have ever been upon us to protect and bless us;. whose hand has held up our infant steps, and guarded and defended us from innumerable dangers; whose bounty has fed us and enriched us with every blessing which we have enjoyed, from the moment of our birth to the present hour: whose mercies surround us on every side, so that we can direct our eyes to no point but we behold them: we can look back to no period but we remember them; we cannot turn our view into futurity but we anticipate them. It is my desire to set before you this best and most gracious of Beings, in his mild, paternal character, that you may feel towards him the gratitude and love and confidence which you ought ever to entertain. And O! that God, who has given us so high and distinguishing a privilege above the lower orders of creatures, an understanding capa

ble of knowing him and of reposing in perfect confidence under his benignant government; O! that he may help us in this our design, that we may all feel towards him the sentiments of veneration, love, and gratitude by which all his creatures ought to be animated, and which are in fact continually felt by all those holy and perfect beings who dwell with him in glory!

My brethren, is not God your Father? Did not he create you? Did not he contrive for your use the eyes by which you behold with such delight the various objects around you? Did not he form with exquisite skill the ear by which sounds are conveyed to your minds, organs whose nicety of construction it exceeds the ingenuity of man adequately to comprehend? Was it not his wisdom which fashioned your limbs, endued the will with power to use the muscles, caused the heart to beat, propelling the current of blood through all the infinite channels of its course, and endued the brain with vital energy? Has not his power and wisdom provided organs wonderfully calculated to digest the food, to form from it a thousand different liquids, necessary for the existence and comfort of the frame? Have you not derived from his care and bounty the rich endowments of the mind; the imagination able to penetrate through every space, to travel in an instant through every distance; to deck every object with the most brilliant colours; the memory to recal distant occurrences, and place them as present before the mind; the judgment to compare and separate; the will to choose and determine? Are any of these faculties which so distinguish and adorn man created by yourself? Are you indebted for them to the care and kindness of your earthly parents? Are they not all designed, contrived, provided, and given to you by him who is the Source of all good? Is not he then, in the proper, in the fullest sense of the word, your Father? Was it not he, who, having created you, committed you to the charge of your earthly parents, and disposed their minds to love you, to nurse your infancy with fondness, and to watch