salvation of the soul. For, the question of the text comes
home with solemn force, to all such persons. "Thou that makest thy boast
of the law, through breaking of the law, dishonorest thou God?" If the
beauty of virtue, and the grandeur of truth, and the sublimity of
invisible things, have been able to make such an impression upon your
intellects, and your tastes,--upon that part of your constitution which
is fixed and stationary, which responds organically to such objects, and
which is not the seat of moral character,--then why is there not a
corresponding influence and impression made by them upon your heart? If
you can admire and praise them, in this style, why do you not _love_
them? Why is it, that when the character of Christ bows your intellect,
it does not bend your will, and sway your affections? Must there not be
an inveterate opposition and resistance in the _heart_? in the heart
which can refuse submission to such high claims, when so distinctly seen?
in the heart which can refuse to take the yoke, and learn of a Teacher
who has already made such an impression upon the conscience and the
understanding?

The human heart is, as the prophet affirms, _desperately_ wicked,
_desperately_ selfish. And perhaps its self-love is never more plainly
seen, than in such instances as those of that moral and cultivated young
man mentioned in the Gospel, and that class in modern society who
correspond to him. Nowhere is the difference between the approbation of
goodness, and the love of it, more apparent. In these instances the
approbation is of a high order. It is refined and sublimated by culture
and taste. It is not stained by the temptations of low life, and gross
sin. If there ever could be a case, in which the intellectual approbation
of goodness would develop and pass over into the affectionate and hearty
love of it, we should expect to find it here. But it is not found. The
young man goes away,--sorrowful indeed,--but he goes away from the
Redeemer of the world, _never to return_. The amiable, the educated, the
refined, pass on from year to year, and, so far as the evangelic sorrow,
and the evangelic faith are concerned, like the dying Beaufort depart to
judgment making no sign. We hear their praises of Christian men, and
Christian graces, and Christian actions; we enjoy the grand and swelling
sentiments with which, perhaps, they enrich the common literature of the
world; but we never hear them cry: "God be merciful