My Study       
Benno Zuiddam














LECTURE 1. — The Minister’s Self-watch

LECTURE 2. — The Call to the Ministry

LECTURE 3. — The Preacher’s Private Prayer

LECTURE 4. — Our Public Prayer

LECTURE 5. — Sermons — their Matter

LECTURE 6. — On the Choice of a Text

LECTURE 7. — On Spiritualizing

LECTURE 8. — On the Voice

LECTURE 9. — Attention

LECTURE 10. — The Faculty of Impromptu Speech

LECTURE 11. — The Minister’s Fainting Fits

LECTURE 12. — The Minister’s Ordinary Conversation

LECTURE 13. — To Workers with Slender Apparatus


this master of the pulpit were recorded on the printed page. Spurgeon’s

sermons are filled with the necessary ingredients of good preaching and

have set standard rarely reached in today’s pulpits it is indeed gratifying

that this incomparable series of sermons is being made available once


Sword of the Lord: “We are glad that Pilgrim Publications, in Pasadena,

Texas, is now reprinting Spurgeon’s sermons. Previously, a selection of

twenty volumes of Spurgeon’s sermons was published widely, they are

now out of print. However, these were only selected sermons from the

whole. We are glad that all of Spurgeon’s sermons will now be reproduced

just as originally published by Spurgeon in Spurgeon’s day.”

Australian Baptist: “Above all else we commend Spurgeon because of the

Biblical content of his sermons. Here is sound doctrine, the doctrines of

grace. Here is white-hot evangelism, and at the same time evidence of the

heart of a loving pastor. Preachers and evangelists will find inspiration for

their ministry in these volumes.”

New Life (Australia): “The republication of these volumes could prove to

be a powerful preservative for evangelical Christianity. These volumes

complete and unabridged contain some of the finest preaching this world

has ever heard. How much one would like to say! The best thing is that

you procure a copy and delve into its heart-warming and inspiring


Evangelical Baptist (Canada): “Charles H. Spurgeon, by general

agreement, was one of the great preachers of the ages. His weekly sermons

were avidly read as they came from the publisher. Then, each year, the

annual volume appeared under the title, ‘Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit.’

Those volumes are to be printed now just as they appeared from the

presses in former time. A well illustrated brochure, The Pictorial Life of C.

H. Spurgeon, is worth more than the fifty cents which it will cost you.”

Prairie Overcomer: “Pilgrim Publications has launched what must be one

of the most ambitious reprint projects of the twentieth century. We refer to

the republication of C. H. Spurgeon’s Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit

sermons in their original form, completely unabridged.”



The Pastor’s College began with one student, Mr. T. W. Medhurst, who

first contacted Spurgeon about the matter of salvation. After his

conversion, Medhurst wanted to study for the ministry under Spurgeon.

Spurgeon first assigned him to Mr. C. H. Hosken as his teacher, then later

Mr. George Rogers became the tutor and the small beginning developed

into a college for ministerial students. More and more students enrolled,

and the Pastor’s College became widely known. With the help of

Spurgeon, its library became a great asset to the student body.

The early tutors of the college included James Spurgeon, David Gracey,

Archibald Ferguson, and W. R. Selway.

A later staff was composed of Fergusson, Rogers, Gracey, and F. G.


Lectures were of course given in class rooms, but there was also “the

Question Oak” a large tree at Mr. Spurgeon’s residence. Often the students

would gather under the tree and ask questions of Spurgeon, and he would

give the answers.

On Friday afternoon, the students were usually asked to exhibit their own

ability as preachers and that without prior knowledge of the subject matter.

Spurgeon called upon a student to give a message on Zaccheus. The

student arose and said: “Zaccheus was little of stature, so am I. Zaccheus

was up a tree, so am I. Zaccheus came down, so will I.” The students, as

well as Mr. Spurgeon, applauded the “ingenious” performance.

The College had an annual conference at which time many of the former

students would gather for fellowship and preaching.



THE Pastors’ College was commenced upon a very small scale in the year

1856. Since that date it has educated and sent forth into the ministry not

less than three hundred and fifty men, of whom, after deductions by death

and other causes, about three hundred remain in the Baptist denomination,

preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. In addition to this, a far larger number

of men receive gratuitous education in the evening, such as may fit them to

be city missionaries, colporteurs, or useful private Christians.

The institution receives no man in order to make him a preacher, but it is

established to help in the further education of brethren who have been

preaching with some measure of success for two years at the least. Many

men of earnest spirit and established Christian character are hindered in

their efforts to do good by the slenderness of their knowledge. Conscious

of their own defects, they endeavor to improve themselves, but the absence

of a guide, their need of books, and their scanty time, all prevent their

making progress. These are the men whom the Pastors’ College welcomes.

Men in whom piety, zeal, and the indwelling Spirit are to be found need

not fear refusal at our doors on account of poverty, if they possess those

gifts of utterance which are essential to the preacher.

The College aims at training preachers rather than scholars. To develop the

faculty of ready speech, to help them to understand the word of God, and

to foster the spirit of consecration, courage, and confidence in God, are

objects so important that we put all other matters into a secondary

position. If a student should learn a thousand things, and yet fail to preach

the gospel acceptably, his College course will have missed its true design.

Should the pursuit of literary prizes and the ambition for classical honors

so occupy his mind as to divert his attention from his life work, they are

perilous rather than beneficial. To be wise to win souls is the wisdom

ministers should possess.

In the Pastors’ College definite doctrines are held and taught. We hold by

the doctrines of grace and the old orthodox faith, and have no sympathy

with the countless theological novelties of the present day, which are

novelties only in outward form: in substance they are repetitions of errors

exploded long ago. Our standing in doctrinal matters is well known, and

we make no profession of latitudinarian charity, yet we find no failure in


the number of earnest spirits who rally to our standard, believing that in

truth alone, can true freedom be found.

The support of the College is derived from the free-will offerings of the

Lord’s people. We have no roll of subscribers, although many friends send

us aid at regular intervals. Our confidence is that God will supply all our

means, and he has always done so hitherto. The President has never

derived a farthing from the work for himself in any shape, but on the

contrary delights to give to the work all that he can, both of money and

gratis service; and therefore he the more confidently appeals to others to

assist him in maintaining the Institution. No work can possibly confer a

greater benefit upon mankind than the training of ministers whom God has

chosen, for around them spring up churches, schools, and all the agencies

of religion and philanthropy. As we are commanded to pray for laborers in

the Lord’s harvest, so are we bound to prove the honesty of our prayers by

our actions.

At least £100 is required every week to carry on the work.


Nightingale Lane ,

Clapham, Surrey.



IN reply to many requests from those ministers who in their student days

listened to my lectures, I submit a selection to the press. This, however, I

cannot do without an apology, for these addresses were not originally

prepared for the public eye, and are scarcely presentable for criticism.

My College lectures are colloquial, familiar, full of anecdote, and often

humorous: they are purposely made so, to suit the occasion. At the end of

the week I meet the students, and find them weary with sterner studies, and

I judge it best to be as lively and interesting in my prelections as I well can

be. They have had their fill of classics, mathematics, and divinity, and are

only in a condition to receive something which will attract and secure their

attention, and fire their hearts. Our reverend tutor, Mr. Rogers, compares

my Friday work to the sharpening of the pin: the fashioning of the head,

the straightening, the laying on of the metal and the polishing have been

done during the week, and then the process concludes with an effort to

give point and sharpness. To succeed in this the lecturer must not be dull

himself, nor demand any great effort from his audience.

I am as much at home with my young brethren as in the bosom of my

family, and therefore speak without restraint. Generous minds will take this

into account in reading these lectures, and I shall hope that all who favor

me with their criticisms will be of that noble order.

Possibly caustic remarks may be made upon my frequent references to

myself, my own methods of procedure, and personal reminiscences. These

also were intentional. I have purposely given an almost autobiographical

tinge to the whole, because my own experience, such as it is, is the most

original contribution which I can offer, and, with my own students, quite as

weighty as any other within my reach. It would have been impossible for

me to quote the experiences of other men if they had not been bold enough

to record them, and I make an honest attempt to acknowledge my debt to

my greater predecessors by writing down my own. Whether this arises

from egotism or not, each reader shall decide according to the sweetness

or acidity of his own disposition. A father is excused when he tells his sons

his own life-story and finds it the readiest way to enforce his maxims; the

old soldier is forgiven when he “shoulders his crutch, and shows how fields


were won;” I beg that the license which tolerates these may, on this

occasion, be extended to me.

It would have saved me much labor had I reserved these lectures for redelivery

to new companies of freshmen, and I am conscious of no motive in

printing them but that of desiring to keep my counsels alive in the

memories of those who heard them years ago, and impressing them upon

others who dwell beyond the precincts of our class-room. The age has

become intensely practical, and needs a ministry not only orthodox and

spiritual, but also natural in utterance, and practically shrewd. Officialism is

sick unto death; life is the true heir to success, and is coming to its

heritage. Mannerisms, pomposity’s, and proprieties, once so potent in the

religious world, are becoming as obsolete in the reverence of men as those

gods of high Olympus for whom in past ages poets tuned their lyres, and

sculptors quickened marble into beauty. Truth and life must conquer, and

their victory is nearest when they cease to be encumbered with the grave

clothes of conventionalism and pretense. It is delicious to put one’s foot

through the lath and plaster of old affectations, to make room for the

granite walls of reality. This has been a main design with me, and may God

send success to the effort.

The solemn work with which the Christian ministry concerns itself

demands a man’s all, and that all at its best. To engage in it half-heartedly

is an insult to God and man. Slumber must forsake our eyelids sooner than

men shall be allowed to perish. Yet we, are all prone to sleep as do others,

and students, among the rest, are apt to act the part of the foolish virgins;

therefore have I sought to speak out my whole soul, in the hope that I

might not create or foster dullness in others. May He in whose hand are the

churches and their pastors bless these words to younger brethren in the

ministry, and if so I shall count it more than a full reward, and shall

gratefully praise the Lord.

Should this publication succeed, I hope very soon to issue in similar form a

work upon Commenting, containing a full catalogue of Commentaries, and

also a second set of lectures. I shall be obliged by any assistance rendered

to the sale, for the price is unremunerative, and persons interested in our

subjects are not numerous enough to secure a very large circulation; hence

it is only by the kind aid of all appreciating friends that I shall be able to

publish the rest of the contemplated series.




“Take heed unto thyself, and unto the doctrine.” —

1 Timothy 4:16.

EVERY workman knows the necessity of keeping his tools in a good state

of repair, for “if the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must

he put to more strength.” If the workman lose the edge from his adz, he

knows that there will be a greater draught upon his energies, or his work

will be badly done. Michael Angelo, the elect of the fine arts, understood

so well the importance of his tools, that he always made his own brushes

with his own hands, and in this he gives us an illustration of the God of

grace, who with special care fashions for himself all true ministers. It is true

that the Lord, like Quintin Matsys in the story of the Antwerp well-cover,

can work with the faultiest kind of instrumentality, as he does when he

occasionally makes very foolish preaching to be useful in conversion; and

he can even work without agents, as he does when he saves men without a

preacher at all, applying the word directly by his Holy Spirit; but we cannot

regard God’s absolutely sovereign acts as a rule for our action. He may, in

his own absoluteness, do as pleases him best, but we must act as his plainer

dispensations instruct us; and one of the facts which is clear enough is this,

that the Lord usually adapts means to ends, from which the plain lesson is,

that we shall be likely to accomplish most when we are in the best spiritual

condition; or in other words, we shall usually do our Lord’s work best

when our gifts and graces are in good order, and we shall do worst when

they are most out of trim. This is a practical truth for our guidance, when

the Lord makes exceptions, they do but prove the rule.

We are, in a certain sense, our own tools, and therefore must keep

ourselves in order. If I want to preach the gospel, I can only use my own

voice; therefore I must train my vocal powers. I can only think with my

own brains, and feel with my own heart, and therefore I must educate my

intellectual and emotional faculties. I can only weep and agonize for souls

in my own renewed nature, therefore must I watchfully maintain the

tenderness which was in Christ Jesus. It will be in vain for me to stock my


library, or organize societies, or project schemes, if I neglect the culture of

myself; for books, and agencies, and systems, are only remotely the

instruments of my holy calling; my own spirit, soul, and body, are my

nearest machinery for sacred service; my spiritual faculties, and my inner

life, are my battle ax and weapons of war. M’Cheyne, writing to a

ministerial friend, who was traveling with a view to perfecting himself in

the German tongue, used language identical with our own: — “I know you

will apply hard to German, but do not forget the culture of the inner man

— I mean of the heart. How diligently the cavalry officer keeps his saber

clean and sharp; every stain he rubs off with the greatest care. Remember

you are God’s sword, his instrument — I trust, a chosen vessel unto him to

bear his name. In great measure, according to the purity and perfection of

the instrument, will be the success. It is not great talents God blesses so

much as likeness to Jesus. A holy minister is an awful weapon in the hand

of God.”

For the herald of the gospel to be spiritually out of order in his own proper

person is, both to himself and to his work, a most serious calamity; and yet,

my brethren, how easily is such an evil produced, and with what

watchfulness must it be guarded against! Traveling one day by express

from Perth to Edinburgh, on a sudden we came to a dead stop, because a

very small screw in one of the engines — every railway locomotive

consisting virtually of two engines — had been broken, and when we

started again we were obliged to crawl along with one piston-rod at work

instead of two. Only a small screw was gone, if that had been right the train

would have rushed along its iron road, but the absence of that insignificant

piece of iron disarranged the whole. A train is said to have been stopped on

one of the United States’ railways by flies in the grease-boxes of the

carriage wheels. The analogy is perfect; a man in all other respects fitted to

be useful, may by some small defect be exceedingly hindered, or even

rendered utterly useless. Such a result is all the more grievous, because it is

associated with the gospel, which in the highest sense is adapted to effect

the grandest results. It is a terrible thing when the healing balm loses its

efficacy through the blunderer who administers it. You all know the

injurious effects frequently produced upon water through flowing along

leaden pipes; even so the gospel itself, in flowing through men who are

spiritually unhealthy, may be debased until it grows injurious to their

hearers. It is to be feared that Calvinistic doctrine becomes most evil

teaching when it is set forth by men of ungodly lives, and exhibited as if it


were a cloak for licentiousness; and Arminianism, on the other hand, with

its wide sweep of the offer of mercy, may do most serious damage to the

souls of men, if the careless tone of the preacher leads his hearers to

believe that they can repent whenever they please; and that, therefore, no

urgency surrounds the gospel message. Moreover, when a preacher is poor

in grace, any lasting good which may be the result of his ministry, will

usually be feeble and utterly out of proportion with what might have been

expected. Much sowing will be followed by little reaping; the interest upon

the talents will be in-appreciably small. In two or three of the battles which

were lost in the late American war, the result is said to have been due to

the bad gunpowder which was served out by certain “shoddy” contractors

to the army, so that the due effect of a cannonade was not produced. So it

may be with us. We may miss our mark, lose our end and aim, and waste

our time, through not possessing true vital force within ourselves, or not

possessing it in such a degree that God could consistently bless us. Beware

of being “shoddy” preachers.



That a teacher of the gospel should first be a partaker of it is a simple truth,

but at the same time a rule of the most weighty importance. We are not

among those who accept the apostolical succession of young men simply

because they assume it; if their college experience has been rather vivacious

than spiritual, if their honors have been connected rather with athletic

exercises than with labors for Christ, we demand evidence of another kind

than they are able to present to us. No amount of fees paid to learned

doctors, and no amount of classics received in return, appear to us to be

evidences of a call from above. True and genuine piety is necessary as the

first indispensable requisite; whatever “call” a man may pretend to have, if

he has not been called to holiness, he certainly has not been called to the


“First be trimmed thyself, and then adorn thy brother,” say the rabbins.

“The hand,” saith Gregory, “that means to make another clean, must not

itself be dirty.” If your salt be unsavory how can you season others?

Conversion is a sine qua non in a minister. Ye aspirants to our pulpits, “ye

must be born again.” Nor is the possession of this first qualification a thing

to be taken for granted by any man, for there is very great possibility of our

being mistaken as to whether we are converted or not. Believe me, it is no


child’s play to “make your calling and election sure.” The world is full of

counterfeits, and swarms with panderers to carnal self-conceit, who gather

around a minister as vultures around a carcass. Our own hearts are

deceitful, so that truth lies not on the surface, but must be drawn up from

the deepest well. We must search ourselves very anxiously and very

thoroughly, lest by any means after having preached to others we ourselves

should be castaways.

How horrible to be a preacher of the gospel and yet to be un-converted!

Let each man here whisper to his own inmost soul, “What a dreadful thing

it will be for me if I should be ignorant of the power of the truth which I

am preparing to proclaim!” Unconverted ministry involves the most

unnatural relationships. A graceless pastor is a blind man elected to a

professorship of optics, philosophizing upon light and vision, discoursing

upon and distinguishing to others the nice shades and delicate blendings of

the prismatic colors, while he himself is absolutely in the dark! He is a

dumb man elevated to the chair of music; a deaf man fluent upon

symphonies and harmonies! He is a mole professing to educate eaglets; a

limpet elected to preside over angels. To such a relationship one might

apply the most absurd and grotesque metaphors, except that the subject is

too solemn. It is a dreadful position for a man to stand in, for he has

undertaken a work for which he is totally, wholly, and altogether

unqualified, but from the responsibilities of which this unfitness will not

screen him, because he willfully incurred them. Whatever his natural gifts,

whatever his mental powers may be, he is utterly out of court for spiritual

work if he has no spiritual life; and it is his duty to cease the ministerial

office till he has received this first and simplest of qualifications for it.

Unconverted ministry must be equally dreadful in another respect. If the

man has no commission, what a very unhappy position for him to occupy!

What can he see in the experience of his people to give him comfort? How

must he feel when he hears the cries of penitents; or listens to their anxious

doubts and solemn fears? He must be astonished to think that his words

should be owned to that end! The word of an unconverted man may be

blessed to the conversion of souls, since the Lord, while he disowns the

man, will still honor his own truth. How perplexed such a man must be

when he is consulted concerning the difficulties of mature Christians! In the

pathway of experience, in which his own regenerate hearers are led, he

must feel himself quite at a loss. How can he listen to their deathbed joys,

or join in their rapturous fellowships around the table of their Lord?


In many instances of young men put to a trade which they cannot endure,

they have run away to sea sooner than follow an irksome business; but

where shall that man flee who is apprenticed for life to this holy calling,

and yet is a total stranger to the power of godliness? How can he daily bid

men come to Christ, while he himself is a stranger to his dying love? O sirs,

surely this must be perpetual slavery. Such a man must hate the sight of a

pulpit as much as a galley-slave hates the oar.

And how unserviceable such a man must be. He has to guide travelers

along a road which he has never trodden, to navigate a vessel along a coast

of which he knows none of the landmarks! He is called to instruct others,

being himself a fool. What can he be but a cloud without rain, a tree with

leaves only. As when the caravan in the wilderness, all athirst and ready to

die beneath the broiling sun, comes to the long desired well, and, horror of

horrors! finds it without a drop of water; so when souls thirsting after God

come to a graceless ministry, they are ready to perish because the water of

life is not be found. Better abolish pulpits than fill them with men who have

no experimental knowledge of what they teach.

Alas! the unregenerate pastor becomes terribly mischievous too, for of all

the causes which create infidelity, ungodly ministers must be ranked among

the first. I read the other day, that no phase of evil presented so marvelous

a power for destruction, as the unconverted minister of a parish, with a

£1200 organ, a choir of ungodly singers, and an aristocratic congregation.

It was the opinion of the writer, that there could be no greater instrument

for damnation out of hell than that. People go to their place of worship and

sit down comfortably, and think they must be Christians, when all the time

all that their religion consists in, is listening to an orator, having their ears

tickled with music, and perhaps their eyes amused with graceful action and

fashionable manners; the whole being no better than what they hear and see

at the opera — not so good, perhaps, in point of aesthetic beauty, and not

an atom more spiritual. Thousands are congratulating themselves, and even

blessing God that they are devout worshippers, when at the same time they

are living in an unregenerate Christless state, having the form of godliness,

but denying the power thereof. He who presides over a system which aims

at nothing higher than formalism, is far more a servant of the devil than a

minister of God.

A formal preacher is mischievous while he preserves his outward

equilibrium, but as he is without the preserving balance of godliness,


sooner or later he is almost, sure to make a trip in his moral character, and

what a position is he in then! How is God blasphemed, and the gospel


Terrible is it to consider what a death must await such a man! and what

must be his after-condition! The prophet pictures the king of Babylon

going down to hell, and all the kings and princes whom he had destroyed,

and whose capitals he had laid waste, rising up from their places in

Pandemonium, and saluting the fallen tyrant with the cutting sarcasm, “Art

thou become like unto us?” And cannot you suppose a man who has been a

minister, but who has lived without Christ in his heart, going down to hell,

and all the imprisoned spirits who used to hear him, and all the ungodly of

his parish rising up and saying to him in bitter tones, “Art thou also become

as we are? Physician, didst thou not heal thyself? Art thou who claimed to

be a shining light cast down into the darkness for ever?” Oh! if one must be

lost, let it not be in this fashion! To be lost under the shadow of a pulpit is

dreadful, but how much more so to perish from the pulpit itself

There is an awful passage in John Bunyan’s treatise, entitled “Sighs from

Hell,” which full often rings in my ears: — “How many souls have blind

priests been the means of destroying by their ignorance? Preaching that

was no better for their souls than rats-bane to the body. Many of them, it is

to be feared, have whole towns to answer for. Ah! friend, I tell thee, thou

that hast taken in hand to preach to the people, it may be thou hast taken in

hand thou canst not tell what. Will it not grieve thee to see thy whole

parish come bellowing after time into hell? crying out, ‘This we have to

thank thee for, thou wast afraid to tell us of our sins, lest we should not put

meat fast enough into thy mouth. O cursed wretch, who wast not content,

blind guide as thou wast, to fall into the ditch thyself, but hast also led us

thither with thee.’”

Richard Baxter, in his “Reformed Pastor,” amid much other solemn matter,

writes as follows: “Take heed to yourselves lest you should be void of that

saving grace of God which you offer to others, and be strangers to the

effectual working of that gospel which you preach; and lest, while you

proclaim the necessity of a Savior to the world, your hearts should neglect

him, and you should miss of an interest in him and his saving benefits. Take

heed to yourselves, lest you perish while you call upon others to take heed

of perishing, and lest you famish yourselves while you prepare their food.

Though there be a promise of shining as stars to those that turn many to


righteousness (Daniel 12:3), this is but on supposition that they be first

turned to it. themselves: such promises are made casteris paribus, et

suppositis supponendis. Their own sincerity in the faith is the condition of

their glory simply considered, though their great ministerial labors may be a

condition of the promise of their greater glory. Many men have warned

others that they come not to that place of torment, which yet they hasted to

themselves; many a preacher is now in hell, that hath an hundred times

called upon his hearers to use the utmost care and diligence to escape it.

Can any reasonable man imagine that God should save men for offering

salvation to others, while they refused it themselves, and for telling others

those truths which they themselves neglected and abused? Many a tailor

goes in rags that maketh costly clothes for others; and many a cook scarce

licks his fingers, when he hath dressed for others the most costly dishes.

Believe it, brethren, God never saved any man for being a preacher, nor

because he was an able preacher; but because he was a justified, sanctified

man, and consequently faithful in his Master’s work. Take heed, therefore,

to yourselves first, that you be that which you persuade others to be, and

believe that which you persuade them daily to believe, and have heartily

entertained that Christ and Spirit which you offer unto others. He that bade

you love your neighbors as yourselves, did imply that you should love

yourselves and not hate and destroy both yourselves and them.”

My brethren, let these weighty sentences have due effect upon you. Surely

there can be no need to add more; but let me pray you to examine

yourselves, and so make good use of what has been addressed to you.

I. This first matter of true religion being settled, IT IS OF THE NEXT


He is not to be content with being equal to the rank and file of Christians,

he must be a mature and advanced believer; for the ministry of Christ has

been truly called “the choicest of his choice, the elect of his election, a

church picked out of the church.” If he were called to an ordinary position,

and to common work, common grace might perhaps satisfy him, though

even then it would be an indolent satisfaction; but being elect to

extraordinary labors, and called to a place of unusual peril, he should be

anxious to possess that superior strength which alone is adequate to his

station. His pulse of vital godliness must beat strongly and regularly; his

eye of faith must be bright; his foot of resolution must be firm; his hand of

activity must be quick; his whole inner man must be in the highest degree


of sanity. It is said of the Egyptians that they chose their priests from the

most learned of their philosophers, and then they esteemed their priests so

highly, that they chose their kings from them. We require to have for God’s

ministers the pick of all the Christian host; such men indeed, that if the

nation wanted kings they could not do better than elevate them to the

throne. Our weakest-minded, most timid, most carnal, and most illbalanced

men are not suitable candidates for the pulpit. There are some

works which we should never allot to the invalid or deformed. A man may

not be qualified for climbing lofty buildings, his brain may be too weak, and

elevated work might place him in great danger; by all means let him keep

on the ground and find useful occupation where a steady brain is less

important: there are brethren who have analogous spiritual deficiencies,

they cannot be called to service which is conspicuous and elevated,

because their heads are too weak. If they were permitted a little success

they would be intoxicated with vanity — a vice all too common among

ministers, and of all things the least becoming in them, and the most certain

to secure them a fall. Should we as a nation be called to defend our hearths

and homes, we should not send out our boys and girls with swords and

guns to meet the foe, neither may the church send out every fluent novice

or inexperienced zealot to plead for the faith. The fear of the Lord must

teach the young man wisdom, or he is barred from the pastorate; the grace

of God must mature his spirit, or he had better tarry till power be given him

from on high.

The highest moral character must be sedulously maintained. Many are

disqualified for office in the church who are well enough as simple

members. I hold very stern opinions with regard to Christian men who have

fallen into gross sin; I rejoice that they may be truly convened, and may be

with mingled hope and caution received into the church; but I question,

gravely question whether a man who has grossly sinned should be very

readily restored to the pulpit. As John Angell James remarks, “When a

preacher of righteousness has stood in the way of sinners, he should never

again open his lips in the great congregation until his repentance is as

notorious as his sin.” Let those who have been shorn by the sons of

Ammon tarry at Jericho till their beards be grown; this has often been used

as a taunt to beardless boys to whom it is evidently inapplicable, it is an

accurate enough metaphor for dishonored and characterless men, let their

age be what it may. Alas! the beard of reputation once shorn is hard to

grow again. Open immorality, in most cases, however deep the repentance,


is a fatal sign that ministerial graces were never in the man’s character.

Caesar’s wife must be beyond suspicion, and there must be no ugly rumors

as to ministerial inconsistency in the past, or the hope of usefulness will be

slender. Into the church such fallen ones are to be received as penitents,

and into the ministry they may be received if God puts them there; my

doubt is not about that, but as to whether God ever did place them there;

and my belief is that we should be very slow to help back to the pulpit men,

who having been once tried, have proved themselves to have too little

grace to stand the crucial test of ministerial life.

For some work we choose none but the strong; and when God calls us to

ministerial labor we should endeavor to get grace that we may be

strengthened into fitness for our position, and not be mere novices carried

away by the temptations of Satan, to the injury of the church and our own

ruin. We are to stand equipped with the whole armor of God, ready for

feats of valor not expected of others: to us self-denial, self-forgetfulness,

patience, perseverance, longsuffering, must be every-day virtues, and who

is sufficient for these things? We had need live very near to God, if we

would approve ourselves in our vocation.

Recollect, as ministers, that your whole life, your whole pastoral life

especially, will be affected by the vigor of your piety. If your zeal grows

dull, you will not pray well in the pulpit; you will pray worse in the family,

and worst in the study alone. When your soul becomes lean, your hearers,

without knowing how or why, will find that your prayers in public have

little savor for them; they will feel your barrenness, perhaps, before you

perceive it yourself. Your discourses will next betray your declension. You

may utter as well-chosen words, and as fitly-ordered sentences, as

aforetime; but there will be a perceptible loss of spiritual force. You will

shake yourselves as at other times, even as Samson did, but you will find

that your great strength has departed. In your daily communion with your

people, they will not be slow to mark the all-pervading decline of your

graces. Sharp eyes will see the gray hairs here and there long before you

do. Let a man be afflicted with a disease of the heart, and all evils are

wrapped up in that one — stomach, lungs, viscera, muscles, and nerves

will all suffer; and so let a man have his heart weakened in spiritual things,

and very soon his entire life will feel the withering influence. Moreover, as

the result of your own decline, everyone of your hearers will suffer more or

less; the vigorous amongst them will overcome the depressing tendency,

but the weaker sort will be seriously damaged. It is with us and our hearers


as it is with watches and the public clock; if our watch be wrong, very few

will be misled by it but ourselves; but if the Horse Guards or Greenwich

Observatory should go amiss, half London would lose its reckoning. So is

it with the minister; he is the parish-clock, many take their time from him,

and if he be incorrect, then they all go wrongly, more or less, and he is in a

great measure accountable for all the sin which he occasions. This we

cannot endure to think of, my brethren. It will not bear a moment’s

comfortable consideration, and yet it must be looked at that we may guard

against it.

You must remember, too, that we have need of very vigorous piety,

because our danger is so much greater than that of others. Upon the

whole, no place is so assailed with temptation as the ministry. Despite the

popular idea that ours is a snug retreat from temptation, it is no less true

that our dangers are more numerous and more insidious than those of

ordinary Christians. Ours may be a vantage-ground for height, but that

height is perilous, and to many the ministry has proved a Tarpeian rock. If

you ask what these temptations are, time might fail us to particularize

them; but among them are both the courser and the more refined; the

courser are such temptations as self-indulgence at the table, enticements to

which are superabundant among a hospitable people; the temptations of the

flesh, which are incessant with young unmarried men set on high among an

admiring throng of young women: but enough of this, your own

observation will soon reveal to you a thousand snares, unless indeed your

eyes are blinded. There are more secret snares than these, from which we

can less easily escape; and of these the worst is the temptation to

ministerialism — the tendency to read our Bibles as ministers, to pray as

ministers, to get into doing the whole of our religion as not ourselves

personally, but only relatively, concerned in it. To lose the personality of

repentance and faith is a loss indeed. “No man,” says John Owen,

“preaches his sermon well to others if he doth not first preach it to his own

heart.” Brethren, it is eminently hard to keep to this. Our office, instead of

helping our piety, as some assert, is through the evil of our natures turned

into one of its most serious hindrances; at least, I find it so. How one kicks

and struggles against officialism, and yet how easily doth it beset us, like a

long garment which twists around the racer’s feet and impedes his running!

Beware, dear brethren, of this and all the other seductions of your calling;

and if you have done so until now, continue still to watch till life’s latest



We have noted but one of the perils, but indeed they are legion. The great

enemy of souls takes care to leave no stone unturned for the preacher’s

rain. “Take heed to yourselves,” says Baxter, “because the tempter will

make his first and sharpest onset upon you. If you will be the leaders

against him, he will spare you no further than God restraineth him. He

beareth you the greatest malice that are engaged to do him the greatest

mischief. As he hateth Christ more than any of us, because he is the

General of the field, and the ‘Captain of our salvation,’ and doth more than

all the world besides against the kingdom of darkness; so doth he note the

leaders under him more than the common soldiers, on the like account, in

their proportion. He knows what a rout he may make among the rest, if the

leaders fall before their eyes. He hath long tried that way of fighting,

‘neither with small nor great,’ comparatively, but these; and of ‘smiting the

shepherds, that he may scatter the flock.’ And so great has been his success

this way, that he will follow it on as far as he is able. Take heed, therefore,

brethren, for the enemy hath a special eye upon you. You shall have his

most subtle insinuations, and incessant solicitations, and violent assaults.

As wise and learned as you are, take heed to yourselves lest he overwit

you. The devil is a greater scholar than you, and a nimbler disputant; he

can ‘transform himself into an angel of light’ to deceive, he will get within

you and trip up your heels before you are aware; he will play the juggler

with you undiscerned, and cheat you of your faith or innocency, and you

shall not know that you have lost it: nay, he will make you believe it is

multiplied or increased when it is lost. You shall see neither hook nor line,

much less the subtle angler himself, while he is offering you his bait. And

his baits shall be so fitted to your temper and disposition, that he will be

sure to find advantages within you, and make your own principles and

inclinations to betray you; and whenever he ruineth you, he will make you

the instrument of your own ruin. Oh, what a conquest will he think he hath

got, if he can make a minister lazy and unfaithful; if he can tempt a minister

into covetousness or scandal! He will glory against the church, and say,

‘These are your holy preachers: you see what their preciseness is, and

whither it will bring them.” He will glory against Jesus Christ himself, and

say, ‘These are thy champions! I can make thy chiefest servants to abuse

thee; I can make the stewards of thy house unfaithful.’ If he did so insult

against God upon a false surmise, and tell him he could make Job to curse

him to his face (Job 1:2), what would he do if he should indeed prevail

against us? And at last he will insult as much over you that ever he could

draw you to be false to your great trust, and to blemish your holy


profession, and to do him so much service that was your enemy. O do not

so far gratify Satan; do not make him so much sport: suffer him not to use

you as the Philistines did Samson — first to deprive you of your strength,

and then to put out your eyes, and so to make you the matter of his

triumph and derision.”

II. Once more. We must cultivate the highest degree of godliness because

our work imperatively requires it. The labor of the Christian ministry is

well performed in exact proportion to the vigor of our renewed nature. Our

work is only well done when it is well with ourselves. As is the workman,

such will the work be. To face the enemies of truth, to defend the bulwarks

of the faith, to rule well in the house of God, to comfort all that mourn, to

edify the saints, to guide the perplexed, to bear with the froward, to win

and nurse souls — all these and a thousand other works beside are not for

a Feeble-mind or a Ready-to-halt, but are reserved for Great-heart whom

the Lord has made strong for himself. Seek then strength from the Strong

One, wisdom from the Wise One, in fact, all from the God of all.

III. Thirdly, let the minister take care THAT HIS PERSONAL CHARACTER


We have all heard the story of the man who preached so well and lived so

badly, that when he was in the pulpit everybody said he ought never to

come out again, and when he was out of it they all declared he never ought

to enter it again. From the imitation of such a Janus may the Lord deliver

us. May we never be priests of God at the altar, and sons of Belial outside

the tabernacle door; but on the contrary, may we, as Nazianzen says of

Basil, “thunder in our doctrine, and lighten in our conversation.” We do

not trust those persons who have two faces, nor will men believe in those

whose verbal and practical testimonies are contradictory. As actions,

according to the proverb, speak louder than words, so an ill life will

effectually drown the voice of the most eloquent ministry. After all, our

truest building must be performed with our hands; our characters must be

more persuasive than our speech. Here I would not alone warn you of sins

of commission, but of sins of omission. Too many preachers forget to serve

God when they are out of the pulpit, their lives are negatively inconsistent.

Abhor, dear brethren, the thought of being clockwork ministers who are

not alive by abiding grace within, but are wound up by temporary

influences; men who are only ministers for the time being, under the stress

of the hour of ministering, but cease to be ministers when they descend the


pulpit stairs. True ministers are always ministers. Too many preachers are

like those sand-toys we buy for our children; you turn the box upside

down, and the little acrobat revolves and revolves till the sand is all run

down, and then he hangs motionless; so there are some who persevere in

the ministrations of truth as long as there is an official necessity for their

work, but after that, no pay, no paternoster; no salary, no sermon.

It is a horrible thing to be an inconsistent minister. Our Lord is said to have

been like Moses, for this reason, that he was “a prophet mighty in word

and in deed.” The man of God should imitate his Master in this; he should

be mighty both in the word of his doctrine and in the deed of his example,

and mightiest, if possible, in the second. It is remarkable that the only

church history we have is, “The Acts of the apostles.” The Holy Spirit has

not preserved their sermons. They were very good ones, better than we

shall ever preach, but still the Holy Spirit has only taken care of their

“acts.” We have no books of the resolutions of the apostles; when we hold

our church-meetings we record our minutes and resolutions, but the Holy

Spirit only puts down the “acts.” Our acts should be such as to bear

recording, for recorded they will be. We must live as under the more

immediate eye of God, and as in the blaze of the great all-revealing day.

Holiness in a minister is at once his chief necessity and his goodliest

ornament. Mere moral excellence is not enough, there must be the higher

virtue; a consistent character there must be, but this must be anointed with

the sacred consecrating oil, or that which makes us most fragrant to God

and man will be wanting. Old John Stoughton, in his treatise entitled “The

Preacher’s Dignity and Duty,” insists upon the minister’s holiness in

sentences full of weight “If Uzzah must die but for touching the ark of

God, and that to stay it when it was like to fall; if the men of Beth-shemesh

for looking into it; if the very beasts that do but come near the holy mount

be threatened; then what manner of persons ought they to be who shall be

admitted to talk with God familiarly, to ‘stand before him,’ as the angels

do, and ‘behold his face continually;’ ‘to bear the ark upon their shoulders,’

‘to bear his name before the Gentiles;’ in a word, to be his ambassadors?

‘Holiness becometh thy house, O Lord;’ and were it not a ridiculous thing

to imagine, that the vessels must be holy, the vestures must be holy, all

must be holy, but only he upon whose very garments must be written

‘holiness to the Lord,’ might be unholy; that the bells of the horses should

have an inscription of holiness upon them, in Zechariah, and the saints’

bells, the bells of Aaron, should be unhallowed? No, they must be ‘burning


and shining lights,’ or else their influence will dart some malignant quality;

they must ‘chew the cud and divide the hoof,’ or else they are unclean;

they must ‘divide the word aright,’ and walk uprightly in their life, and so

join life to learning. If holiness be wanting, the ambassadors dishonor the

country from whence they come, and the prince from whom they come;

and this dead Amasa, this dead doctrine not quickened with a good life,

lying in the way, stops the people of the Lord, that they cannot go on

cheerfully in their spiritual warfare.”

The life of the preacher should be a magnet to draw men to Christ, and it is

sad indeed when it keeps them from him. Sanctity in ministers is a loud call

to sinners to repent, and when allied with holy cheerfulness it becomes

wondrously attractive. Jeremy Taylor in his own rich language tell us,

“Herod’s doves could never have invited so many strangers to their dovecotes,

if they had not been besmeared with opobalsamum: but,

said Didymus; ‘make your pigeons smell sweet, and they will allure whole

flocks;’ and if your life be excellent, if your virtues be like a precious

ointment, you will soon invite your charges to run ‘in odorem

unguentorum,’ ‘after your precious odors:’ but you must be excellent, not

‘tanquam unus de populo,’ but ‘tanguam homo Dei;’ you must be a man

of God, not after the common manner of men, but ‘after God’s own heart;’

and men will strive to be like you, if you be like to God: but when you only

stand at the door of virtue, for nothing but to keep sin out, you will draw

into the folds of Christ none but such as fear drives in. ‘Ad majorem Dei

gloriam’ To do what will most glorify God,’ that is the line you must walk

by: for to do no more than all men needs must is servility, not so much as

the affection of sons; much less can you be fathers to the people, when you

go not so far as the sons of God: for a dark lantern, though there be a

weak brightness on one side, will scarce enlighten one, much less will it

conduct a multitude, or allure many followers by the brightness of its


Another equally admirable episcopal divine f1 has well and pithily said,

“The star which led the wise men unto Christ, the pillar of fire which led

the children unto Canaan, did not only shine, but go before them.

(Matthew 2:9; Exodus 13:21.) The voice of Jacob will do little good if the

hands be the hands of Esau. In the law, no person who had any blemish

was to offer the oblations of the Lord (Leviticus 21:17-20); the Lord

thereby teaching us what graces ought to be in his ministers. The priest was

to have in his robes bells and pomegranates; the one a figure of sound


doctrine, and the other of a fruitful life. (Exodus 28:33, 34.) The Lord will

be sanctified in all those that draw near unto him (Isaiah 52:11); for the

sins of the priests make the people abhor the offering of the Lord (1

Samuel 2:17); their wicked lives do shame their doctrine; Passionem

Christi annunciant profitendo, male agendo exhonorant, as St. Austin

speaks: with their doctrine they build, and with their lives they destroy. I

conclude this point with that wholesome passage of Hierom ad

Nepotianum. Let not, saith he, thy works shame thy doctrine, lest they who

hear thee in the church tacitly answer, Why doest thou not thyself what

thou teachest to others? He is too delicate a teacher who persuadeth others

to fast with a full belly. A robber may accuse covetousness. Sacerdotis

Christi os, mens, manusque concordent; a minister of Christ should have

his tongue, and his heart, and his hand agree.”

Very quaint also is the language of Thomas Playfere In his “Say Well, Do

Well.” “There was a ridiculous actor in the city of Smyrna, who,

pronouncing O coelum! O heaven! pointed with his finger towards the

ground; which when Polemo, the chiefest man in the place, saw, he could

abide to stay no longer, but went from the company in a great chafe, saying

‘This fool hath made a solecism with his hand, he has spoken false Latin

with his finger.’ And such are they who teach well and do ill; that however

they have heaven at their tongue’s end, yet the earth is at their finger’s

end; such as do not only speak false Latin with their tongue, but false

divinity with their hands; such as live not according to their preaching. But

he that sits in the heaven will laugh them to scorn, and hiss them off the

stage, if they do not mend their action.”

Even in little things the minister should take care that his life is consistent

with his ministry. He should be especially careful never to fall short of his

word. This should be pushed even to scrupulosity; We cannot be too

careful; truth must not only be in us, but shine from us. A celebrated doctor

of divinity in London, who is now in heaven I have no doubt — a very

excellent and godly man — gave notice one Sunday that he intended to

visit all his people, and said, that in order to be able to get round and visit

them and their families once in the year, he should take all the seatholders

in order. A person well known to me, who was then a poor man, was

delighted with the idea that the minister was coming to his house to see

him, and about a week or two before he conceived it would be his turn, his

wife was very careful to sweep the hearth and keep the house tidy, and the

man ran home early from work, hoping each night to find the doctor there.


This went on for a considerable time. He either forgot his promise, or grew

weary in performing it, or for some other reason never went to this poor

man’s house, and the result was this, the man lost confidence in all

preachers, and said, “They care for the rich, but they do not care for us

who are poor.” That man never settled down to any one place of worship

for many years, till at last he dropped into Exeter Hall and remained my

hearer for years till providence removed him. It was no small task to make

him believe that any minister could be an honest man, and could impartially

love both rich and poor. Let us avoid doing such mischief, by being very

particular as to our word.

We must remember that we are very much looked at. Men hardly have the

impudence to break the law in the open sight of their fellows, yet in such

publicity we live and move. We are watched by a thousand eagle eyes; let

us so act that we shall never need to care if all heaven, and earth, and hell,

swelled the list of spectators. Our public position is a great gain if we are

enabled to exhibit the fruits of the Spirit in our lives; take heed, brethren,

that you throw not away the advantage.

When we say to you, my dear brethren, take care of your life, we mean be

careful of even the minutiae of your character. Avoid little debts,

unpunctuality, gossipping, nicknaming, petty quarrels, and all other of

those little vices which fill the ointment with flies. The self-indulgences

which have lowered the repute of many must not be tolerated by us. The

familiarities which have laid others under suspicion, we must chastely

avoid. The roughnesses which have rendered some obnoxious, and the

fopperies which have made others contemptible, we must put away. We

cannot afford to run great risks through little things. Our care must be to

act on the rule, “giving no offence in anything, that the ministry be not


By this is not intended that we are to hold ourselves bound by every whim

or fashion of the society in which we move. As a general rule I hate the

fashions of society, and detest conventionalities, and if I conceived it best

to put my foot through a law of etiquette, I should feel gratified in having it

to do. No, we are men, not slaves; and are not to relinquish our manly

freedom, to be the lacqueys of those who affect gentility or boast

refinement. Yet, brethren, anything that verges upon the coarseness which

is akin to sin, we must shun as we would a viper. The rules of Chesterfield


are ridiculous to us, but not the example of Christ; and he was never

coarse, low, discourteous, or indelicate.

Even in your recreations, remember that you are ministers. When you are

off the parade you are still officers in the army of Christ, and as such

demean yourselves. But if the lesser things must be looked after, how

careful should you be in the great matters of morality, honesty, and

integrity! Here the minister must not fail. His private life must ever keep

good tune with his ministry, or his day will soon set with him, and the

sooner he retires the better, for his continuance in his office will only

dishonor the cause of God and ruin himself.

Brethren, the limits of a lecture are reached, and we must adjourn.




ANY Christian has a right to disseminate the gospel who has the ability to

do so; and more, he not only has the right, but it is his duty so to do as

long as he lives. (Revelation 22:17.) The propagation of the gospel is left,

not to a few, but to all the disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ: according to

the measure of grace entrusted to him by the Holy Spirit, each man is

bound to minister in his day and generation, both to the church and among

unbelievers. Indeed, this question goes beyond men, and even includes the

whole of the other sex; whether believers are male or female, they are all

bound, when enabled by divine grace, to exert themselves to the utmost to

extend the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. Our service, however, need

not take the particular form of preaching — certainly, in some cases it must

not, as for instance in the case of females, whose public teaching is

expressly prohibited: (1 Timothy 2:12); (1 Corinthians 14:34.) But yet if

we have the ability to preach, we are bound to exercise it. I do not,

however, in this lecture allude to occasional preaching, or any other form

of ministry common to all the saints, but to the work and office of the

bishopric, in which is included both teaching and bearing rule in the

Church, which requires the dedication of a man’s entire life to spiritual

work, and separation from every secular calling, (2 Timothy 2:4); and

entitles the man to cast himself for temporal supplies upon the church of

God, since he gives up all his time, energies, and endeavors, for the good

of those over whom he presides. (1 Corinthians 9:11); (1 Timothy 5:18.)

Such a man is addressed by Peter in the words, “Feed the flock of God

which is among you, taking the oversight thereof.” (1 Peter 5:2.) Now, all

in a church cannot oversee, or rule — there must he some to be overseen

and ruled; and we believe that the Holy Ghost appoints in the church of

God some to act as overseers, while others are made willing to be watched

over for their good. All are not called to labor in word and doctrine, or to

be elders, or to exercise the office of a bishop; nor should all aspire to such

works, since the gifts necessary are nowhere promised to all; but those

should addict themselves to such important engagements who feel, like the

apostle, that they have “received this ministry.” (2 Corinthians 4:1.) No


man may intrude into the sheepfold as an under-shepherd; he must have an

eye to the chief Shepherd, and wait his beck and command. Or ever a man

stands forth as God’s ambassador, he must wait for the call from above;

and if he does not so, but rushes into the sacred office, the Lord will say of

him and others like him, “I sent them not, neither commanded them;

therefore they shall not profit this people at all, saith the Lord.” (Jeremiah


By reference to the Old Testament, you will find the messengers of God in

the old dispensation claiming to hold commissions from Jehovah. Isaiah

tells us that one of the seraphim touched his lips with a live coal from off

the altar, and the voice of the Lord said, “Whom shall I send, and who will

go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8.) Then said the prophet, “Here am I, send me.” He

ran not before he had been thus especially visited of the Lord and qualified

for his mission. “How shall they preach, except they be sent?” were words

as yet unuttered, but their solemn meaning was well understood. Jeremiah

details his call in his first chapter: “Then the word of the Lord came unto

me saying, Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou

camest forth out of the womb, I sanctified time, and I ordained thee a

prophet unto the nations. Then said I, Ah, Lord God! behold, I cannot

speak: for I am a child. But the Lord said unto me, Say not, I am a child:

for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command

thee thou shalt speak. Be not afraid of their faces: for I am with thee to

deliver thee, saith the Lord. Then the Lord put forth his hand, and touched

my mouth; and the Lord said unto me, Behold, I have put my words in thy

mouth. See, I have this day set thee over the nations and over the

kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw

down, and to build, and to plant.” (Jeremiah 1:4-10.) Varying in its

outward form, but to the same purport, was the commission of Ezekiel; it

runs thus in his own words: “And he said unto me, Son of man, stand upon

thy feet, and I will speak unto thee. And the Spirit entered into me when he

spake unto me, and set me upon my feet, that I heard him that spake unto

me. And he said unto me, Son of man, I send thee to the children of Israel,

to a rebellious nation that hath rebelled against me: they and their fathers

have transgressed against me, even unto this very day.” (Ezekiel 2:1-3.)

“Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, eat that thou findest; eat this roll,

and go speak unto the house of Israel. So I opened my mouth, and he

caused me to eat that roll. And he said unto me, Son of man, cause thy

belly to eat, and fill thy bowels with this roll that I give thee. Then did I eat


it; and it was in my mouth as honey for sweetness. And he said unto me,

Son of man, go, get thee unto the house of Israel, and speak with my

words unto them.” (Ezekiel 3:1-4.) Daniel’s call to prophesy, although not

recorded, is abundantly attested by the visions granted to him, and the

exceeding favor which he had with the Lord, both in his solitary

meditations and public acts. It is not needful to pass all the other prophets

in review, for they all claimed to speak with “thus saith the Lord.” In the

present dispensation, the priesthood is common to all the saints; but to

prophesy, or what is analogous thereto, namely, to be moved by the Holy

Ghost to give oneself up wholly to the proclamation of the gospel, is, as a

matter of fact, the gift and calling of only a comparatively small number;

and surely these need to be as sure of the rightfulness of their position as

were the prophets; and yet how can they justify their office, except by a

similar call?

Nor need any imagine that such calls are a mere delusion, and that none are

in this age separated for the peculiar work of teaching and overseeing the

church, for the very names given to ministers in the New Testament imply

a previous call to their work. The apostle says, “Now then we are

ambassadors for God;” but does not the very soul of the ambassadorial

office lie in the appointment which is made by the monarch represented?

An ambassador unsent would be a laughing-stock. Men who dare to avow

themselves ambassadors for Christ, must feel most solemnly that the Lord

has “committed” to them the word of reconciliation. (2 Corinthians 5:18,

19.) If it be said that this is restricted to the apostles, I answer that the

epistle is written not in the name of Paul only, but of Timothy also, and

hence includes other ministry besides apostleship. In the first epistle to the

Corinthians we read, “Let a man so account of us [the us here meaning

Paul and Sosthenes, (1 Corinthians 1:1)], as of the ministers of Christ, and

stewards of the mysteries of God.” (1 Corinthians 4:1.) Surely a steward

must hold his office from the Master. He cannot be a steward merely

because he chooses to be so, or is so regarded by others. If any of us

should elect ourselves stewards to the Marquis of Westminster, and

proceed to deal with his property, we should have our mistake very

speedily pointed out to us in the most convincing manner. There must

evidently be authority ere a man can legally become a bishop, “the steward

of God,” (Titus 1:7.)

The Apocalyptic title of Angel (Revelation 2:1) means a messenger; and

how shall men be Christ’s heralds, unless by his election and ordination? If


the reference of the word Angel to the minister be questioned, we should

be glad to have it shown that it can relate to any one else. To whom would

the Spirit write in the church as its representative, but to some one in a

position analogous to that of the presiding elder?

Titus was bidden to make full proof of his ministry — there was surely

something to prove. Some are “vessels unto honor, sanctified and meet for

the Master’s use, and prepared unto every good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21.)

The Master is not to be denied the choice of the vessels which he uses, he

will still say of certain men as he did of Saul of Tarsus, “He is a chosen

vessel unto me, to bear my name before the Gentiles.” (Acts 9:15.) When

our Lord ascended on high he gave gifts unto men, and it is noteworthy

that these gifts were men set apart for various works: “He gave some,

apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and

teachers” (Ephesians 4:11); from which it is evident that certain individuals

are, as the result of our Lord’s ascension, bestowed upon the churches as

pastors; they are given of God, and consequently not self-elevated to their

position. Brethren, I trust you may be able one day to speak of the flock

over whom “the Holy Ghost has made you overseers” (Acts 20:28), and I

pray that every one of you may be able to say with the apostle of the

Gentiles, that your ministry is not of man, neither by man, but that you

have received it of the Lord. (Galaltians 1:1.) In you may that ancient

promise be fulfilled, “I will give them pastors according to mine heart.”

(Jeremiah 3:15.) “I will set up shepherds over them, which shall feed

them.” (Jeremiah 23:4.) May the Lord himself fulfil in your several persons

his own declaration: “I have set watchmen upon thy walls, O Jerusalem,

which shall never hold their peace day nor night.” May you take forth the

precious from the vile, and so be as God’s mouth. (Jeremiah 15:19.) May

the Lord make manifest by you the savor of the knowledge of Jesus in

every place, and make you “unto God a sweet savor of Christ, in them that

are saved, and in them that perish.” (2 Corinthians 2:15.) Having a

priceless treasure in earthen vessels, may the excellency of the divine

power rest upon you, and so may you both glorify God and clear

yourselves from the blood of all men. As the Lord Jesus went up to the

Mount and called to him whom he would, and then sent them forth to

preach (Mark 3:13), even so may he select you, call you upward to

commune with himself, and send you forth as his elect servants to bless

both the church and the world.


How may a young man know whether he is called or not? That is a

weighty inquiry, and I desire to treat it most solemnly. O for divine

guidance in so doing! That hundreds have missed their way, and stumbled

against a pulpit is sorrowfully evident from the fruitless ministries and

decaying churches which surround us. It is a fearful calamity to a man to

miss his calling, and to the church upon whom he imposes himself, his

mistake involves an affliction of the most grievous kind. It would be a

curious and painful subject for reflection — the frequency with which men

in the possession of reason mistake the end of their existence, and aim at

objects which they were never intended to pursue. The writer who penned

the following lines must surely have had his eye upon many ill-occupied

pulpits: —

“Declare, ye sages, if ye find

‘Mongst animals of every kind,

Of each condition, sort, and size,

From whales and elephants to flies,

A creature that mistakes his plan,

And errs so constantly as man!

Each kind pursues its proper good,

And seeks enjoyment, rest and food,

As nature points, and never errs

In what it chooses or prefers;

Man only blunders, though possessed

Of reason far above the rest.

Descend to instances and try:

An ox will not attempt to fly,

Or leave his pasture in the wood

With fishes to explore the flood.

Man only acts of every creature

In opposition to his nature.”

When I think upon the all but infinite mischief which may result from a

mistake as in our vocation for the Christian pastorate, I feel overwhelmed

with fear lest any of us should be slack in examining our credentials; and I

had rather that we stood too much in doubt, and examined too frequently,

than that we should become cumberers of the ground. There are not

lacking many exact methods by which a man may test his call to the

ministry if he earnestly desires to do so. It is imperative upon him not to

enter the ministry until he has made solemn quest and trial of himself as to


this point. His own personal salvation being secure, he must investigate as

to the further matter of this call to office; the first is vital to himself as a

Christian, the second equally vital to him as a pastor. As well be a

professor without conversion, as a pastor without calling. In both cases

there is a name and nothing more.

1. The first sign of the heavenly call is an intense, all-absorbing desire for

the work. In order to a true call to the ministry there must be an irresistible,

overwhelming craving and raging thirst for telling to others What God has

done to our own souls; what if I call it a kind of <GREEK> such as birds

have for rearing their young when the season is come; when the motherbird

would sooner die than leave her nest. It was said of Alleine by one

who knew him intimately, that “he was infinitely and insatiably greedy of

the conversion of souls.” When he might have had a fellowship at his

university, he preferred a chaplaincy, because he was “inspired with an

impatience to be occupied in direct ministerial work.” “Do not enter the

ministry if you can help it,” was the deeply sage advice of a divine to one

who sought his judgment. If any student in this room could be content to

be a newspaper editor, or a grocer, or a farmer or a doctor, or a lawyer, or

a senator, or a king, in the name of heaven and earth let him go his way; he

is not the man in whom dwells the Spirit of God in its fulness, for a man so

filled with God would utterly weary of any pursuit but that for which his

inmost soul pants. If on the other hand, you can say that for all the wealth

of both the Indies you could not and dare not espouse any other calling so

as to be put aside from preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, then, depend

upon it, if other things be equally satisfactory, you have the signs of this

apostleship. We must feel that woe is unto us if we preach not the gospel;

the word of God must be unto us as fire in our bones, otherwise, if we

undertake the ministry, we shall be unhappy in it, shall be unable to bear

the self-denials incident to it, and shall be of little service to those among

whom we minister. I speak of self-denials, and well I may; for the true

pastor’s work is full of them, and without a love to his calling he will soon

succumb, and either leave the drudgery, or move on in discontent,

burdened with a monotony as tiresome as that of a blind horse in a mill.

“There is a comfort in the strength of love;

Twill make a thing endurable which else

Would break the heart.”


Girt with that love, you will be undaunted; divested of that more than

magic-belt of irresistible vocation, you will pine away in wretchedness.

This desire must be a thoughtful one. It should not be a sudden impulse

unattended by anxious consideration. It should be the outgrowth of our

heart in its best moments, the object of our reverent aspirations, the subject

of our most fervent prayers. It must continue with us when tempting offers

of wealth and comfort come into conflict with it, and remain as a calm,

clear-headed resolve after everything has been estimated at its right figure,

and the cost thoroughly counted. When living as a child at my

grandfather’s in the country, I saw a company of huntsmen in their red

coats riding through his fields after a fox. I was delighted! My little heart

was excited; I was ready to follow the hounds over hedge and ditch. I have

always felt a natural taste for that sort of business, and, as a child, when

asked what I would be I usually said I was going to be a huntsman. A fine

profession, truly! Many young men have the same idea of being parsons as

I had of being a huntsman — a mere childish notion that they would like

the coat and the horn-blowing; the honor, the respect, the ease; and they

are probably even fools enough to think, the riches of the ministry.

(Ignorant beings they must be if they look for wealth in connection with

the Baptist ministry.) The fascination of the preacher’s office is very great

to weak minds, and hence I earnestly caution all young men not to mistake

whim for inspiration, and a childish preference for a call of the Holy Spirit.

Mark well, that the desire I have spoken of must be thoroughly

disinterested. If a man can detect, after the most earnest self-examination,

any other motive than the glory of God and the good of souls in his seeking

the bishopric, he had better turn aside from it at once; for the Lord will

abhor the bringing of buyers and sellers into his temple: the introduction of

anything mercenary, even in the smallest degree, will be like the fly in the

pot of ointment, and will spoil it all.

This desire should be one which continues with us, a passion which bears

the test of trial, a longing from which it is quite impossible for us to escape,

though we may have tried to do so; a desire, in fact, which grows more

intense by the lapse of years, until it becomes a yearning, a pining, a

famishing to proclaim the Word. This intense desire is so noble and

beautiful a thing, that whenever I perceive it glowing in any young man’s

bosom, I am always slow to discourage him, even though I may have my

doubts as to his abilities. It may be needful, for reasons to be given you


further on, to repress the flame, but it should always be reluctantly and

wisely done. I have such a profound respect for this “fire in the bones” that

if I did not feel it myself, I must leave the ministry at once. If you do not

feel the consecrated glow, I beseech you return to your homes and serve

God in your proper spheres; but if assuredly the coals of juniper blaze

within, do not stifle them, unless, indeed, other considerations of great

moment should prove to you that the desire is not a fire of heavenly origin.

2. In the second place, combined with the earnest desire to become a

pastor, there must be aptness to teach and some measure of the other

qualities needful for the office of a public instructor. A man to prove his

call must make a successful trial of these. I do not claim that the first time a

man rises to speak he must preach as well as Robert Hall did in his later

days. If he preaches no worse than that great man did at the first, he must

not be condemned. You are aware that Robert Hall broke down altogether

three times, and cried, “If this does not humble me nothing will.” Some of

the noblest speakers were not in their early days the most fluent. Even

Cicero at first suffered from a weak voice and a difficulty of utterance.

Still, a man must not consider that he is called to preach until he has

proved that he can speak. God certainly has not created behemoth to fly;

and should leviathan have a strong desire to ascend with the lark, it would

evidently be an unwise aspiration, since he is not furnished with wings. If a

man be called to preach, he will be endowed with a degree of speaking

ability, which he will cultivate and increase. If the gift of utterance be not

there in a measure at the first, it is not likely that it will ever be developed.

I have heard of a gentleman who had a most intense desire to preach, and

pressed his suit upon his minister, until after a multitude of rebuffs he

obtained leave to preach a trial sermon. That opportunity was the end of

his importunity, for upon announcing his text he found himself bereft of

every idea but one, which he delivered feelingly, and then descended the

rostrum. “My brethren,” said he, “if any of you think it an easy thing to

preach, I advise you to come up here and have all the conceit taken out of

you.” The trial of your powers will go far to reveal to you your deficiency,

if you have not the needed ability. I know of nothing better. We must give

ourselves a fair trial in this matter, or we cannot assuredly know whether

God has called us or not; and during the probation we must often ask

ourselves whether, upon the whole, we can hope to edify others with such



We must, however, do much more than put it to our own conscience and

judgment, for we are poor judges. A certain class of brethren have a great

facility for discovering that they have been very wonderfully and divinely

helped in their declamations; I should envy them their glorious liberty and

self-complacency if there were any ground for it; for alas! I very frequently

have to bemoan and mourn over my non-success and shortcomings as a

speaker. There is not much dependence to be placed upon our own

opinion, but much may be learned from judicious, spiritual-minded persons.

It is by no means a law which ought to bind all persons, but still it is a good

old custom in many of our country churches for the young man who

aspires to the ministry to preach before the church. It can hardly ever be a

very pleasant ordeal for the youthful aspirant, and, in many cases, it will

scarcely be a very edifying exercise for the people; but still it; may prove a

most salutary piece of discipline, and save the public exposure of rampant

ignorance. The church book at Arnsby contains the following entry: —

A short account of the Call of Robert Hall, Junior, to the work of

the Ministry, by the Church at Arnsby, August 13th, 1780.

“The said Robert Hall was born at Arnsby, May 2nd, 1764; and

was, even from his childhood, not only serious, and given to secret

prayer before he could speak plain, but was always wholly inclined

to the work of the ministry. He began to compose hymns before he

was quite seven years old, and therein discovered marks of piety,

deep thought, and genius. Between eight and nine years he made

several hymns, which were much admired by many, one of which

was printed in the Gospel Magazine about that time. He wrote his

thoughts on various religious subjects, and select portions of

Scripture. He was likewise possessed of an intense inclination for

learning, and made such progress that the country master under

whom he was could not instruct him any further. He was then sent

to Northampton boarding school, under the care of the Rev. John

Ryland, where he continued about a year and a-half, and made

great progress in Latin and Greek. In October, 1778, he went to the

Academy at Bristol, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Evans; and on

August 13th, 1780, was sent out to the ministry by this church,

being sixteen years and three months old. The manner in which the

church obtained satisfaction with his abilities for the great work,

was his speaking in his turn at conference meetings from various

portions of Scripture; in which, and in prayer, he had borne a part


for upwards of four years before; and having when at home, at their

request, frequently preached on Lord’s-day mornings, to their great

satisfaction. They therefore earnestly and unanimously requested

his being in a solemn manner set apart to public employ.

Accordingly, on the day aforesaid, he was examined by his father

before the church, respecting his inclination, motives, and end, in

reference to the ministry, and was likewise desired to make a

declaration of his religious sentiments. All which being done, to the

entire satisfaction of the church, they therefore set him apart by

lifting up their right hands, and by solemn prayer. His father then

delivered a discourse to him from 2 Timothy 2:1, ‘Thou therefore,

my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.’ Being thus

sent forth, he preached in the afternoon from 2 Thessalonians 1:7,

8. ‘May the Lord bless him, and grant him great success!’” f2

Considerable weight is to be given to the judgment of men and women

who live near to God, and in most instances their verdict will not be a

mistaken one. Yet this appeal is not final nor infallible, and is only to be

estimated in proportion to the intelligence and piety of those consulted. I

remember well how earnestly I was dissuaded from preaching by as godly a

Christian matron as ever breathed; the value of her opinion I endeavored to

estimate with candor and patience — but it was outweighed by the

judgment of persons of wider experience. Young men in doubt will do well

to take with them their wisest friends when next they go out to the country

chapel or village meeting-room and essay to deliver the Word. I have noted

— and our venerable friend, Mr. Rogers, has observed the same — that

you, gentlemen, students, as a body, in your judgment of one another, are

seldom if ever wrong. There has hardly ever been an instance, take the

whole house through, where the general opinion of the entire college

concerning a brother has been erroneous. Men are not quite so unable to

form an opinion of each other as they are sometimes supposed to be.

Meeting as you do in class, in prayer-meeting, in conversation, and in

various religious engagements, you gauge each other; and a wise man will

be slow to set aside the verdict of the house.

I should not complete this point if I did not add, that mere ability to edify,

and aptness to teach is not enough, there must be other talents to complete

the pastoral character. Sound judgment and solid experience must instruct

you; gentle manners and loving affections must sway you; firmness and

courage must be manifest; and tenderness and sympathy must not be


lacking. Gifts administrative in ruling well will be as requisite as gifts

instructive in teaching well. You must be fitted to lead, prepared to endure,

and able to persevere. In grace, you should be head and shoulders above

the rest of the people, able to be their father and counselor. Read, carefully

the qualifications of a bishop, given in 1 Timothy 3:2-7, and in Titus 1:6-9.

If such gifts and graces be not in you and abound, it may be possible for

you to succeed as an evangelist, but as a pastor you will be of no account.

3. In order further to prove a man s call, after a little exercise of his gifts,

such as I have already spoken of, he must see a measure of conversionwork

going on under his efforts, or he may conclude that he has made a

mistake, and, therefore, may go back by the best way he can. It is not to be

expected that upon the first or even twentieth effort in public we shall be

apprised of success; and a man may even give himself a life trial of

preaching if he feels called to do so, but it seems to me that as a man to be

set apart to the ministry, his commission is without seals until souls are

won by his instrumentality to the knowledge of Jesus. As a worker, he is to

work on whether he succeeds or no, but as a minister he cannot be sure of

his vocation till results are apparent. How my heart leaped for joy when I

heard tidings of my first convert! I could never be satisfied with a full

congregation, and the kind expressions of friends; I longed to hear that

hearts had been broken, that tears had been seen streaming from the eyes

of penitents. How did I rejoice, as one that findeth great spoil, over one

poor laborer’s wife who confessed that she felt the guilt of sin, and had

found the Savior under my discourse on Sunday afternoon: I have the

cottage in which she lived in my eye now; believe me, it always appears

picturesque. I remember well her being received into the church, and her

dying, and her going home to heaven. She was the first seal to my ministry,

and, I can assure you, a very precious one indeed. No mother was ever

more full of happiness at the sight of her first-born son. Then could I have

sung the song of the Virgin Mary, for my soul did magnify the Lord for

remembering my low estate, and giving me the great honor to do a work

for which all generations should call me blessed, for so I counted the

conversion of one soul. There must be some measure of conversion-work

in your irregular labors before you can believe that preaching is to be your

life-work. Remember the Lord’s words by the prophet Jeremiah; they are

very much to the point, and should alarm all fruitless preachers. “I have not

sent these prophets, yet they ran; I have not spoken to them, yet they

prophesied. But if they had stood in my counsel, and had caused my people


to hear my words, then they should have turned them from their evil way,

and from the evil of their doings.” Jeremiah 23 21, 22. It is a marvel to me

how men continue at ease in preaching year after year without conversions.

Have they no bowels of compassion for others? no sense of responsibility

upon themselves? Dare they, by a vain misrepresentation of divine

sovereignty, cast the blame on their Master? Or is it their belief that Paul

plants and Apollos waters, and that God gives no increase? Vain are their

talents, their philosophy, their rhetoric, and even their orthodoxy, without

the signs following. How are they sent of God who bring no men to God?

Prophets whose words are powerless, sowers whose seed all withers,

fishers who take no fish, soldiers who give no wounds — are these God’s

men? Surely it were better to be a mud-raker, or a chimney-sweep, than to

stand in the ministry as an utterly barren tree. The meanest occupation

confers some benefit upon mankind, but the wretched man who occupies a

pulpit and never glorifies his God by conversions is a blank, a blot, an

eyesore, a mischief. He is not worth the salt he eats, much less his bread;

and if he writes to newspapers to complain of the smallness of his salary,

his conscience, if he has any, might well reply, “And what you have is

undeserved.” Times of drought there may be; ay, and years of leanness may

consume the former years of usefulness, but still there will be fruit in the

main, and fruit to the glory of God; and meanwhile the transient barrenness

will fill the soul with unutterable anguish. Brethren, if the Lord gives you

no zeal for souls, keep to the lapstone or the trowel, but avoid the pulpit as

you value your heart’s peace and your future salvation.

4. A step beyond all this is however needful in our inquiry. The will of the

Lord concerning pastors is made known through the prayerful judgment of

his church. It is needful as a proof of your vocation that your preaching

should be acceptable to the people of God. God usually opens doors of

utterance for those whom he calls to speak in his name. Impatience would

push open or break down the door, but faith waits upon the Lord, and in

due season her opportunity is awarded her. When the opportunity comes

then comes our trial. Standing up to preach, our spirit will be judged of the

assembly, and if it be condemned, or if, as a general rule, the church is not

edified, the conclusion may not be disputed, that we are not sent of God.

The signs and marks of a true bishop are laid down in the Word for the

guidance of the church; and if in following such guidance the brethren see

not in us the qualifications, and do not elect us to office, it is plain enough

that however well we may evangelize, the office of the pastor is not for us.


Churches are not all wise, neither do they all judge in the power of the

Holy Ghost, but many of them judge after the flesh; yet I had sooner accept

the opinion of a company of the Lord’s people than my own upon so

personal a subject as my own gifts and graces. At any rate, whether you

value the verdict of the church or no, one thing is certain, that none of you

can be pastors without the loving consent of the flock; and therefore this

will be to you a practical indicator if not a correct one. If your call from the

Lord be a real one you will not long be silent. As surely as the man wants

his hour, so surely the hour wants its man. The church of God is always

urgently in need of living ministers; to her a man is always more precious

than the gold of Ophir. Formal officials do lack and suffer hunger, but the

anointed of the Lord need never be without a charge, for there are quick

ears which will know them by their speech, and ready hearts to welcome

them to their appointed place. Be fit for your work, and you will never be

out of it. Do not run about inviting yourselves to preach here and there; be

more concerned about your ability than your opportunity, and more earnest

about your walk with God than about either. The sheep will know the

God-sent shepherd; the porter of the fold will open to you, and the flock

will know your voice.

At the time of my first delivery of this lecture, I had not read John

Newton’s admirable letter to a friend on this subject; it so nearly tallies

with my own thoughts, that at the risk of being thought to be a copyist,

which I certainly am not in this instance, I will read you the letter: —

“Your case reminds me of my own; my first desires towards the ministry

were attended with great uncertainties and difficulties, and the perplexity of

my own mind was heightened by the various and opposite judgments of my

friends. The advice I have to offer is the result of painful experience and

exercise, and for this reason, perhaps, may not be unacceptable to you. I

pray our gracious Lord to make it useful.

“I was long distressed, as you are, about what was or was not a proper call

to the ministry. It now seems to me an easy point to solve; but, perhaps, it

will not be so to you, till the Lord shall make it clear to yourself in your

own case. I have not room to say so much as I could. In brief, I think it

principally includes three things: —

1. A warm and earnest desire to be employed in this service. I apprehend

the man who is once moved by the Spirit of God to this work, will prefer

it, if attainable, to thousands of gold and silver; so that, though he is at


times intimidated by a sense of its importance and difficulty, compared with

his own great insufficiency (for it is to be presumed a call of this sort, if

indeed from God, will be accompanied with humility and self-abasement),

yet he cannot give it up. I hold it a good rule to inquire in this point,

whether the desire to preach is most fervent in our most lively and spiritual

frames, and when we are most laid in the dust before the Lord? If so, it is a

good sign. But if, as is sometimes the case, a person is very earnest to be a

preacher to others, when he finds but little hungerings and thirstings after

grace in his own soul, it is then to be feared his zeal springs rather from a

selfish principle than from the Spirit of God.

2. Besides this affectionate desire and readiness to preach, there must in

due season appear some competent sufficiency as to gifts, knowledge, and

utterance. Surely, if the Lord sends a man to teach others, he will furnish

him with the means. I believe many have intended well in setting up for

preachers, who yet went beyond or before their call in so doing. The main

difference between a minister and a private Christian, seems to consist in

those ministerial gifts, which are imparted to him, not for his own sake, but

for the edification of others. But then I say these are to appear in due

season; they are not to be expected instantaneously, but gradually, in the

use of proper means. They are necessary for the discharge of the ministry,

but not necessary as pre-requisites to warrant our desires after it. In your

case, you are young, and have time before you; therefore, I think you need

not as yet perplex yourself with inquiring if you have these gifts already. It

is sufficient if your desire is fixed, and you are willing, in the way of prayer

and diligence, to wait upon the Lord for them; as yet you need them not? F3

3. That which finally evidences a proper call, is a correspondent opening

in providence, by a gradual train of circumstances pointing out the means,

the time, the place of actually entering upon the work. And until this

coincidence arrives, you must not expect to be always clear from hesitation

in your own mind. The principal caution on this head is, not to be too hasty

in catching at first appearances. If it be the Lord’s will to bring you into his

ministry, he has already appointed your place and service, and though you

know it not at present, you shall at a proper time. If you had the talents of

an angel, you could do no good with them till his hour is come, and till he

leads you to the people whom he has determined to bless by your means. It

is very difficult to restrain ourselves within the bounds of prudence here,

when our zeal is warm: a sense of the love of Christ upon our hearts, and a

tender compassion for poor sinners, is ready to prompt us to break out too


soon; but he that believeth shall not make haste. I was about five years

under this constraint; sometimes I thought I must preach, though it was in

the streets. I listened to everything that seemed plausible, and to many

things which were not so. But the Lord graciously, and as it were

insensibly, hedged up my way with thorns; otherwise, if I had been left to

my own spirit, I should have put it quite out of my power to have been

brought into such a sphere of usefulness, as he in his good time has been

pleased to lead me to. And I can now see clearly, that at the time I would

first have gone out, though my intention was, I hope, good in the main, yet

I overrated myself, and had not that spiritual judgment and experience

which are requisite for so great a service.”

Thus much may suffice, but the same subject will be before you if I detail a

little of my experience in dealing with aspirants for the ministry. I have

constantly to fulfill the duty which fell to the lot of Cromwell’s Triers. I

have to form an opinion as to the advisability of aiding certain men in their

attempts to become pastors. This is a most responsible duty, and one which

requires no ordinary care. Of course, I do not set myself up to judge

whether a man shall enter the ministry or not, but my examination merely

aims at answering the question whether this institution shall help him, or

leave him to his own resources. Certain of our charitable neighbors accuse

us of having “a parson manufactory” here, but the charge is not true at all.

We never tried to make a minister, and should fail if we did; we receive

none into the College but those who profess to be ministers already. It

would be nearer the truth if they called me a parson killer, for a goodly

number of beginners have received their quietus from me; and I have the

fullest ease of conscience in reflecting upon what I have so done. It has

always been a hard task for me to discourage a hopeful young brother who

has applied for admission to the College. My heart has always leaned to the

kindest side, but duty to the churches has compelled me to judge with

severe discrimination. After hearing what the candidate has had to say,

having read his testimonials and seen his replies to questions, when I have

felt convinced that the Lord had not called him, I have been obliged to tell

him so. Certain of the cases are types of all. Young brethren apply who

earnestly desire to enter the ministry, but it is painfully apparent that their

main motive is an ambitious desire to shine among men. These men are

from a common point of view to be commended for aspiring, but then the

pulpit is never to be the ladder by which ambition is to climb. Had such

men entered the army they would never have been satisfied till they had


reached the front rank, for they are determined to push their way up — all

very laudable and very proper so far; but they have embraced the idea that

if they entered the ministry they would be greatly distinguished; they have

felt the buddings of genius, and have regarded themselves as greater than

ordinary persons, and, therefore, they have looked upon the ministry as a

platform upon which to display their supposed abilities. Whenever this has

been visible I have felt bound to leave the man “to gang his ain gate,” as

the Scotch say; believing that such spirits always come to nought if they

enter the Lord’s service. We find that we have nothing whereof to glory,

and if we had, the very worst place in which to hang it out would be a

pulpit; for there we are brought daily to feel our own insignificance and


Men who since conversion have betrayed great feebleness of mind and are

readily led to embrace strange doctrines, or to fall into evil company and

gross sin, I never can find it in my heart to encourage to enter the ministry,

let their professions be what they may. Let them, if truly penitent, keep in

the rear ranks. Unstable as water they will not excel.

So, too, those who cannot endure hardness, but are of the kid-gloved

order, I refer elsewhere. We want soldiers, not fops, earnest laborers, not

genteel loiterers. Men who have done nothing up to their time of

application to the college, are told to earn their spurs before they are

publicly dubbed as knights. Fervent lovers of souls do not wait till they are

trained, they serve their Lord at once.

Certain good men appeal to me who are distinguished by enormous

vehemence and zeal, and a conspicuous absence of brains; brethren who

would talk for ever and ever upon nothing — who would stamp and thump

the Bible, and get nothing out of it all; earnest, awfully earnest, mountains

in labor of the most painful kind; but nothing comes of it all, not even the

ridiculus mus. There are zealots abroad who are not capable of conceiving

or uttering five consecutive thoughts, whose capacity is most narrow and

their conceit most broad, and these can hammer, and bawl, and rave, and

tear, and rage, but the noise all arises from the hollowness of the drum. I

conceive that these brethren will do quite as well without education as with

it, and therefore I have usually declined their applications.

Another exceedingly large class of men seek the pulpit they know not why.

They cannot teach and will not learn, and yet must fain be ministers. Like

the man who slept on Parnassus, and ever after imagined himself a poet,


they have had impudence enough once to thrust a sermon upon an

audience, and now nothing will do but preaching. They are so hasty to

leave off sewing garments, that they will make a rent in the church of

which they are members to accomplish their design. The counter is

distasteful, and a pulpit cushion is coveted; the scales and weights they are

weary of, and must needs try their hands at the balances of the sanctuary.

Such men, like raging waves of the sea usually foam forth their own shame,

and we are happy when we bid them adieu.

Physical infirmities raise a question about the call of some excellent men. I

would not, like Eusthenes, judge men by their features, but their general

physique is no small criterion. That narrow chest does not indicate a man

formed for public speech. You may think it odd, but still I feel very well

assured, that when a man has a contracted chest, with no distance between

his shoulders, the all-wise Creator did not intend him habitually to preach.

If he had meant him to speak he would have given him in some measure

breadth of chest, sufficient to yield a reasonable amount of lung force.

When the Lord means a creature to run, he gives it nimble legs, and if he

means another creature to preach, it will give it suitable lungs. A brother

who has to pause in the middle of a sentence and work his air-pump,

should ask himself whether there is not some other occupation for which

he is better adapted. A man who can scarcely get through a sentence

without pain, can hardly be called to “Cry aloud and spare not?” There may

be exceptions, but is there not weight in the general rule? Brethren with

defective mouths and imperfect articulation are not usually called to preach

the gospel. The same applies to brethren with no palate, or an imperfect


Application was received some short time ago from a young man who had

a sort of rotary action of his jaw of the most painful sort to the beholder.

His pastor commended him as a very holy young man, who had been the

means of bringing some to Christ, and he expressed the hope that I would

receive him, but I could not see the propriety of it. I could not have looked

at him while preaching without laughter if all the gold of Tarshish had been

my reward, and in all probability nine out of ten of his hearers would have

been more sensitive than myself. A man with a big tongue which filled up

his mouth and caused indistinctness, another without teeth, another who

stammered, another who could not pronounce all the alphabet, I have had

the pain of declining on the ground that God had not given them those


physical appliances, which are as the prayer-book would put it, “generally


One brother I have encountered — one did I say? I have met ten, twenty, a

hundred brethren, who have pleaded that they were sure, quite sure that

they were called to the ministry — they were quite certain of it, because

they had failed in everything else. This is a sort of model story: — “Sir, I

was put into a lawyer’s office, but I never could bear the confinement, and

I could not feel at home in studying law; Providence clearly stopped up my

road, for I lost my situation.” “And what did you do then?” “Why sir, I was

induced to open a grocer’s shop.” “And did you prosper?” “Well I do not

think, Sir, I was ever meant for trade, and the Lord seemed quite to shut

my way up there, for I failed and was in great difficulties. Since then I have

done a little in life-assurance agency, and tried to get up a school, besides

selling tea; but my path is hedged up, and something within me makes me

feel that I ought to be a minister.” My answer generally is, “Yes, I see; you

have failed, in everything else, and therefore you think the Lord has

especially endowed you for his service; but I fear you have forgotten that

the ministry needs the very best of men, and not those who cannot do

anything else.” A man who would succeed as a preacher would probably

do right well either as a grocer, or a lawyer, or anything else. A really

valuable minister would have excelled at anything. There is scarcely

anything impossible to a man who can keep a congregation together for

years, and be the means of edifying them for hundreds of consecutive

Sabbaths; he must be possessed of some abilities, and be by no means a

fool or ne’er-do-well. Jesus Christ deserves the best men to preach his

cross, and not the empty-headed and the shiftless.

One young gentleman with whose presence I was once honored, has left on

my mind the photograph of his exquisite self. That same face of his looked

like the title-page to a whole volume of conceit and deceit, He sent word

into my vestry one Sabbath morning that he must see me at once. His

audacity admitted him; and when he was before me he said, “Sir, I want to

enter your College, and should like to enter it at once.” “Well, Sir,” said I,

“I fear we have no room for you at present, but your case shall be

considered.” “But mine is a very remarkable case, Sir; you have probably

never received such an application as mine before.” “Very good, we’ll see

about it; the secretary will give you one of the application papers, and you

can see me on Monday.’ He came on the Monday bringing with him the

questions, answered in a most extraordinary manner. As to books, he


claimed to have read all ancient and modern literature, and after giving an

immense list he added, “this is but a selection; I have read most extensively

in all departments.” As to his preaching, he could produce the highest

testimonials, but hardly thought they would be needed, as a personal

interview would convince me of his ability at once. His surprise was great

when I said, “Sir, I am obliged to tell you that I cannot receive you.” “Why

not, Sir?” “I will tell you plainly. You are so dreadfully clever that I could

not insult you by receiving you into our College, where we have none but

rather ordinary men; the president, tutors, and students, are all men of

moderate attainments, and you would have to condescend too much in

coming among us.” He looked at me very severely, and said with dignity,

“Do you mean to say, that because I have an unusual genius, and have

produced in myself a gigantic mind such as is rarely seen, I am refused

admittance into your College?” “Yes,” I replied, as calmly as I could,,

considering the overpowering awe which his genius inspired, “for that very

reason.” “Then, Sir, you ought to allow me a trial of my preaching abilities;

select me any text you like, or suggest any subject you please, and here in

this very room I will speak upon it, or preach upon it without deliberation,

and you will be surprised.” “No, thank you, I would rather not have the

trouble of listening to you.” “Trouble, Sir! I assure you it would be the

greatest possible pleasure you could have.” I said it might be, but I felt

myself unworthy of the privilege, and so bade him a long farewell. The

gentleman was unknown to me at the time, but he has since figured in the

police court as too clever by half.

We have occasionally had applications at which, perhaps, you would be

amazed, from men who are evidently fluent enough, and who answer all

our questions very well, except those upon their doctrinal views, to which

repeatedly we have had this answer: “Mr. So-and-so is prepared to receive

the doctrines of the College whatever they may be!” In all such cases we

never deliberate a moment, the instantaneous negative is given. I mention

it, because it illustrates our conviction that men are not called to the

ministry who have no knowledge and no definite belief. When young

fellows say that they have not made up their minds upon theology, they

ought to go back to the Sunday-school until they have. For a man to come

shuffling into a College, pretending that he holds his mind open to any

form of truth, and that he is eminently receptive, but has not settled in his

mind such things as whether God has an election of grace, or whether he

loves his people to the end, seems to me to be a perfect monstrosity. “Not


a novice,” says the apostle; yet a man who has not made up his mind on

such points as these, is confessedly and egregiously a novice, and ought to

be relegated to the catechism-class till he has learned the first truths of the


After all, gentlemen, we shall have to prove our call by the practical proof

of our ministry in after life, and it will be a lamentable thing for us to start

in our course without due examination, for if so, we may have to leave it in

disgrace. On the whole, experience is our surest test, and if God upholds us

from year to year, and gives us his blessing, we need make no other trial of

our vocation. Our moral and spiritual fitnesses will be tried by the labor of

our ministry, and this is the most trustworthy of all tests. From some one

or other I heard in conversation of a plan adopted by Matthew Wilks, for

examining a young man who wanted to be a missionary; the drift, if not the

detail of the test, commends itself to my judgment though not to my taste.

The young man desired to go to India as a missionary in connection with

the London Missionary Society. Mr. Wilks was appointed to consider his

fitness for such a post. He wrote to the young man, and told him to call

upon him at six o’clock the next morning. The brother lived many miles off

but he was at the house at six o’clock punctually. Mr. Wilks did not,

however, enter the room till hours after. The brother waited wonderingly,

but patiently. At last, Mr. Wilks arrived, and addressed the candidate thus,

in his usual nasal tones, “Well, young man, so you want to be a

missionary?” “Yes, Sir,” “Do you love the Lord Jesus Christ?” “Yes, Sir, I

hope I do.” “And have you had any education?” “Yes, Sir, a little.” “Well,

now, we’ll try you; can you spell ‘cat’?” The young man looked confused,

and hardly knew how to answer so preposterous a question. His mind

evidently halted between indignation and submission, but in a moment he

replied steadily, “C, a, t, cat.” “Very good,” said Mr. Wilks; “now, can you

spell ‘dog’?” Our young martyr hesitated, but Mr. Wilks said in his coolest

manner, “Oh, never mind; don’t be bashful; you spelt the other word so

well that I should think you will be able to spell this: high as the attainment

is, it is not so elevated but what you might do it without blushing.” The

youthful Job replied, “D, o, g, dog.” “Well, that is right; I see you will do

in your spelling, and now for your arithmetic; how many are twice two?” It

is a wonder that Mr. Wilks did not receive “twice two” after the fashion of

muscular Christianity, but the patient youth gave the right reply and was

dismissed. Matthew Wilks at the committee meeting said, “I cordially

recommend that young man; his testimonials and character I have duly


examined, and besides that, I have given him a rare personal trial such as

few could bear. I tried his self-denial, he was up in the morning early; I

tried his temper, and I tried his humility; he can spell ‘cat’ and ‘dog,’ and

can tell that ‘twice two make four,’ and he will do for a missionary

exceedingly well.” Now, what the old gentleman is thus said to have done

with exceedingly bad taste, we may with much propriety do with ourselves.

We must try whether we can endure brow-beating, weariness, slander,

jeering, and hardship; and whether we can be made the off-scouring of all

things, and be treated as nothing for Christ’s sake. If we can endure all

these, we have some of those points which indicate the possession of the

rare qualities which should meet in a true servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I gravely question whether some of us will find our vessels, when far out at

sea, to be quite so seaworthy as we think them. O my brethren, make sure

work of it while you are yet in this retreat; and diligently labor to fit

yourselves for your high calling. You will have trials enough, and woe to

you if you do not go forth armed from head to foot with armor of proof.

You will have to run with horsemen, let not the footmen weary you while

in your preliminary studies. The devil is abroad, and with him are many.

Prove your own selves, and may the Lord prepare you for the crucible and

the furnace which assuredly await you. Your tribulation may not in all

respects be so severe as that of Paul and his companions, but you must be

ready for a like ordeal. Let me read you his memorable words, and let me

entreat you to pray, while you hear them, that the Holy Ghost may

strengthen you for all that lies before you. “Giving no offence in anything,

that the ministry be not blamed: but in all things approving ourselves as the

ministers of God, in much patience, in affliction, in necessities, in distresses

in stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labors, in watchings, in fastings;

by pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy

Ghost, by love unfeigned, by the word of truth, by the power of God, by

the armor of righteousness on the right hand and on the left, by honor and

dishonor, by evil report and good report: as deceivers, and yet true; as

unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and, behold, we live; as chastened,

and not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making

many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.”




OF course the preacher is above all others distinguished as a man of prayer.

He prays as an ordinary Christian, else he were a hypocrite. He prays more

than ordinary Christians, else he were disqualified for the office which he

has undertaken. “It would be wholly monstrous,” says Bernard, “for a man

to be highest in office and lowest in soul; first in station and last in life.”

Over all his other relationships the pre-eminence of the pastor’s

responsibility casts a halo, and if true to his Master, he becomes

distinguished for his prayerfulness in them all. As a citizen, his country has

the advantage of his intercession; as a neighbor those under his shadow are

remembered in supplication. He prays as a husband and as a father; he

strives to make his family devotions a model for his flock; and if the fire on

the altar of God should burn low anywhere else, it is well tended in the

house of the Lord’s chosen servant — for he takes care that the morning

and evening sacrifice shall sanctify his dwelling. But there are some of his

prayers which concern his office, and of those our plan in these lectures

leads us to speak most. He offers peculiar supplications as a minister, and

he draws near to God in this respect, over and above all his approaches in

his other relationships.

I take it that as a minister he is always praying. Whenever his mind turns

to his work, whether he is in it or out of it, he ejaculates a petition, sending

up his holy desires as well-directed arrows to the skies. He is not always in

the act of prayer, but he lives in the spirit of it. If his heart be in his work,

he cannot eat or drink, or take recreation, or go to his bed, or rise in the

morning, without evermore feeling a fervency of desire, a weight of

anxiety, and a simplicity of dependence upon God; thus, in one form or

other he continues in prayer. If there be any man under heaven, who is

compelled to carry out the precept — “Pray without ceasing,” surely it is

the Christian minister. He has peculiar temptations, special trials, singular

difficulties, and remarkable duties, he has to deal with God in awful

relationships, and with men in mysterious interests; he therefore needs

much more grace than common men, and as he knows this, he is led


constantly to cry to the strong for strength, and say, “I will lift up mine

eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Alleine once wrote to a

dear friend, “Though I am apt to be unsettled and quickly set off the

hinges, yet, methinks, I am like a bird out of the nest, I am never quiet till I

am in my old way of communion with God; like the needle in the compass,

that is restless till it be turned towards the pole. I can say, through grace,

with the church, ‘With my soul have I desired thee in the night and with my

spirit within me have I sought thee early.’ My heart is early and late with

God; ‘tis the business and delight of my life to seek him.” Such must be the

even tenor of your way, O men of God. If you as ministers are not very

prayerful, you are much to be pitied. If, in the future, you shall be called to

sustain pastorates, large or small, if you become lax in secret devotion, not

only will you need to be pitied, but your people also; and, in addition to

that, you shall be blamed, and the day cometh in which you shall be

ashamed and confounded.

It may scarcely be needful to commend to you the sweet uses of private

devotion, and yet I cannot forbear. To you, as the ambassadors of God, the

mercy-seat has a virtue beyond all estimate; the more familiar you are with

the court of heaven the better shall you discharge your heavenly trust.

Among all the formative influences which go to make up a man honored of

God in the ministry, I know of none more mighty than his own familiarity

with the mercy-seat. All that a college course can do, for a student is

coarse and external compared with the spiritual and delicate refinement

obtained by communion with God. While the unformed minister is

revolving upon the wheel of preparation, prayer is the tool of the great

potter by which he molds the vessel. All our libraries and studies are mere

emptiness compared with our closets. We grow, we wax mighty, we

prevail in private-prayer.

Your prayers will be your ablest assistants while your discourses are yet

upon the anvil. While other men, like Esau, are hunting for their portion,

you, by the aid of prayer, will find the savory meat near at home, and may

say in truth what Jacob said so falsely, “The Lord brought it to me.” If you

can dip your pens into your hearts, appealing in earnestness to the Lord,

you will write well; and if you can gather your matter on your knees at the

gate of heaven, you will not fail to speak well. Prayer, as a mental exercise,

will bring many subjects before the mind, and so help in the selection of a

topic, while as a high spiritual engagement it will cleanse your inner eye

that you may see truth in the light of God. Texts will often refuse to reveal


their treasures till you open them with the key of prayer. How wonderfully

were the books opened to Daniel when he was in supplication! How much

Peter learned upon the housetop! The closet is the best study. The

commentators are good instructors, but the Author himself is far better,

and prayer makes a direct appeal to him and enlists him in our cause. It is a

great thing to pray one’s self into the spirit and marrow of a text; working

into it by sacred feeding thereon, even as the worm bores its way into the

kernel of the nut. Prayer supplies a leverage for the uplifting of ponderous

truths. One marvels how the stones of Stonehenge could have been set in

their places; it is even more to be inquired after whence some men obtained

such admirable knowledge of mysterious doctrines: was not prayer the

potent machinery which wrought the wonder? Waiting upon God often

turns darkness into light. Persevering inquiry at the sacred oracle uplifts the

veil and gives grace to look into the deep things of God. A certain Puritan

divine at a debate was observed frequently to write upon the paper before

him; upon others curiously seeking to read his notes, they found nothing

upon the page but the words, “More light, Lord,” “More light, Lord,”

repeated scores of times: a most suitable prayer for the student of the

Word when preparing his discourse.

You will frequently find fresh streams of thought leaping up from the

passage before you, as if the rock had been struck by Moses’ rod; new

veins of precious ore will be revealed to your astonished gaze as you

quarry God’s Word and use diligently the hammer of prayer. You will

sometimes feel as if you were entirely shut up, and then suddenly a new

road will open before you. He who hath the key of David openeth, and no

man shutteth. If you have ever sailed down the Rhine, the water scenery of

that majestic river will have struck you as being very like in effect to a

series of lakes. Before and behind the vessel appears to be enclosed in

massive walls of rock, or circles of vine-clad terraces, till on a sudden you

turn a corner, and before you the rejoicing and abounding river flows

onward in its strength. So the laborious student often finds it with a text; it

appears to be fast closed against you, but prayer propels your vessel, and

turns its prow into fresh waters, and you behold, the broad and deep

stream of sacred truth flowing in its fulness, and bearing you with it. Is not

this a convincing reason for abiding in supplication? Use prayer as a boring

rod, and wells of living water will leap up from the bowels of the Word.

Who will be content to thirst when living waters are so readily to be



The best and holiest men have ever made prayer the most important part of

pulpit preparation. It is said of M’Cheyne, f4 “Anxious to give his people on

the Sabbath what had cost him somewhat, he never, without an urgent

reason, went before them without much previous meditation and prayer.

His principle on this subject was embodied in a remark he made to some of

us who were conversing on the matter. Being asked his view of diligent

preparation for the pulpit, he reminded us of Exodus 27:20. ‘Beaten oil —

beaten oil for the lamps of the sanctuary.’ And yet his prayerfulness was

greater still. Indeed, he could not neglect fellowship with God before

entering the congregation. He needed to be bathed in the love of God. His

ministry was so much a bringing out of views that had first sanctified his

own soul, that the healthiness of his soul was absolutely needful to the

vigor and power of his ministrations.” “With him the commencement of all

labor invariably consisted in the preparation of his own soul. The walls of

his chamber were witnesses of his prayerfulness and of his tears, as well as

of his cries.”

Prayer will singularly assist you in the delivery of your sermon; in fact,

nothing can so gloriously fit you to preach as descending fresh from the

mount of communion with God to speak with men. None are so able to

plead with men as those who have been wrestling with God on their behalf.

It is said of Alleine, “He poured out his very heart in prayer and preaching.

His supplications and his exhortations were so affectionate, so full of holy

zeal, life and vigor, that they quite overcame his hearers; he melted over

them, so that he thawed and mollified, and sometimes dissolved the hardest

hearts.” There could have been none of this sacred dissolving of heart if his

mind had not been previously exposed to the tropical rays of the Sun of

Righteousness by private fellowship with the risen Lord. A truly pathetic

delivery, in which there is no affectation, but much affection, can only be

the offspring of prayer. There is no rhetoric like that of the heart, and no

school for learning it but the foot of the cross. It were better that you never

learned a rule of human oratory, but were full of the power of heavenborn

love, than that you should master Quintilian, Cicero, and Aristotle, and

remain without the apostolic anointing.

Prayer may not make you eloquent after the human mode, but it will make

you truly so, for you will speak out of the heart; and is not that the

meaning of the word eloquence? It will bring fire from heaven upon your

sacrifice, and thus prove it to be accepted of the Lord.


As fresh springs of thought will frequently break up during preparation in

answer to prayer, so will it be in the delivery of the sermon. Most

preachers who depend upon God’s Spirit will tell you that their freshest

and best thoughts are not those which were premeditated, but ideas which

come to them, flying as on the wings of angels; unexpected treasures

brought on a sudden by celestial hands, seeds of the flowers of paradise,

wafted from the mountains of myrrh. Often and often when I have felt

hampered, both in thought and expression, my secret groaning of heart has

brought me relief, and I have enjoyed more than usual liberty. But how

dare we pray in the battle if we have never cried to the Lord while buckling

on the harness! The remembrance of his wrestlings at home comforts the

fettered preacher when in the pulpit: God will not desert us unless we have

deserted him. You, brethren, will find that prayer will ensure you strength

equal to your day.

As the tongues of fire came upon the apostles, when they sat watching and

praying, even so will they come upon you. You will find yourselves, when

you might perhaps have flagged, suddenly upborne, as by a seraph’s

power. Wheels of fire will be fastened to your chariot, which had begun to

drag right heavily, and steeds angelic will be in a moment harnessed to

your fiery car, till you climb the heavens like Elijah, in a rapture of flaming


After the sermon, how would a conscientious preacher give vent to his

feelings and find solace for his soul if access to the mercy-seat were denied

him? Elevated to the highest pitch of excitement, how can we relieve our

souls but in importunate pleadings. Or depressed by a fear of failure, how

shall we be comforted but in moaning out our complaint before our God.

How often have some of us tossed to and fro upon our couch half the night

because of conscious shortcomings in our testimony! How frequently have

we longed to rush back to the pulpit again to say over again more

vehemently, what we have uttered in so cold a manner! Where could we

find rest for our spirits but in confession of sin, and passionate entreaty that

our infirmity or folly might in no way hinder the Spirit of God! It is not

possible in a public assembly to pour out all our heart’s love to our flock.

Like Joseph, the affectionate minister will seek where to weep; his

emotions, however freely he may express himself, will be pent up in the

pulpit, and only in private prayer can he draw up the sluices and bid them

flow forth. If we cannot prevail with men for God, we will, at least,

endeavor to prevail with God for men. We cannot save them, or even


persuade them to be saved, but we can at least bewail their madness and

entreat the interference of the Lord. Like Jeremiah, we can make it our

resolve, “If ye will not hear it, my soul shall weep in secret places for your

pride, and mine eye shall weep sore and run down with tears.” To such

pathetic appeals the Lord’s heart can never be indifferent; in due time the

weeping intercessor will become the rejoicing winner of souls. There is a

distinct connection between importunate agonizing and true success, even

as between the travail and the birth, the sowing in fears and the reaping in

joy. “How is it that your seed comes up so soon?” said one gardener to

another. “Because I steep it,” was the reply. We must steep all our

teachings in tears, “when none but God is nigh,” and their growth will

surprise and delight us. Could any one wonder at Brainerd’s success, when

his diary contains such notes as this: “Lord’s Day, April 25th — This

morning spent about two hours in sacred duties, and was enabled, more

than ordinarily, to agonize for immortal souls; though it was early in the

morning, and the sun scarcely shone at all, yet my body was quite wet with

sweat.” The secret of Luther’s power lay in the same direction. Theodorus

said of him: “I overheard him in prayer, but, good God, with what life and

spirit did he pray! It was with so much reverence, as if he were speaking to

God, yet with so much confidence as if he were speaking to his friend.” My

brethren, let me beseech you to be men of prayer. Great talents you may

never have, but you will do well enough without them if you abound in

intercession. If you do not pray over what you have sown, God’s

sovereignty may possibly determine to give a blessing, but you have no

right to expect it, and if it comes it will bring no comfort to your own

heart.I was reading yesterday a book by Father Faber, late of the Oratory,

at Brompton, a marvelous compound of truth and error In it he relates a

legend to this effect. A certain preacher, whose sermons converted men by

scores, received a revelation from heaven that not one of the conversions

was owing to his talents or eloquence, but all to the prayers of an illiterate

lay-brother, who sat on the pulpit steps, pleading all the time for the

success of the sermon. It may in the all-revealing day be so with us. We

may discover, after having labored long and wearily in preaching, that all

the honor belongs to another builder, whose prayers were gold, silver, and

precious stones, while our sermonizing, being apart from prayer, were but

hay and stubble.

When we have done with preaching, we shall not, if we are true ministers

of God, have done with praying, because the whole church, with many


tongues, will be crying, in the language of the Macedonian, “Come over

and help us” in prayer. If you are enabled to prevail in prayer you will have

many requests to offer for others who will flock to you, and beg a share in

your intercessions, and so you will find yourselves commissioned with

errands to the mercy-seat for friends and hearers. Such is always my lot,

and I feel it a pleasure to have such requests to present before my Lord.

Never can you be short of themes for prayer, even if no one should suggest

them to you. Look at your congregation. There are always sick folk among

them, and many more who are soul sick. Some are unsaved, others are

seeking and cannot find. Many are desponding, and not a few believers are

backsliding or mourning. There are widows’ tears and orphans’ sighs to be

put into our bottle, and poured out before the Lord. If you are a genuine

minister of God you will stand as a priest before the Lord, spiritually

wearing the ephod and the breast-plate whereon you bear the names of the

children of Israel, pleading for them within the veil. I have known brethren

who have kept a list of persons for whom they felt bound especially to

pray, and I doubt not such a record often reminded them of what might

otherwise have slipped their memory. Nor will your people wholly engross

you; the nation and the world will claim their share. The man who is

mighty in prayer may be a wall of fire around his country, her guardian

angel and her shield. We have all heard how the enemies of the Protestant

cause dreaded the prayers of Knox more than they feared armies of ten

thousand men. The famous Welch was also a great intercessor for his

country; he used to say “he wondered how a Christian could lie in his bed

all night and not rise to pray.” When his wife fearing that he would take

cold, followed him into the room to which he had withdrawn, she heard

him pleading in broken sentences, “Lord, wilt thou not grant me

Scotland?” O that we were thus wrestling at midnight, crying, “Lord, wilt

thou not grant us our hearers’ souls?”

The minister who does not earnestly pray over his work must surely be a

vain and conceited man. He acts as if he thought himself sufficient of

himself, and therefore needed not to appeal to God. Yet what a baseless

pride to conceive that our preaching can ever be in itself so powerful that it

can turn men from their sins, and bring them to God without the working

of the Holy Ghost. If we are truly humble-minded we shall not venture

down to the fight until the Lord of Hosts has clothed us with all power,

and said to us, “Go in this thy might.” The preacher who neglects to pray

much must be very careless about his ministry. He cannot have


comprehended his calling. He cannot have computed the value of a soul, or

estimated the meaning of eternity. He must be a mere official, tempted into

a pulpit because the piece of bread which belongs to the priest’s office is

very necessary to him, or a detestable hypocrite who loves the praise of

men, and cares not for the praise of God. He will surely become a mere

superficial talker, best approved where grace is least valued and a vain

show most admired. He cannot be one of those who plough deep and reap

abundant harvests. He is a mere loiterer, not a laborer. As a preacher he

has a name to live and is dead. He limps in his life like the lame man in the

Proverbs, whose legs were not equal, for his praying is shorter than his


I am afraid that, more or less, most of us need self-examination as to this

matter. If any man here should venture to say that he prays as much as he

ought, as a student, I should gravely question; his statement; and if there be

a minister, deacon, or elder present who can say that he believes he is

occupied with God in prayer to the full extent to which he might be, I

should be pleased to know him. I can only say, that if he can claim this

excellence, he leaves me far behind, for I can make no such claim: I wish I

could; and I make the confession with no small degree of shame-facedness

and confusion, but I am obliged to make it. If we are not more negligent

than others, this is no consolation to us; the shortcomings of others are no

excuses for us. How few of us could compare ourselves with Mr. Joseph

Alleine, whose character I have mentioned before? “At the time of his

health,” writes his wife, “he did rise constantly at or before four of the

clock, and would be much troubled if he heard smiths or other craftsmen at

their trades before he was at communion with God; saying to me often,

‘How this noise shames me. Does not my Master deserve more than

theirs?’ From four till eight he spent in prayer, holy contemplation, and

singing of psalms, in which he much delighted and did daily practice alone,

as well as in the family. Sometimes he would suspend the routine of

parochial engagements, and devote whole days to these secret exercises, in

order to which, he would contrive to be alone in some void house, or else

in some sequestered spot in the open valley. Here there would be much

prayer and meditation on God and heaven.” F5 Could we read Jonathan

Edwards’ description of David Brainerd and not blush? “His life,” says

Edwards, “shows the right way to success in the works of the ministry. He

sought it as a resolute soldier seeks victory in a siege or battle; or as a man

that runs a race for a great prize. Animated with love to Christ and souls,


how did he labor always fervently, not only in word and doctrine, in public

and private, but in prayers day and night, ‘wrestling with God’ in secret,

and ‘travailing in birth,’ with unutterable groans and agonies! ‘until Christ

were formed’ in the hearts of the people to whom he was sent! How did he

thirst for a blessing upon his ministry, ‘and watch for souls as one that

must give account!’ How did he ‘go forth in the strength of the Lord God,

seeking and depending on the special influence of the Spirit to assist and

succeed him! And what was the happy fruit at last, after long waiting and

many dark and discouraging appearances: like a true son of Jacob, he

persevered in wrestling through all the darkness of the night, until the

breaking of the day.” F6

Might not Henry Martyn’s journal shame us, where we find such entries; as

these; “Sept. 24th — The determination with which I went to bed last

night, of devoting this day to prayer and fasting, I was enabled to put into

execution. In my first prayer for deliverance from worldly thoughts,

depending on the power and promises of God, for fixing my soul while I

prayed, I was helped to enjoy much abstinence from the world for nearly

an hour. Then read the history of Abraham, to see how familiarly God had

revealed himself to mortal men of old. Afterwards, in prayer for my own

sanctification, my soul breathed freely and ardently after the holiness of

God, and this was the best season of the day.” F7 We might perhaps more

truly join with him in his lament after the first year of his ministry that “he

judged he had dedicated too much time to public ministrations, and too

little to private communion with God.”

How much of blessing we may have missed through remissness in

supplication we can scarcely guess, and none of us can know how poor we

are in comparison with what we might have been if we had lived habitually

nearer to God in prayer. Vain regrets and surmises are useless, but an

earnest determination to amend will be far more useful. We not only ought

to pray more, but we must. The fact is, the secret of all ministerial success

lies in prevalence at the mercy-seat.

One bright benison which private prayer brings down upon the ministry is

an indescribable and inimitable something, better understood than named; it

is a dew from the Lord, a divine presence which you will recognize at once

when I say it is “an unction from the holy One.” What is it? I wonder how

long we might beat our brains before we could plainly put into words what

is meant by preaching with unction; yet he who preaches knows its


presence, and he who hears soon detects its absence; Samaria, in famine,

typifies a discourse without it; Jerusalem, with her feasts of fat things full

of marrow, may represent a sermon enriched with it. Every one knows

what the freshness of the morning is when orient pearls abound on every

blade of grass, but who can describe it, much less produce it of itself? Such

is the mystery of spiritual anointing; we know, but we cannot tell to others

what it is. It is as easy as it is foolish to counterfeit it, as some do who use

expressions which are meant to betoken fervent love, but oftener indicate

sickly sentimentalism or mere cant. “Dear Lord!” “Sweet Jesus!” “Precious

Christ!” are by them poured out wholesale, till one is nauseated. These

familiarities may have been not only tolerable, but even beautiful when they

first fell from a saint of God, speaking, as it were out of the excellent glory,

but when repeated flippantly they are not only intolerable, but indecent, if

not profane. Some have tried to imitate unction by unnatural tones and

whines; by turning up the whites of their eyes, and lifting their hands in a

most ridiculous manner. M’Cheyne’s tone and rhythm one hears from

Scotchmen continually: we much prefer his spirit to his mannerism; and all

mere mannerism without power is as foul carrion of all life bereft,

obnoxious, mischievous. Certain brethren aim at inspiration through

exertion and loud shouting; but it does not come: some we have known to

stop the discourse, and exclaim, “God bless you,” and others gesticulate

wildly, and drive their finger nails into the palms of their hands as if they

were in convulsions of celestial ardor. Bah! The whole thing smells of the

green-room and the stage. The getting up of fervor in hearers by the

simulation of it in the preacher is a loathsome deceit to be scorned by

honest men. “To affect feeling,” says Richard Cecil, “is nauseous and soon

detected, but to feel is the readiest way to the hearts of others.” Unction is

a thing which you cannot manufacture, and its counterfeits are worse than

worthless; yet it is in itself priceless, and beyond measure needful if you

would edify believers and bring sinners to Jesus. To the secret pleader with

God this secret is committed; upon him rests the dew of the Lord, about

him is the perfume which makes glad the heart. If the anointing which we

bear come not from the Lord of hosts we are deceivers, and since only in

prayer can we obtain it, let us continue instant, constant, fervent in

supplication. Let your fleece lie on the threshing-floor of supplication till it

is wet with the dew of heaven. Go not to minister in the temple till you

have washed in the laver. Think not to be a messenger of grace to others

till you have seen the God of grace for yourselves, and had the word from

his mouth.


Time spent in quiet prostration of soul before the Lord is most

invigorating. David “sat before the Lord;” it is a great thing to hold these

sacred sittings; the mind being receptive, like an open flower drinking in

the sunbeams, or the sensitive photographic plate accepting the image

before it. Quietude, which some men cannot abide, because it reveals their

inward poverty, is as a palace of cedar to the wise, for along its hallowed

courts the King in his beauty deigns to walk.

“Sacred silence! thou that art

Floodgate of the deeper heart,

Offspring of a heavenly kind;

Frost o’ the mouth, and thaw o’ the mind.” f8

Priceless as the gift of utterance may be, the practice of silence in some

aspects far excels it. Do you think me a Quaker? Well, be it so. Herein I

follow George Fox most lovingly; for I am persuaded that we most of us

think too much of speech, which after all is but the shell of thought. Quiet

contemplation, still worship, unuttered rapture, these are mine when my

best jewels are before me. Brethren, rob not your heart of the deep sea

joys; miss not the far-down life, by for ever babbling among the broken

shells and foaming surges of the shore.

I would seriously recommend to you, when settled in the ministry, the

celebration of extraordinary seasons of devotion. If your ordinary prayers

do not keep up the freshness and vigor of your souls, and you feel that you

are flagging, get alone for a week, or even a month if possible. We have

occasional holidays, why not frequent holy days? We hear of our richer

brethren finding time for a journey to Jerusalem; could we not spare time

for the less difficult and far more profitable journey to the heavenly city?

Isaac Ambrose, once pastor at Preston, who wrote that famous book,,

“Looking unto Jesus,” always set apart one month in the year for seclusion

in a hut in a wood at Garstang. No wonder that he was so mighty a divine,

when he could regularly spend so long a time in the mount with God. I

notice that the Romanists are accustomed to secure what they call

“Retreats,” where a number of priests will retire for a time into perfect

quietude, to spend the whole of the time in fasting and prayer, so as to

inflame their souls with ardor. We may learn from our adversaries. It

would be a great thing every now and then for a band of truly spiritual

brethren to spend a day or two with each other in real burning agony of

prayer. Pastors alone could use much more freedom than in a mixed

company. Times of humiliation and supplication for the whole church will


also benefit us if we enter into them heartily. Our seasons of fasting and

prayer at the Tabernacle have been high days indeed; never has heavengate

stood wider; never have our hearts been nearer the central glory. I

look forward to our month of special devotion, as mariners reckon upon

reaching land. Even if our public work were laid aside to give us space for

special prayer, it might be a great gain to our churches. A voyage to the

golden rivers of fellowship and meditation would be well repaid by a

freight of sanctified feeling and elevated thought. Our silence might be

better than our voices if our solitude were spent with God. That was a

grand action of old Jerome, when he laid all his pressing engagements aside

to achieve a purpose to which he felt a call from heaven. He had a large

congregation, as large a one as any of us need want; but he said to his

people, “Now it is of necessity that the New Testament should be

translated, you must find another preacher: the translation must be made; I

am bound for the wilderness, and shall not return till my task is finished.”

Away he went with his manuscripts, and prayed and labored, and produced

a work — the Latin-Vulgate — which will last as long as the world stands;

on the whole a most wonderful translation of Holy Scripture. As learning

and prayerful retirement together could thus produce an immortal work, if

we were sometimes to say to our people when we felt moved to do so,

“Dear friends, we really must be gone for a little while to refresh our souls

in solitude,” our profiting would soon be apparent, and if we did not write

Latin Vulgates, yet we should do immortal work, such as would abide the





IT has sometimes been the boast of Episcopalians that Churchmen go to

their churches to pray and worship God, but that Dissenters merely

assemble to hear sermons. Our reply to this is, that albeit there may be

some professors who are guilty of this evil, it is not true of the people of

God among us, and these are the only persons who ever will in any church

really enjoy devotion. Our congregations gather together to worship God,

and we assert, and feel no hesitation in so asserting, that there is as much

true and acceptable prayer offered in our ordinary Nonconformist services

as in the best and most pompous performances of the Church of England.

Moreover, if the observation be meant to imply that the hearing of sermons

is not worshipping God, it is founded on a gross mistake, for rightly to

listen to the gospel is one of the noblest parts of the adoration of the Most

High. It is a mental exercise, when rightly performed, in which all the

faculties of the spiritual man are called into devotional action. Reverently

hearing the word exercises our humility, instructs our faith, irradiates us

with joy, inflames us with love, inspires us with zeal, and lifts us up

towards heaven. Many a time a sermon has been a kind of Jacob’s ladder

upon which we have seen the angels of God ascending and descending, and

the covenant God himself at the top thereof. We have often felt when God

has spoken through his servants into our souls, “This is none other than the

house of God, and the very gate of heaven.” We have magnified the name

of the Lord and praised him with all our heart while he has spoken to us by

his Spirit which he has given unto men. Hence there is not the wide

distinction to be drawn between preaching and prayer that some would

have us admit; for the one part of the service softly blends into the other,

and the sermon frequently inspires the prayer and the hymn. True

preaching is an acceptable adoration of God by the manifestation of his

gracious attributes: the testimony of his gospel, which pre-eminently

glorifies him, and the obedient hearing of revealed truth, are an acceptable

form of worship to the Most High, and perhaps one of the most spiritual in

which the human mind can be engaged. Nevertheless, as the old Roman


poet tells us, it is right to learn from our enemies, and therefore it may be

possible that our liturgical opponents have pointed out to us what is in

some instances a weak place in our public services. It is to be feared that

our exercises are not in every case molded into the best form, or presented

in the most commendable fashion. There are meeting-houses in which the

supplications are neither so devout nor so earnest as we desire; in other

places the earnestness is so allied with ignorance, and the devotion so

marred with rant, that no intelligent believer can enter into the service with

pleasure. Praying in the Holy Ghost is not universal among us, neither do

all pray with the understanding as well as with the heart. There is room for

improvement, and in some quarters there is an imperative demand for it.

Let me, therefore, very earnestly caution you, beloved brethren, against

spoiling your services by your prayers: make it your solemn resolve that all.

the engagements of the sanctuary shall be of the best kind.

Be assured that free prayer is the most scriptural, and should be the most

excellent form of public supplication. If you lose faith in what you are

doing you will never do it well; settle it in your minds therefore, that before

the Lord you are worshipping in a manner which is warranted by the word

of God, and accepted of the Lord. The expression, “reading prayers,” to

which we are now so accustomed, is not to be found in Holy Scripture,

rich as it is in words for conveying religious thought; and the phrase is not

there because the thing itself had no existence. Where in the writings of the

apostles meet we with the bare idea of a liturgy? Prayer in the assemblies

of the early Christians was unrestricted to any form of words. Tertullian

writes, “we pray without a prompter because from the heart.” F9 Justin

Martyr describes the presiding minister as praying “according to his

ability.” F10 It would be difficult to discover when and where liturgies

began; their introduction was gradual, and as we believe, co-extensive with

the decline of purity in the church; the introduction of them among

Nonconformists would mark the era of our decline and fall. The subject

tempts me to linger, but it is not the point in hand, and therefore I pass on,

only remarking that you will find the matter of liturgies ably handled by Dr.

John Owen, whom you will do well to consult. F11

Be it ours to prove the superiority of extempore prayer by making it more

spiritual and earnest than liturgical devotion. It is a great pity when the

observation is forced from the hearer, our minister preaches far better than

he prays: this is not after the model of our Lord; he spake as never man

spake — and as for his prayers, they so impressed his disciples that they


said, “Lord, teach us to pray.” All our faculties should concentrate their

energy, and the whole man should be elevated to his highest point of vigor

while in public prayer, the Holy Ghost meanwhile baptizing soul and spirit

with his sacred influence; but slovenly, careless, lifeless talk in the guise of

prayer, made to fill up a certain space in the service, is a weariness to man,

and an abomination to God. Had free prayer been universally of a higher

order a liturgy would never have been thought of, and to-day forms of

prayer have no better apology than the feebleness of extemporaneous

devotions. The secret is that we are not so really devout at heart as we

should be. Habitual communion with God must be maintained, or our

public prayers will be vapid or formal. If there be no melting of the glacier

high up in the ravines of the mountain, there will be no descending rivulets

to cheer the plain. Private prayer is the drill ground for our more public

exercises, neither can we long neglect it without being out of order when

before the people.

Our prayers must never grovel, they must soar and mount. We need a

heavenly frame of mind. Our addresses to the throne of grace must be

solemn and humble, not flippant and loud, or formal and careless. The

colloquial form of speech is out of place before the Lord; we must bow

reverently and with deepest awe. We may speak boldly with God, but still

he is in heaven and we are upon earth, and we are to avoid presumption. In

supplication we are peculiarly before the throne of the Infinite, and as the

courtier in the king’s palace puts on another mien and another manner than

that which he exhibits to his fellow courtiers, so should it be with us. We

have noticed in the churches of Holland, that as soon as the minister begins

to preach every man puts his hat on, but the instant he turns to pray

everybody takes his hat off: this was the custom in the older Puritanic

congregations of England, and it lingered long among the Baptists; they

wore their caps during those parts of the service which they conceived

were not direct worship, but put them off as soon as there was a direct

approach to God, either in song or in prayer. I think the practice unseemly,

and the reason for it erroneous. I have urged that the distinction between

prayer and hearing is not great, and I feel sure no one would propose to

return to the old custom or the opinion of which it was the index; but still

there is a difference, and inasmuch as in prayer we are more directly talking

with God rather than seeking the edification of our fellow men, we must

put our shoes from off our feet, for the place whereon we stand is holy



Let the Lord alone be the object of your prayers. Beware of having an eye

to the auditors; beware of becoming rhetorical to please the listeners.

Prayer must not be transformed into “an oblique sermon.” It is little short

of blasphemy to make devotion an occasion for display. Fine prayers are

generally very wicked prayers. In the presence of the Lord of hosts it ill

becomes a sinner to parade the feathers and finery of tawdry speech with

the view of winning applause from his fellow mortals. Hypocrites who dare

to do this have their reward, but it is one to be dreaded. A heavy sentence

of condemnation was passed upon a minister when it was flatteringly said

that his prayer was the most eloquent ever offered to a Boston

congregation. We may aim at exciting the yearnings and aspirations of

those who hear us in prayer; but every word and thought must be

Godward, and only so far touching upon the people as may be needful to

bring them and their wants before the Lord. Remember the people in your

prayers, but do not mold your supplications to win their esteem: look up,

look up with both eyes.

Avoid all vulgarities in prayer. I must acknowledge to having heard some,

but it would be unprofitable to recount them; the more especially as they

become less frequent every day. We seldom now meet with the vulgarities

of prayer which were once so common in Methodist prayer-meetings,

much commoner probably by report than in reality. Uneducated people

must, when in earnest, pray in their own way, and their language will

frequently shock, the fastidious if not the devout; but for this allowance

must be made, and if the spirit is evidently sincere we may forgive

uncomely expressions. I once; at a prayer-meeting, heard a poor man pray

thus: “Lord, watch over these young people during the feast time, for thou

knowest, Lord, how their enemies watch for them as a cat watches for

mice.” Some ridiculed the expression, but it appeared to me to be natural

and expressive, considering the person using it. A little gentle instruction

and a hint or two will usually prevent a repetition of anything objectionable

in such cases, but we, who occupy the pulpit, must be careful to be quite

clear ourselves. The biographer of that remarkable American Methodist

preacher Jacob Gruber, mentions as an instance of his ready wit, that after

having heard a young Calvinistic minister violently attack his creed, he was

asked to conclude with prayer, and among other petitions, prayed that the,

Lord would bless the young man who had been preaching, and grant him

much grace, “that his heart might become as soft as his head.” To say

nothing of the bad taste of such public animadversion upon a fellow


minister, every right-minded man will see that the throne of the Most High

is not the place for uttering such vulgar witticisms. Most probably the

young orator deserved a castigation for his offence against charity, but the

older one sinned ten times more in his want of reverence. Choice words are

for the King of kings, not such as ribald tongues have defiled.

Another fault equally to be avoided in prayer is an unhallowed and

sickening superabundance of endearing words. When “Dear Lord,” and

“Blessed Lord,” and “Sweet Lord,” come over and over again, as vain

repetitions, they are among the worst of blots. I must confess I should feel

no revulsion in my mind to the words, “Dear Jesus,” if they fell from the

lips of a Rutherford, or a Hawker, or a Herbert; but when I hear fond and

familiar expressions hackneyed by persons not at all remarkable for

spirituality, I am inclined to wish that they could, in some way or other,

come to a better understanding of the true relation existing between man

and God. The word “dear” has come from daily use to be so common, and

so small, and in some cases so silly and affected a monosyllable, that

interlarding one’s prayers with it is not to edification.

The strongest objection exists to the constant repetition of the word

“Lord,” which occurs in the early prayers of young converts, and even

among students. The words, “O Lord! O Lord! O Lord!” grieve us when

we hear them so perpetually repeated. “Thou shalt not take the name of the

Lord thy God in vain,” is a great commandment, and although the law may

be broken un-wittingly yet its breach is still a sin and a very solemn one.

God’s name is not to be a stop-gap to make up for our want of words.

Take care to use most reverently the name of the infinite Jehovah. The

Jews in their sacred writings either leave a space for the word “Jehovah,”

or else write the word, “Adonai,” because they conceive that holy name to

be too sacred for common use: we need not be so superstitious, but it were

well to be scrupulously reverent. A profusion of “ohs!” and other

interjections may be well dispensed with; young speakers are often at fault


Avoid that kind of prayer which may be called — though the subject is one

on which language has not given us many terms — a sort of peremptory

demanding of God. It is delightful to hear a man wrestle with God, and

say, “I will not let thee go except thou bless me,” but that must be said

softly, and not in a hectoring spirit, as though we could command and

exact blessings from the Lord of all. Remember, it is still a man wrestling,


even though permitted to wrestle with the eternal I AM. Jacob halted on

his thigh after that night’s holy conflict, to let him see that God is terrible,

and that his prevailing power did not lie in himself. We are taught to say,

“Our Father,” but still it is, “Our Father who art in heaven.” Familiarity

there may be, but holy familiarity; boldness, but the boldness which springs

from grace and is the work of the Spirit; not the boldness of the rebel who

carries a brazen front in the presence of his offended king, but the boldness

of the child who fears because he loves, and loves because he fears. Never

fall into a vainglorious style of impertinent address to God; he is not to be

assailed as an antagonist, but entreated with as our Lord and God. Humble

and lowly let us be in spirit, and so let us pray.

Pray when you profess to pray, and don’t talk about it. Business men say,

“A place for everything and everything in its place;” preach in the sermon

and pray in the prayer. Disquisitions upon our need of help in prayer are

not prayer. Why do not men go at once to prayer — why stand beating

about the bush; instead of saying what they ought to do and want to do,

why not set to work in God’s name and do it? In downright earnestness,

address yourself to intercession, and set your face towards the Lord. Plead

for the supply of the great and constant needs of the church, and do not fail

to urge, with devout fervor, the special requirements of the present time

and audience. Let the sick, the poor, the dying, the heathen, the Jew, and

all forgotten classes of people, be mentioned as they press upon your heart.

Pray for your people as saints and sinners — not as if they were all saints.

Mention the young and the aged; the impressed and the careless; the

devout and the backsliding. Never turn to the right hand or to the left, but

plough on in the furrow of real prayer. Let your confessions of sin and

your thanksgivings be truthful and to the point; and let your petitions be

presented as if you believed in God and had no doubt as to the efficacy of

prayer: I say this, because so many pray in such a formal manner as to lead

observers to conclude that they thought it a very decent thing to pray, but,

after all, a very poor and doubtful business as to any practical result. Pray

as one who has tried and proved his God, and therefore comes with

undoubting confidence to renew his pleadings: and do remember to pray to

God right through the prayer, and never fall to talking or preaching —

much less, as some do, to scolding and grumbling.

As a rule, if called upon to preach, conduct the prayer yourself; and if you

should be highly esteemed in the ministry, as I trust you may be, make a

point, with great courtesy, but equal firmness, to resist the practice of


choosing men to pray with the idea of honoring them by giving them

something to do. Our public devotions ought never to be degraded into

opportunities for compliment. I have heard prayer and singing now and

then called “the preliminary services,” as if they were but a preface to the

sermon; this is rare I hope among us — if it were common it would be to

our deep disgrace. I endeavor invariably to take all the service myself for

my own sake, and I think also for the people’s. I do not believe that

“anybody will do for the praying.” No, sirs, it is my solemn conviction that

the prayer is one of the most weighty, useful, and honorable parts of the

service, and that it ought to be even more considered than the sermon.

There must be no putting up of anybodies and nobodies to pray, and then

the selection of the abler man to preach. It may happen through weakness,

or upon a specific occasion, that it may be a relief to the minister to have

some one to offer prayer for him; but if the Lord has made you love your

work you will not often or readily fulfill this part of it by proxy. If you

delegate the service at all, let it be to one in whose spirituality and present

preparedness you have the fullest confidence; but to pitch on a giftless

brother unawares, and put him forward to get through the devotions is


“Shall we serve heaven with less respect

Than we do minister to our gross selves?”

Appoint the ablest man to pray, and let the sermon be slurred sooner than

the approach to heaven. Let the Infinite Jehovah be served with our best;

let prayer addressed to the Divine Majesty be carefully weighed, and

presented with all the powers of an awakened heart and a spiritual

understanding. He who has been by communion with God prepared to

minister to the people, is usually of all men present the most fit to engage

in prayer; to lay out a program which puts up another brother in his place,

is to mar the harmony of the service, to rob the preacher of an exercise

which would brace him for his sermon, and in many instances to suggest

comparisons between one part of the service and the other which ought

never to be tolerated. If unprepared brethren are to be sent into the pulpit

to do my praying for me when I am engaged to preach, I do not see why I

might not be allowed to pray, and then retire to let these brethren do the

sermonizing. I am not able to see any reason for depriving me of the

holiest, sweetest, and most profitable exercise which my Lord has allotted

me; if I may have my choice, I will sooner yield up the sermon than the

prayer. Thus much I have said in order to impress upon you that you must


highly esteem public prayer, and seek of the Lord for the gifts and graces

necessary to its right discharge.

Those who despise all extempore prayer will probably catch at these

remarks and use them against it, but I can assure them that the faults

adverted to are not common among us, and are indeed almost extinct;

while the scandal caused by them never was, at the worst, so great as that

caused by the way in which the liturgical service is often performed. Far

too often is the church service hurried through in a manner as indevout as

if it were a ballad-singer’s ditty. The words are parroted without the

slightest appreciation of their meaning; not sometimes, but very frequently,

in the places set apart for Episcopal worship, you may see the eyes of the

people, and the eyes of the choristers, and the eyes of the parson himself,

wandering about in all directions, while evidently from the very tone of the

reading there is no feeling of sympathy with what is being read. F12 I have

been at funerals when the burial service of the church of England has been

galloped through so indecorously that it has taken all the grace I had to

prevent my throwing a hassock at the creature’s head. I have felt so

indignant that I have not known what to do, to hear, in the presence of

mourners whose hearts were bleeding, a man rattling through the service as

if he were paid by the piece, and had more work to follow, and therefore

desired to get it through as quickly as possible. What effect he could think

he was producing, or what good result could come from words jerked

forth and hurled out with vengeance and vehemence, I cannot imagine. It is

really shocking to think of how that very wonderful burial service is

murdered, and made into an abomination by the mode in which it is

frequently read, I merely mention this because, if they criticize our prayers

too severely, we can bring a formidable countercharge to silence them.

Better far, however, for us to amend our own blunders than find fault with


In order to make our public prayer what it should be, the first necessary is,

that it must be a matter of the heart. A man must be really in earnest in

supplication. It must be true prayer, and if it be such, it will, like love,

cover a multitude of sins. You can pardon a man’s familiarities and his

vulgarities too, when you clearly see that his inmost heart is speaking to his

Maker, and that it is only the man’s defects of education which create his

faults, and not any moral or spiritual vices of his heart. The pleader in

public must be in earnest; for a sleepy prayer — what can be a worse

preparation for a sermon? A sleepy prayer — what can make people more


dislike going up to the house of God at all? Cast your whole soul into the

exercise. If ever your whole manhood was engaged in anything., let it be in

drawing near unto God in public. So pray, that by a divine attraction, you

draw the whole congregation with you up to the throne of God. So pray,

that by the power of the Holy Spirit resting on you, you express the desires

and thoughts of every one present, and stand as the one voice for the

hundreds of beating hearts which are glowing with fervor before the throne

of God.

Next to this, our prayers must be appropriate. I do not say go into every

minute detail of the circumstances of the congregation. As I have said

before, there is no need to make the public prayer a gazette of the week’s

events, or a register of the births, deaths, and marriages of your people, but

the general movements that have taken place in the congregation should be

noted by the minister’s careful heart. He should bring the joys and sorrows

of his people alike before the throne of grace, and ask that the divine

benediction may rest upon his flock in all their movements, their exercises,

engagements, and holy enterprises, and that the forgiveness of God may be

extended to their shortcomings and innumerable sins.

Then, by way of negative canon, I should say, do not let your prayer be,

long. I think it was John Macdonald who used to say, “If you are in the

spirit of prayer, do not be long, because other people will not be able to

keep pace with you in such unusual spirituality; and if you are not in the

spirit of prayer, do not be long, because you will then be sure to weary the

listeners.” Livingstone says of Robert Bruce, of Edinburgh, the famous

contemporary of Andrew Melville, “No man in his time spoke with such

evidence and power of the Spirit. No man had so many seals of conversion;

yea, many of his hearers thought no man, since the apostles, spake with

such power ....... He was very short in prayer when others were present,

but every sentence was like a strong bolt shot up to heaven. I have heard

him say that he wearied when others were long in prayer; but, being alone,

he spent much time in wrestling and prayer.” A man may, on special

occasions, if he be unusually moved and carried out of himself pray for

twenty minutes in the long morning prayer, but this should not often

happen. My friend, Dr. Charles Brown, of Edinburgh, lays it down, as a

result of his deliberate judgment, that ten minutes is the limit to which

public prayer ought to be prolonged. Our Puritanic forefathers used to pray

for three-quarters of an hour, or more, but then you must recollect that

they did not know that they would ever have the opportunity of praying


again before an assembly, and therefore, took their fill of it; and besides,

people were not inclined in those days to quarrel with the length of prayers

or of sermons so much as they do nowadays. You cannot pray too long in

private. We do not limit you to ten minutes there, or ten hours, or ten

weeks if you like. The more you are on your knees alone the better. We are

now speaking of those public prayers which come before or after the

sermon, and for these ten minutes is a better limit than fifteen. Only one in

a thousand would complain of you for being too short, while scores will

murmur at your being wearisome in length. “He prayed me into a good

frame of mind,” George Whitfield once said of a certain preacher, “and if

he had stopped there, it would have been very well; but he prayed me out

of it again by keeping on.” The abundant longsuffering of God has been

exemplified in his sparing some preachers, who have been great sinners in

this direction; they have done much injury to the piety of God’s people by

their long-winded orations, and yet God, in his mercy, has permitted them

still to officiate in the sanctuary. Alas! for those who have to listen to

pastors who pray in public for five-and-twenty minutes, and then ask God

to forgive their “shortcomings”! Do not be too long, for several reasons.

First, because you weary yourselves and the people; and secondly,

because being too long in prayer, puts your people out of heart for hearing

the sermon. All those dry, dull, prolix talkifications in prayer, do but blunt

the attention, and the ear gets, as it were, choked up. Nobody would think

of blocking up Ear-gate with mud or stones when he meant to storm the

gate. No, let the portal be cleared that the battering-ram of the gospel may

tell upon it when the time comes to use it. Long prayers either consist of

repetitions, or else of unnecessary explanations which God does not

require; or else they degenerate into downright preachings, so that there is

no difference between the praying and the preaching, except that in the one

the minister has his eyes shut, and in the other he keeps them open. It is not

necessary in prayer to rehearse the Westminster Assembly’s Catechism. It

is not necessary in prayer to relate the experience of all the people who are

present, or even your own. It is not necessary in prayer to string a selection

of texts of Scripture together, and quote David, and Daniel, and Job, and

Paul, and Peter, and every other body, under the title of “thy servant of

old.” It is necessary in prayer to draw near unto God, but it is not required

of you to prolong your speech till everyone is longing to hear the word



One little hint I cannot withhold — never appear to be closing, and then

start off again for another five minutes. When friends make up their minds

that you are about to conclude, they cannot with a jerk proceed again in a

devout spirit. I have known men tantalize us with the hope that they were

drawing to a close, and then take a fresh lease two or three times; this is

most unwise and unpleasant.

Another canon is — do not use cant phrases. My brethren, have done with

those vile things altogether; they have had their day, and let them die.

These pieces of spiritual fustian cannot be too much reprobated. Some of

them are pure inventions; others are passages takes from the Apocrypha;

others are texts fathered upon Scripture, but which have been fearfully

mangled since they came from the Author of the Bible. In the Baptist

Magazine for 1861 I made the following remarks upon the common

vulgarities of prayer-meetings. “Cant phrases are a great evil. Who can

justify such expressions as the following? ‘We would not rush into thy

presence as the unthinking (!!) horse into the battle.’ As if horses ever did

think, and as if it were not better to exhibit the spirit and energy of the

horse than the sluggishness and stupidity of the ass! As the verse from

which we imagine this fine sentence to be derived has more to do with

sinning than with praying, we are glad that the phrase is on its last legs.

Go from heart to heart, as oil from vessel to vessel,’ is probably a

quotation from the nursery romance of ‘Ali Baba, and the Forty Thieves,’

but as destitute of sense, Scripture, and poetry, as ever sentence could be

conceived to be. We are not aware that oil runs from one vessel to another

in any very mysterious or wonderful manner; it is true it is rather slow in

coming out, and is therefore an apt symbol of some people’s earnestness;

but surely it would be better to have the grace direct from heaven than to

have it out of another vessel, — a Popish idea which the metaphor seems

to insinuate, if indeed it has any meaning at all. ‘Thy poor unworthy dust,’

an epithet generally applied to themselves by the proudest men in the

congregation, and not seldom by the most moneyed and groveling, in

which case the last two words are not so very inappropriate. We have

heard of a good man who, in pleading for his children and grandchildren,

was so completely beclouded in the blinding influence of this expression,

that he exclaimed, ‘O Lord, save thy dust, and thy dust’s dust, and thy

dust’s dust’s dust.’ When Abraham said, ‘I have taken upon me to speak

unto the Lord, which am but dust and ashes,’ the utterance was forcible

and expressive; but in its misquoted, perverted, and abused form, the


sooner it is consigned to its own element the better. A miserable

conglomeration of perversions of Scripture, uncouth similes, and ridiculous

metaphors, constitute a sort of spiritual slang, the offspring of unholy

ignorance, unmanly imitation, or graceless hypocrisy; they are at once a

dishonor to those who constantly repeat them, and an intolerable nuisance

to those whose ears are jaded with them.”

Dr. Charles Brown, of Edinburgh, in an admirable address at a meeting of

the New College Missionary Association, gives instances of current

misquotations indigenous to Scotland, which sometimes, however, find

their way across the Tweed. By his permission, I shall quote at length.

“There is what might be called an unhappy, sometimes, quite grotesque,

mingling of Scripture texts. Who is not familiar with the following words

addressed to God in prayer, ‘Thou art the high and lofty One that

inhabiteth eternity, and the praises thereof’! which is but a jumble of two

glorious texts, each glorious taken by itself — -both marred, and one

altogether lost indeed, when thus combined and mingled. The one is Isaiah

57:15, ‘Thus saith the high and lofty One, that inhabiteth eternity, whose

name is Holy.’ The other is, Psalm 22:3, ‘Thou art holy, O thou that

inhabitest the praises of Israel.’ The inhabiting of the praises of eternity,

to say the least, is meager; there were no praises in the past eternity to

inhabit. But what a glory is there in God’s condescending to inhabit, take

up his very abode, in the praises of Israel, of the ransomed church. Then

there is an example nothing less than grotesque under this head, and yet

one in such frequent use that I suspect it is very generally regarded as

having the sanction of Scripture. Here it is, ‘We would put our hand on our

mouth, and our mouth in the dust, and cry out, Unclean, unclean; God be

merciful to us sinners.’ This is no fewer than four texts joined, each

beautiful by itself. First, Job 40:4, ‘Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer

thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth.’ Second, Lamentations 3:29, ‘He

putteth his mouth in the dust; if so be there may be hope.’ Third, Leviticus

13:45, Where the leper is directed to put a covering upon his upper lip, and

to cry, Unclean, unclean. And fourth, the publican’s prayer. But how

incongruous a man’s first putting his hand on his mouth, then putting his

mouth in the dust, and, last of all, crying out, etc.! The only other example

I give is an expression nearly universal among us, and, I suspect, almost

universally thought to be in Scripture, ‘In thy favor is life, and thy

lovingkindness is better than life.’ The fact is, that this also is just an

unhappy combination of two passages, in which the term life is used in


altogether different, and even incompatible senses, namely, Psalm 63:3,

‘Thy lovingkindness is better than life,’ where, evidently, life means the

present temporal life.

“A second class may be described as unhappy alterations of Scripture

language. Need I say that the 130th Psalm, ‘Out of the depths,’ etc., is one

of the most precious in the whole book of the Psalms? Why must we have

the words of David and of the Holy Ghost thus given in public prayer, and

so constantly that our pious people come all to adopt it into their social and

family prayers, ‘There is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared,

and plenteous redemption that thou mayest be sought after,’ or ‘unto’?

How precious the simple words as they stand in the Psalm (Psalm 130:4)

‘There is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared’ (Psalm 130:7,

8); ‘With the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption;

and he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities!’ Again, in this blessed

Psalm, the words of the third verse, ‘If thou, Lord, shouldest mark

iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?’ too seldom are left us in their naked

simplicity, but must undergo the following change, ‘If thou wert strict to

mark iniquity,’ etc. I remember in my old college days, we used to have it

in a much more offensive shape, ‘If thou wert strict to mark and rigorous

to punish!’ Another favorite change is the following, ‘Thou art in heaven,

and we upon earth; therefore let our words be few and well ordered.’

Solomon’s simple and sublime utterance (full of instruction, surely, on the

whole theme I am dealing with) is, ‘God is in heaven, and thou upon earth;

therefore let thy words be few.’ Ecclesiastes 5:2. For another example

under this class see how Habakkuk’s sublime words are tortured, ‘Thou art

of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on sin without

abhorrence.’ The words of the Holy’ Ghost are (Hebrews 1:13), ‘Thou art

of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity.’ Need I

say that the power of the figure, ‘canst not look on iniquity’ is nearly lost

when you add that God can look on it, only not without abhorrence?

“A third class is made up of meaningless pleonasms, vulgar, common-place

redundancies of expression, in quoting from the Scriptures. One of these

has become so universal, that I venture to say you seldom miss it, when the

passage referred to comes up at all. ‘Be in the midst of us’ (or, as some

prefer to express it, somewhat unfortunately, as I think, ‘in our midst’), ‘to

bless us, and to do us good.’ What additional idea is there in the last

expression ‘and to do us good’? The passage referred to is Exodus 20:24,

‘In all places where I record my name, I will come unto you, and I will


bless you.’ Such is the simplicity of Scripture. Our addition is, ‘Bless us,

and do us good.’ In Daniel 4:35, we read the noble words, ‘None can stay

his hand, or say unto him, What doest thou?’ The favorite change is, ‘None

can stay thy hand from working.’ ‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither

have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for

them that love him!’ This is changed, ‘Neither hath it entered into the heart

of man to conceive the things.’ Constantly we hear God addressed as ‘the

hearer and answerer of prayer,’ a mere vulgar and useless pleonasm, for

the Scripture idea of God’s hearing prayer is just his answering it — ‘O

thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come;’ “Hear my prayer O

Lord;’ ‘I love the Lord because he hath heard my voice and my

supplications.’ Whence, again, that common-place of public prayer, ‘Thy

consolations are neither few nor small’? The reference, I suppose, is to

those words of Job, ‘Are the consolations of God small with thee?’ So one

scarce ever hears that prayer of the seventy-fourth Psalm, ‘Have respect to

the covenant, for the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of

cruelty’ without the addition, ‘horrid cruelty;’ nor the call to prayer in

Isaiah, ‘Keep not silence and give him no rest, till he establish, and till he

make Jerusalem a praise in the earth,’ without the addition, ‘the whole

earth;’ nor that appeal of the Psalmist, ‘Whom have I in heaven but thee

and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee’ without the addition,

‘none in all the earth.’ These last may seem small matters, indeed. And so

they are, nor were worth finding fault with, did they occur but

occasionally. But viewed as stereotyped common-places, weak enough in

themselves, and occurring so often as to give an impression of their having

Scripture authority, I humbly think they ought to be discountenanced and

discarded — banished wholly from our Presbyterian worship. It will,

perhaps, surprise you to learn that the only Scripture authority for that

favorite and somewhat peculiar expression, about the ‘wicked rolling sin as

a sweet morsel under their tongue’ is the following words in the book of

Job (20:12), ‘Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it

under his tongue.’“

But enough of this. I am only sorry to have felt bound in conscience to be

so long upon so unhappy a subject. I cannot, however, leave the point

without urging upon you literal accuracy in all quotations from the word of


It ought to be a point of honor among ministers always to quote Scripture

correctly. It is difficult to be always correct, and because it is difficult, it


should be all the more the object of our care. In the halls of Oxford or

Cambridge it would be considered almost treason or felony for a fellow to

misquote Tacitus, or Virgil, or Homer; but for a preacher to misquote Paul,

or Moses, or David, is a far more serious matter, and quite as worthy of

the severest censure. Mark, I said a “fellow,” not a freshman, and from a.

pastor we expect, at least, equal accuracy in his own department as from

the holder of a fellowship. You who so unwaveringly believe in the verbalinspiration

theory (to my intense satisfaction), ought never to quote at all

until you can give the precise words, because, according to your own

showing, by the alteration of a single word you may miss altogether God’s

sense of the passage. If you cannot make extracts front Scripture correctly,

why quote it at all in your petitions? Make use of an expression fresh from

your own mind, and it will be quite as acceptable to God as a scriptural

phrase defaced or clipped. Vehemently strive against garblings and

perversions of Scripture, and renounce for ever all cant phrases, for they

are the disfigurement of free prayer.

I have noticed a habit among some — I hope you have not fallen into it —

of praying with their eyes open. It is unnatural, unbecoming, and

disgusting. Occasionally the opened eye uplifted to heaven may be suitable

and impressive, but to be gazing about while professing to address the

unseen God is detestable. In the earliest ages of the church the fathers

denounced this unseemly practice. Action in prayer should be very little

used, if at all. It is scarcely comely to lift and move the arm, as if in

preaching; the outstretched arms however, or the clasped hands, are

natural and suggestive when under strong holy excitement. The voice

should accord with the matter, and should never be boisterous, or selfasserting:

humble and reverent let those tones be in which man talketh with

his God. Doth not even nature itself teach you this? If grace does not I


With special regard to your prayers in the Sabbath services, a few

sentences may be useful. In order to prevent custom and routine from

being enthroned among us, it will be well to vary the order of service as

much as possible. Whatever the free Spirit moves us to do, that let us do at

once. I was not till lately aware of the extent to which the control of

deacons has been allowed to intrude itself upon ministers in certain

benighted churches. I have always been accustomed to conduct religious

services in the way I have thought most suitable and edifying, and I never

have heard so much as a word of objection, although I trust I can say I live


on the dearest intimacy with my officers; but a brother minister told me this

morning, that on one occasion, he prayed in the morning service at the

commencement instead of giving out a hymn, and when he retired into the

vestry, after service, the deacons informed him that they would have no

innovations. We hitherto understood that Baptist churches are not under

bondage to traditions and fixed rules as to modes of worship, and yet these

poor creatures, these would-be lords, who cry out loudly enough against a

liturgy, would bind their minister with rubrics made by custom. It is time

that such nonsense were for ever silenced. We claim to conduct service as

the Holy Spirit moves us, and as we judge best. We will not be bound to

sing here and pray there, but will vary the order of service to prevent

monotony. Mr. Hinton, I have heard, once preached the sermon at the

commencement of the service, so that those who came late might at any

rate have an opportunity to pray. And why not? Irregularities would do

good, monotony works weariness. It will frequently be a most profitable

thing to let the people sit quite still in profound silence for two or five

minutes. Solemn silence makes noble worship.

True prayer is not the noisy sound

That clamorous lips repeat,

But the deep silence of a soul

That clasps Jehovah’s feet.

Vary the order of your prayers, then, for the sake of maintaining attention,

and preventing people going through the whole thing as a clock runs on till

the weights are down.

Vary the length of your public prayers. Do you not think it would be much

better if sometimes instead of giving three minutes to the first prayer and

fifteen minutes to the second, you gave nine minutes to each? Would it not

be better sometimes to be longer in the first, and not so long in the second

prayer? Would not two prayers of tolerable length be better than one

extremely long and one extremely short? Would it not be as well to have a

hymn after reading the chapter, or a verse or two before the prayer? Why

not sing four times, occasionally? Why not be content with two hymns, or

only one, occasionally? Why sing after sermon? Why, on the other hand,

do some never sing at the close of the service? Is a prayer after sermon

always, or even often, advisable? Is it not sometimes most impressive?

Would not the Holy Spirit’s guidance secure us a variety at present

unknown? Let us have anything so that our people do not come to regard


any form of service as being appointed, and so relapse into the superstition

from which they have escaped.

Vary the current of your prayers in intercession. There are many topics

which require your attention; the church in its weakness, its backslidings,

its sorrows, and its comforts; the outside world, the neighborhood,

unconverted hearers, the young people, the nation. Do not pray for all

these every time, or otherwise your prayers will be long and probably

uninteresting. Whatever topic shall come uppermost to your heart, let that

be uppermost in your supplications. There is a way of taking a line of

prayer, if the Holy Spirit; shall guide you therein, which will make the

service all of a piece, and harmonize with the hymns and discourse. It is

very useful to maintain unity in the service where you can; not slavishly,

but wisely, so that the effect is one. Certain brethren do not even manage

to keep unity in the sermon, but wander from Britain to Japan, and bring in

all imaginable subjects: but you who have attained to the preservation of

unity in the sermon might go a little farther, and exhibit a degree of unity in

the service, being careful in both the hymn, and the prayer, and the chapter,

to keep the same subject prominent. Hardly commendable is the practice,

common with some preachers, of rehearsing the sermon in the last prayer.

It may be instructive to the audience, but that is an object altogether

foreign to prayer. It is stilted, scholastic, and unsuitable; do not imitate the


As you would avoid a viper, keep from all attempts to work up spurious

fervor in public devotion. Do not labor to seem earnest. Pray as your heart

dictates, under the leading of the Spirit of God, and if you are dull and

heavy tell the Lord so. It will be no ill thing to confess your deadness, and

bewail it, and cry for quickening; it will be real and acceptable prayer; but

simulated ardor is a shameful form of lying. Never imitate those who are

earnest. You know a good man who groans, and another whose voice

grows shrill when he is carried away with zeal, but do not therefore moan

or squeak in order to appear as zealous as they are. Just be natural the

whole way through, and ask of God to be guided in it all.

Lastly — this is a word I utter in confidence to yourselves — prepare your

prayer. You say with astonishment, “Whatever can you mean by that?”

Well, I mean what some do not mean. The question was once discussed in

a society of ministers, “Was it right for the minister to prepare his prayer

beforehand?” It was earnestly asserted by some that it was wrong; and very


properly so. It was with equal earnestness maintained by others that it was

right; and they were not to be gainsayed. I believe both parties to have

been right. The first brethren understood by preparing the prayer, the

studying of expressions, and the putting together of a train of thought,

which they all said was altogether opposed to spiritual worship, in which

we ought to leave ourselves in the hand of God’s Spirit to be taught of him

both as to matter and words. In these remarks we altogether agree; for if a

man writes his prayers and studies his petitions, let him use a liturgy at

once. But the brethren in opposition, meant by preparation quite another

thing, not the preparation of the head, but of the heart, which consists in

the solemn consideration beforehand of the importance of prayer,

meditation upon the needs of men’s souls, and a remembrance of the

promises which we are to plead; and thus coming before the Lord with a

petition written upon the fleshy tables of the heart. This is surely better

than coming to God at random, rushing before the throne at haphazard,

without a definite errand or desire. “I never am tired of praying,” said one

man. “because I always have a definite errand when I pray.” Brethren, are

your prayers of this sort? Do you strive to be in a fit frame to lead the

supplications of your people? Do you order your cause in coming before

the Lord? I feel, my brethren, that, we ought to prepare ourselves by

private prayer for public praying. By living near to God we ought to

maintain prayerfulness of spirit, and then we shall not fail in our vocal

pleadings. If anything beyond this is to be tolerated, it would be the

commitment to memory of the Psalms and parts of Scripture containing

promises, supplications, praises, and confessions, such as may be helpful in

the act of prayer. It is said of Chrysostom, that he had learned his Bible by

heart, so as to be able to repeat it at his pleasure: no wonder that he was

called golden-mouthed. Now, in our converse with God, no speech can be

more appropriate than the words of the Holy Ghost —”Do as thou hast

said,” will always prevail with the Most High. We counsel, therefore, the

committing to memory of the inspired devotional exercises of the word of

truth, and then your continued reading of the Scriptures will keep you

always furnished with fresh supplications, which will be as ointment poured

forth, filling the whole house of God with its fragrance, when you present

your petitions in public before the Lord. Seeds of prayer thus sown in the

memory will yield a constant golden harvest, as the Spirit shall warm your

soul with hallowed fire in the hour of congregational prayer. As David used

the sword of Goliath for after victories, so may we at times employ a

petition already answered, and find ourselves able to say with the son of


Jesse, “There is none like unto it,” as God shall yet again fulfill it in our


Let your prayers be earnest, full of fire, vehemence, prevalence. I pray the

Holy Ghost to instruct every student of this College so to offer public

prayer, that God shall always be served of his best. Let your petitions be

plain and heart-felt; and while your people may sometimes feel that the

sermon was below the mark, may they also feel that the prayer

compensated for all.

Much more might be said, perhaps should be said, but time and strength

both fail us, and so we draw to a close.




SERMONS should have real teaching in them, and their doctrine should be

solid, substantial, and abundant. We do not enter the pulpit to talk for

talk’s sake; we have instructions to convey important to the last degree,

and we cannot afford to utter pretty nothings. Our range of subjects is all

but boundless, and we cannot, therefore, be excused if our discourses are

threadbare and devoid of substance. If we speak as ambassadors for God,

we need never complain of want of matter, for our message is full to

overflowing. The entire gospel must be presented from the pulpit; the

whole faith once delivered to the saints must be proclaimed by us. The

truth as it is in Jesus must be instructively declared, so that the people may

not merely hear, but know, the joyful sound. We serve not at the altar of

“the unknown God,” but we speak to the worshippers of him of whom it is

written, “they that know thy name will put their trust in thee.” To divide a

sermon well may be a very useful art, but how if there is nothing to divide?

A mere division maker is like an excellent carver with an empty dish before

him, To be able to deliver an exordium which shall be appropriate and

attractive, to be at ease in speaking with propriety during the time allotted

for the discourse, and to wind up with a respectable peroration, may

appear to mere religious performers to be all that is requisite; but the true

minister of Christ knows that the true value of a sermon must lie, not in its

fashion and manner, but in the truth which it contains. Nothing can

compensate for the absence of teaching; all the rhetoric in the world is but

as chaff to the wheat in contrast to the gospel of our salvation. However

beautiful the sower’s basket it is a miserable mockery if it be without seed.

The grandest discourse ever delivered is an ostentatious failure if the

doctrine of the grace of God be absent from it; it sweeps over men’s heads

like a cloud, but it distributes no rain upon the thirsty earth; and therefore

the remembrance of it to souls taught wisdom by an experience of pressing

need is one of disappointment, or worse. A man’s style may be as

fascinating as that of the authoress of whom one said, “that she should

write with a crystal pen dipped in dew upon silver paper, and use for

pounce the dust of a butterfly’s wing”; but to an audience whose souls are


in instant jeopardy, what will mere elegance be but “altogether lighter than


Horses are not to be judged by their bells or their trappings, but by limb

and bone and blood; and sermons, when criticized by judicious hearers, are

largely measured by the amount of gospel truth and force of gospel spirit

which they contain. Brethren, weigh your sermons. Do not retail them by

the yard, but deal them out by the pound. Set no store by the quantity of

words which you utter, but strive to be esteemed for the quality of your

matter. It is foolish to be lavish in words and niggardly in truth. He must be

very destitute of wit who would be pleased to hear himself described after

the manner of the world’s great poet, who says, “Gratiano speaks an

infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are as

two grains of wheat hidden in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day

ere you find them; and when you have them they are not worth the search.”

Rousing appeals to the affections are excellent, but if they are not backed

up by instruction they are a mere flash in the pan, powder consumed and

no shot sent home. Rest assured that the most fervid revivalism will wear

itself out in mere smoke, if it be not maintained by the fuel of teaching. The

divine method is to put the law in the mind, and then write it on the heart;

the judgment is enlightened, and then the passions subdued. Read Hebrews

8:10, and follow the model of the covenant of grace. Gouge’s note on that

place may with fitness be quoted here: — “Ministers are herein to imitate

God, and, to their best endeavor, to instruct people in the mysteries of

godliness, and to teach them what to believe and practice, and then to stir

them up in act and deed, to do what they are instructed to do. Their labor

otherwise is like to be in vain. Neglect of this course is a main cause that

men fall into many errors as they do in these days.” I may add that this last

remark has gained more force in our times; it is among uninstructed flocks

that the wolves of popery make havoc; sound teaching is the best

protection from the heresies which ravage right and left among us.

Sound information upon scriptural subjects your hearers crave for, and

must have. Accurate explanations of Holy Scripture they are entitled to,

and if you are “an interpreter, one of a thousand,” a real messenger of

heaven, you will yield them plenteously. Whatever else may be present, the

absence of edifying, instructive truth, like the absence of flour from bread,

will be fatal. Estimated by their solid contents rather than their superficial

area, many sermons are very poor specimens of godly discourse. I believe


the remark is too well grounded that if you attend to a lecturer on

astronomy or geology, during a short course you will obtain a tolerably

clear view of his system; but if you listen, not only for twelve months, but

for twelve years, to the common run of preachers, you will not arrive at

anything like an idea of their system of theology. If it be so, it; is a grievous

fault, which cannot be too much deplored. Alas! the indistinct utterances of

many concerning the grandest of eternal realities, and the dimness of

thought in others with regard to fundamental truths, have given too much

occasion for the criticism! Brethren, if you are not theologians you are in

your pastorates just nothing at all. You may be fine rhetoricians, and be

rich in polished sentences; but without knowledge of the gospel, and

aptness to teach it, you are but a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal.

Verbiage is too often the fig-leaf which does duty as a covering for

theological ignorance. Sounding periods are offered instead of sound

doctrine, and rhetorical flourishes in the place of robust thought. Such

things ought not to be. The abounding of empty declamation, and the

absence of food for the soul, will turn a pulpit into a box of bombast, and

inspire contempt instead of reverence. Unless we are instructive preachers,

and really feed the people, we may be great quoters of elegant poetry, and

mighty retailers of second-hand windbags, but we shall be like Nero of old,

fiddling while Rome was burning, and sending vessels to Alexandria to

fetch sand for the arena while the populace starved for want of corn.

We insist upon it, that there must be abundance of matter in sermons, and

next, that this matter must be congruous to the text. The discourse should

spring out of the text as a rule, and the more evidently it does so the better;

but at all times, to say the least, it should have a very close relationship

thereto. In the matter of spiritualising and accommodation very large

latitude is to be allowed; but liberty must not degenerate into license, and

there must always be a connection, and something more than a remote

connection — a real relationship between the sermon and its text. I heard

the other day of a remarkable text, which was appropriate or inappropriate,

as you may think. A squire of a parish had given away a number of flaming

scarlet cloaks to the oldest matrons of the parish. These resplendent beings

were required to attend the parish church on the following Sunday, and to

sit in front of the pulpit, from which one of the avowed successors of the

apostles edified the saints from the words, “Solomon in all his glory was

not arrayed like one of these.” It is reported that on a subsequent occasion,

when the same benefactor of the parish had given a bushel of potatoes to


every man who had a family, the topic on the following Sunday was, “And

they said, It is manna.” I cannot tell whether the matter in that case was

congruous to the selection of the text; I suppose it may have been, for the

probabilities are that the whole performance was foolish throughout. Some

brethren have done with their text as soon as they have read it. Having paid

all due honor to that particular passage by announcing it, they feel no

necessity further to refer to it. They touch their hats, as it were, to that part

of Scripture, and pass on to fresh fields and pastures new. Why do such

men take a text at all? Why limit their own glorious liberty? Why make

Scripture a horsing-block by which to mount upon their unbridled

Pegasus? Surely the words of inspiration were never meant to be

boothooks to help a Talkative to draw on his seven-leagued boots in which

to leap from pole to pole.

The surest way to maintain variety is to keep to the mind of the Holy Spirit

in the particular passage under consideration. No two texts are exactly

similar; something in the connection or drift of the passage gives to each

apparently identical text a shade of difference. Keep to the Spirit’s track

and you will never repeat yourself or be short of matter: his paths drop

fatness. A sermon, moreover, comes with far greater power to the

consciences of the hearers when it is plainly the very word of God — not a

lecture about the Scripture, but Scripture itself opened up and enforced. It

is due to the majesty of inspiration that when you profess to be preaching

from a verse you do not thrust it out of sight to make room for your own


Brethren, if you are in the habit of keeping to the precise sense of the

Scripture before you, I will further recommend you to hold to the ipsissima

verba, the very words of the Holy Ghost; for, although in many cases

topical sermons are not only allowable, but very proper, those sermons

which expound the exact words of the Holy Spirit are the most useful and

the most agreeable to the major part of our congregations. They love to

have the words themselves explained and expounded. The many are not

always sufficiently capable of grasping the sense apart from the language

— of gazing, so to speak, upon the truth disembodied; but when they hear

the precise words reiterated again and again, and each expression dwelt

upon after the manner of such preachers as Mr. Jay, of Bath, they are more

edified, and the truth fixes itself more firmly upon their memories. Let your

matter, then, be copious, and let it grow out of the inspired word, as


violets and primroses spring up naturally from the sod, or as the virgin

honey drops from the comb.

Take care that your deliverances are always weighty, and full of really

important teaching. Build not with wood, hay, and stubble, but with gold,

silver, and precious stones. It is scarcely needful to warn you against the

grosser degradations of pulpit eloquence, or the example of the notorious

orator Henley might be instanced. That loquacious adventurer, whom Pope

has immortalized in his “Dunciad,” was wont to make the passing events of

the week the themes of his buffoonery on week days, and theological

topics suffered the same fate on Sundays. His forte lay in his low wit and in

tuning his voice and balancing his hands. The satirist says of him, “How

fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue.” Gentlemen, it were better never

to have been born, than to have the like truthfully said of us; we are on

peril of our souls bound to deal with the solemnities of eternity and with no

earth-born topics. There are, however, other and more inviting methods of

wood and hay-building, and it behooves you not to be duped by them. This

remark is necessary, especially to those gentlemen who mistake highflying

sentences for eloquence, and Latinized utterances for great depth of

thought. Certain homiletical instructors, by their example, if not by their

precepts, encourage rodomontade and great swelling words, and,

therefore, are most perilous to young preachers. Think of a discourse

commencing with such an amazing and stupendous assertion as the

following, which by its native grandeur will strike you at once with a sense

of the sublime and beautiful: “MAN IS MORAL.” This genius might have

added, “A cat has four feet.” There would have been as much novelty in

the one information as the other. I remember a sermon by a would-be

profound writer which quite stunned the reader with grenadier words of

six-feet length, but which, when properly boiled down, came to as much

essence of meat as this — Man has a soul, his soul will live in another

world, and therefore he should take care that it occupies a happy place. No

one can object to the teaching, but it is not so novel as to need a blast of

trumpets and a procession of bedizened phrases to introduce it to public

attention. The art of saying commonplace things elegantly, pompously,

grandiloquently, bombastically, is not lost among us, although its utter

extinction were “a consummation devoutly to be wished.” Sermons of this

sort have been held up as models, and yet they are mere bits of bladder

which would lie on your finger-nail, blown out until they remind you of

those colored balloons which itinerant dealers carry about the streets to sell


at a halfpenny a-piece for the delectation of the extremely juvenile; the

parallel, I am sorry to say, holding good a little further, for in some cases

these discourses contain just a tinge of poison by way of coloring, which

some of the weaker sort have found out to their cost. It is infamous to

ascend your pulpit and pour over your people rivers of language, cataracts

of words, in which mere platitudes are held in solution like infinitesimal

grains of homeopathic medicine in an Atlantic of utterance. Better far give

the people masses of unprepared truth in the rough, like pieces of meat

from a butcher’s block, chopped off anyhow, bone and all, and even

dropped down in the sawdust, than ostentatiously and delicately hand them

out upon a china dish a delicious slice of nothing at all, decorated with the

parsley of poetry, and flavored with the sauce of affectation.

It will be, a happy circumstance if you are so guided by the Holy Spirit as

to give a clear testimony to all the doctrines which constitute or lie around

the gospel. No truth is to be kept back. The doctrine of reserve, so

detestable in the mouths of Jesuits, is not one whit the less villainous when

accepted by Protestants. It is not true that some doctrines are only for the

initiated; there is nothing in the Bible which is ashamed of the light. The

sublimest views of divine sovereignty have a practical bearing, and are not,

as some think, mere metaphysical subtleties; the distinctive utterances of

Calvinism have their bearing upon every-day life and ordinary experience,

and if you hold such views, or the opposite, you have no dispensation

permitting you to conceal your beliefs. Cautious reticence is, in nine cases

out of ten, cowardly betrayal. The best policy is never to be politic, but to

proclaim every atom of the truth so far as God has taught it to you.

Harmony requires that the voice of one doctrine shall not drown the rest,

and it also demands that the gentler notes shall not be omitted because of

the greater volume of other sounds. Every note appointed by the great

minstrel must be sounded; each note having its own proportionate power

and emphasis, the passage marked with forte must not be softened, and

those with piano must not be rolled out like thunder, but each must have

its due hearing. All revealed truth in harmonious proportion must be your


Brethren, if you resolve in your pulpit utterances to deal with important

verities, you must not for ever hover around the mere angles of truth.

Those doctrines which are not vital to the soul’s salvation, nor even

essential to practical Christianity, are not to be considered upon every

occasion of worship. Bring in all the features of truth in due proportion, for


every part of Scripture is profitable, and you are not only to preach the

truth, but the whole truth. Do not insist perpetually upon one truth alone.

A nose is an important feature in the human countenance, but to paint a

man’s nose alone is not a satisfactory method of taking his likeness: a

doctrine may be very important, but an exaggerated estimate of it may be

fatal to an harmonious and complete ministry. Do not make minor

doctrines main points. Do not paint the details of the background of the

gospel picture with the same heavy brush as the great objects in the

foreground of it. For instance, the great problems of sublapsarianism and

supralapsarianism, the trenchant debates concerning eternal filiation, the

earnest dispute concerning the double procession, and the pre or post

millenarian schemes, however important some may deem them, are

practically of very little concern to that godly widow woman, with seven

children to support by her needle, who wants far more to hear of the

loving-kindness of the God of providence than of these mysteries

profound; if you preach to her on the faithfulness of God to his people, she

will be cheered and helped in the battle of life; but difficult questions will

perplex her or send her to sleep. She is, however, the type of hundreds of

those who most require your care. Our great master theme is the good

news from heaven; the tidings of mercy through the atoning death of Jesus,

mercy to the chief of sinners upon their believing in Jesus.

We must throw all our strength of judgment, memory, imagination, and

eloquence into the delivery of the gospel; and not give to the preaching of

the cross our random thoughts while wayside topics engross our deeper

meditations. Depend upon it, if we brought the intellect of a Locke or a

Newton, and the eloquence of a Cicero, to bear upon the simple doctrine

of “believe and live,” we should find no surplus strength. Brethren, first

and above all things, keep to plain evangelical doctrines; whatever else you

do or do not preach, be sure incessantly to bring forth the soul-saving truth

of Christ and him crucified. I know a minister whose shoe-latchet I am

unworthy to unloose, whose preaching is often little better than sacred

miniature painting — I might almost say holy trifling. He is great upon the

ten toes of the beast, the four faces of the cherubim, the mystical meaning

of badgers’ skins, and the typical bearings of the staves of the ark, and the

windows of Solomon’s temple: but the sins of business men, the

temptations of the times, and the needs of the age, he scarcely ever touches

upon. Such preaching reminds me of a lion engaged in mouse-hunting, or a

man-of-war cruising after a lost water-butt. Topics scarcely in importance


equal to what Peter calls “old wives’ fables,” are made great matters of by

those microscopic divines to whom the nicety of a point is more attractive

than the saving of souls. You will have read in Todd’s “Student’s Manual”

that Harcatius, king of Persia, was a notable mole-catcher; and Briantes,

king of Lydia, was equally au fait at filing needles; but these trivialities by

no means prove them to have been great kings: it is much the same in the

ministry, there is such a thing as meanness of mental occupation

unbecoming the rank of an ambassador of heaven.

Among a certain order of minds at this time the Athenian desire of telling

or hearing some new thing appears to be predominant. They boast of new

light, and claim a species of inspiration which warrants them in condemning

all who are out of their brotherhood, and yet their grand revelation relates

to a mere circumstantial of worship, or to an obscure interpretation of

prophecy; so that, at sight of their great fuss and loud cry concerning so

little, we are reminded of

“Ocean into tempest toss’d

To waft a feather or to drown a fly.”

Worse still are those who waste time in insinuating doubts concerning the

authenticity of texts, or the correctness of Biblical statements concerning

natural phenomena. Painfully do I call to mind hearing one Sabbath evening

a deliverance called a sermon, of which the theme was a clever inquiry as

to whether an angel did actually descend, and stir the pool at Bethesda, or

whether it was an intermitting spring, concerning which Jewish superstition

had invented a legend. Dying men and women were assembled to hear the

way of salvation, and they were put off with such vanity as this! They came

for bread, and received a stone; the sheep looked up to the shepherd, and

were not fed. Seldom do I hear a sermon, and when I do I am grievously

unfortunate, for one of the last I was entertained with was intended to be a

justification of Joshua for destroying the Canaanites, and another went to

prove that it was not good for man to be alone. How many souls were

converted in answer to the prayers before these sermons I have never been

able to ascertain, but I shrewdly suspect that no unusual rejoicing disturbed

the serenity of the golden streets.

Believing my next remark to be almost universally unneeded, I bring it

forward with diffidence — do not overload a sermon with too much

matter. All truth is not to be comprised in one discourse. Sermons are not

to be bodies of divinity. There is such a thing as having too much to say,


and saying it till hearers are sent home loathing rather than longing. An old

minister walking with a young preacher, pointed to a cornfield, and

observed, “Your last sermon had too much in it, and it was not clear

enough, or sufficiently well-arranged; it was like that field of wheat, it conrained

much crude food, but none fit for use. You should make your

sermons like a loaf of bread, fit for eating, and in convenient form.” It is to

be feared that human heads (speaking phrenologically) are not so capacious

for theology as they once were, for our forefathers rejoiced in sixteen

ounces of divinity, undiluted and unadorned, and could continue receiving

it for three or four hours at a stretch, but our more degenerate, or perhaps

more busy, generation requires about an ounce of doctrine at a time, and

that must be the concentrated extract or essential oil, rather than the entire

substance of divinity. We must in these times say a great deal in a few

words, but not too much, nor with too much amplification. One thought

fixed on the mind will be better than fifty thoughts made to flit across the

ear. One tenpenny nail driven home and clenched will be more useful than a

score of tin-tacks loosely fixed, to be pulled out again in an hour.

Our matter should be well arranged according to the true rules of mental

architecture. Not practical inferences at the basis and doctrines as the

topstones; not metaphors in the foundations, and propositions at the

summit; not the more important truths first and the minor teachings last,

after the manner of an anticlimax; but the thought must climb and ascend;

one stair of teaching leading to another; one door of reasoning conducting

to another, and the whole elevating the hearer to a chamber from whose

windows truth is seen gleaming in the light of God. In preaching, have a

place for everything, and everything in its place. Never suffer truths to fall

from you pell-mell. Do not let your thoughts rush as a mob, but make them

march as a troop of soldiery. Order, which is heaven’s first law, must not

be neglected by heaven’s ambassadors.

Your doctrinal teaching should be clear and unmistakable. To be so it

must first of all be clear to yourself. Some men think in smoke and preach

in a cloud. Your people do not want a luminous haze, but the solid terra

firma of truth. Philosophical speculations put certain minds into a semiintoxicated

condition, in which they either see everything double, or see

nothing at all. The head of a certain college in Oxford was years ago asked

by a stranger what was the motto of the arms of that university. He told

him that it was “Dominus illuminatio mea.” But he also candidly informed

the stranger that, in his private opinion, a motto more appropriate might


be, “Aristoteles meoe tenebroe.” Sensational writers have half crazed

many honest men who have conscientiously read their lucubrations out of a

notion that they ought to be abreast of the age, as if such a necessity might

not also require us to attend the theaters in order to be able to judge the

new plays, or frequent the turf that we might not be too bigoted in our

opinions upon racing and gambling. For my part, I believe that the chief

readers of heterodox books are ministers, and that if they would not notice

them they would fall still-born from the press. Let a minister keep clear of

mystifying himself, and then he is on the road to becoming intelligible to his

people. No man can hope to be felt who cannot make himself understood.

If we give our people refined truth, pure Scriptural doctrine, and all so

worded as to have no needless obscurity about it, we shall be true

shepherds of the Sheep, and the profiting of our people will soon be


Endeavor to keep the matter of your sermonizing as fresh as you can. Do

not rehearse five or six doctrines with unvarying monotony of repetition.

Buy a theological barrel-organ, brethren, with five tunes accurately

adjusted, and you will be qualified to practice as an ultra-Calvinistic

preacher at Zoar and Jireh, if you also purchase at some vinegar factory a

good supply of bitter, acrid abuse of Arminians, and duty-faith men. Brains

and grace are optional, but the organ and the wormwood are indispensable.

It is ours to perceive and rejoice in a wider range of truth. All that these

good men hold of grace and sovereignty we maintain as firmly and boldly

as they; but, we dare not shut our eyes to other teachings of the word, and

we feel bound to make full proof of our ministry, by declaring the whole

counsel of God. With abundant themes diligently illustrated by fresh

metaphors and experiences, we shall not weary, but, under God’s hand,

shall win our hearers’ ears and hearts.

Let your teachings grow and advance ; let them deepen with your

experience, and rise with your soul-progress. I do not mean preach new

truths; for, on the contrary, I hold that man happy who is so well taught

from the first that, after fifty years of ministry, he has never had to recant a

doctrine or to mourn an important omission; but I mean, let our depth and

insight continually increase, and where there is spiritual advance it will be

so. Timothy could not preach like Paul. Our earlier productions must be

surpassed by those of our riper years; we must never make these our

models; they will be best burned, or only preserved to be mourned over

because of their superficial character. It were ill, indeed, if we knew no


more after being many years in Christ’s school; our progress may be slow

but progress there must be, or there will be cause to suspect that the inner

life is lacking or sadly unhealthy. Set it before you as most certain that you

have not yet attained, and may grace be given you to press forward

towards that which is yet beyond. May you all become able ministers of the

New Testament, and not a whit behind the very chief of preachers, though

in yourselves you will still be nothing.

The word “sermon” is said to signify a thrust, and, therefore, in

sermonizing it must be our aim to use the subject in hand with energy and

effect, and the subject must be capable of such employment. To choose

mere moral themes will be to use a wooden dagger; but the great truths of

revelation are as sharp swords. Keep to doctrines which stir the conscience

and the heart. Remain unwaveringly the champions of a soul-winning

gospel. God’s truth is adapted to man, and God’s grace adapts man to it.

There is a key which, under God, can wind up the musical box of man’s

nature; get it, and use it daily. Hence I urge you to keep to the oldfashioned

gospel, and to that only, for assuredly it is the power of God

unto salvation.

Of all I would wish to say this is the sum; my brethren, preach CHRIST,

always and evermore. He is the whole gospel. His person, offices, and

work must be our one great, all-comprehending theme. The world needs

still to be told of its Savior, and of the way to reach him. Justification by

faith should be far more than it is the daily testimony of Protestant pulpits;

and if with this master-truth there should be more generally associated the

other great doctrines of grace, the better for our churches and our age. If

with the zeal of Methodists we can preach the doctrine of Puritans a great;

future is before us. The fire of Wesley, and the fuel of Whitfield, will cause

a burning which shall set the forests of error on fire, and warm the very

soul of this cold earth. We are not called to proclaim philosophy and

metaphysics, but the simple gospel. Man’s fall, his need of a new birth,

forgiveness through an atonement, and salvation as the result of faith, these

are our battle-ax and weapons of war. We have enough to do to learn and

teach these great truths, and accursed be that learning which shall divert us

from our mission, or that willful ignorance which shall cripple us in its

pursuit. More and more am I jealous lest any views upon prophecy, church

government, politics, or even systematic theology, should withdraw one of

us from glorying in the cross of Christ. Salvation is a theme for which I

would fain enlist every holy tongue. I am greedy after witnesses for the


glorious gospel of the blessed God. O that Christ crucified were the

universal burden of men of God. Your guess at the number of the beast,

your Napoleonic speculations, your conjectures concerning a personal

Antichrist — forgive me, I count them but mere bones for dogs, while men

are dying, and hell is filling, it seems to me the veriest drivel to be

muttering about an Armageddon at Sebastopol or Sadowa or Sedan, and

peeping between the folded leaves of destiny to discover the fate of

Germany. Blessed are they who read and hear the words of the prophecy

of the Revelation, but the like blessing has evidently not fallen on those

who pretend to expound it; for generation after generation of them have

been proved to be in error by the mere lapse of time, and the present race

will follow to the same inglorious sepulcher. I would sooner pluck one

single brand from the burning than explain all mysteries. To win a soul

from going down into the pit is a more glorious achievement than to be

crowned in the arena of theological controversy as Doctor

Sufficientissimus; to have faithfully unveiled the glory of God in the face of

Jesus Christ will be in the final judgment accounted worthier service than

to have solved the problems of the religious Sphinx, or to have cut the

Gordian knot of apocalyptic difficulty. Blessed is that ministry of which





I TRUST, my brethren, that we all feel very deeply the importance of

conducting every part of divine worship with the utmost possible

efficiency. When we remember that the salvation of a soul may hang,

instrumentally, upon the choice of a hymn, we should not consider so small

a matter as the selection of the psalms and hymns to be a trifle. An ungodly

stranger, stepping into one of our services at Exeter Hall, was brought to

the cross by the work of Wesley’s verse. — “Jesu, lover of my soul.”

“Does Jesus love me?” said he: “then why should I live in enmity to him?”

When we reflect, too, that God may very especially bless an expression in

our prayer to the conversion of a wanderer; and that prayer in the unction

of the Holy Spirit, may minister greatly to the edification of God’s people,

and bring unnumbered blessings down upon them, we shall endeavor to

pray with the best gift and the highest grace within our reach. Since, also,

in the reading of the Scriptures comfort and instruction may be plenteously

distributed, we shall pause over our opened Bibles, and devoutly seek to be

guided to that portion of Holy Writ which shall be most likely to be made


With regard to the sermon, we shall be most anxious, first of all, respecting

the selection of the text. No one amongst us looks upon the sermon in so

careless a light as to conceive that a text picked up at random will be

suitable for every, or indeed, for any occasion. We are not all of Sydney

Smith’s mind, when he recommended a brother at a loss for a text, to

preach from “Parthians, and Medes, and Elamires, and the dwellers in

Mesopotamia;” as though anything would do for a sermon. I hope we all

make it a matter of very earnest and serious consideration, every week,

what shall be the subjects upon which we shall address our people on the

Sabbath morning and evening; for, although all Scripture is good and

profitable, yet it is. not all equally appropriate for every occasion? F13 To

everything there is a season; and everything is the better for being

seasonable. A wise householder labors to give to each one of the family his

portion of meat in due season; he does not serve out rations


indiscriminately, but suits the viands to the needs of the guests. Only a

mere official, the slave of routine, the lifeless automaton of formalism, will

be content to snatch at the first subject which comes to hand. The man who

plucks topics as children in the meadows gather buttercups and daisies, just

as they offer themselves, may act in accordance with his position in a

church into which a patron may have thrust him, and out of which the

people cannot eject him; but those who profess to be called of God, and

selected to their positions by the free choice of believers, will need to make

fuller proof of their ministry than can be found in such carelessness. Among

many gems we have to select the jewel most appropriate for the setting of

the occasion. We dare not rush into the King’s banquet hall with a

confusion of provisions as though the entertainment were to be a vulgar

scramble, but as well-mannered servitors we pause and ask the great

Master of the feast, “Lord, what wouldst thou have us set upon thy table

this day?”

Some texts have struck us as most unhappily chosen. We wonder what Mr.

Disraeli’s rector did with the words, “In my flesh shall I see God,” when

lately preaching at a village harvest home! Exceedingly unfortunate was the

funeral text for a murdered clergyman (Mr. Plow), from, “So he giveth his

beloved sleep.” Most manifestly idiotic was he who selected “Judge not,

that ye be not judged,” for a sermon before the judges at an assize.

Do not be misled by the sound and seeming fitness of scriptural words. M.

Athanase Coquerel confesses to having preached on a third visit to

Amsterdam, from the words, “This is the third time I am coming to you,” 2

Corinthians 13:1 — well may he add, that he “found great difficulty in

afterwards putting into this discourse what was fitting to the occasion.” A

parallel case was that of one of the sermons on the death of the Princess

Charlotte from, “She was sick and died.” It is still worse to select words

out of a miserable facetiousness, as in the case of a recent sermon on the

death of Abraham Lincoln, from the sentence, “Abraham is dead.” It is said

that a student, who it is to be hoped never emerged from the shell,

preached a sermon in public, before his tutor, Dr. Philip Doddridge. Now

the good man was accustomed to place himself immediately in front of the

student, and look him full in the face, judge therefore of his surprise, if not

indignation, when the text announced ran in these words, “Have I been so

long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?” Gentlemen,

fools sometimes become students, let us hope none of that order may

dishonor our Alma Mater. I pardon the man who preached before that


drunken Solomon, James I of England and 6 of Scotland, from James 1:6,

the temptation was too great to be resisted; but let the wretch be for ever

execrated, if such a man ever lived, who celebrated, the decease of a

deacon by a tirade from, “It came to pass that the beggar died.” I forgive

the liar who attributed such an outrage to me, but I hope he will not try his

infamous arts upon any one else.

As we would avoid a careless accidental pitching upon topics, so would we

equally avoid a monotonous regularity. I have heard of a divine who had

fifty-two Sunday sermons, and a few extra ones for holy days, from which

he was wont to preach in regular order, year after year. In his case, there

would be no need that the people should entreat that the same things

should be spoken to them on the next Sabbath-day, nor would there be

much wonder if imitators of Eutychus should be found in other places

beside the third loft. It is not very long ago since a clergyman said to a

farmer friend of mine, “Do you know, Mr. D — I was turning over my

sermons the other day, and really the parsonage is so damp, especially in

my study, that my sermons have become quite musty.” My friend, who

although he was churchwarden, attended a Dissenting place of worship,

was not so rude as to say that he thought it very likely; but as the village

venerables had frequently heard the aforesaid discourses, it is possible they

were musty in more senses than one. There are persons in the ministry

who, having accumulated a little stock of sermons, repeat them ad

nauseam, with horrible regularity. Itinerating brethren must be far more

subject to this temptation than those who are stationed for several years in

one place. If they fall victims to the habit, it must surely be the end of their

usefulness, and send an intolerable death-chill into their hearts, of which

their people must soon be conscious while they hear them parroting forth

their time-worn productions. The very best invention for promoting

spiritual idleness must be the plan of acquiring a two or three years’ stock

of sermons, and repeating them in order again and again. As we, my

brethren, hope to live for many years, if not for life in one place, rooted to

the spot by the mutual affection which will grow up between ourselves and

our people, we have need of a far different method from that which may

suit a sluggard or an itinerant evangelist.

It must be burdensome to some, and very easy to others, I should imagine,

to find their subject, as they do whose lot is cast in the Episcopal

establishment, where the preacher usually refers to the gospel or the

epistle, or the lesson for the day, and feels himself bound — not by any


law, but by a sort of precedent — to preach from a verse in either the one

or the other. When Advent and Epiphany, and Lent and Whitsuntide, bring

their stereotyped round, no man needs to agonize at heart over the

question, “What shall I say unto this people?” The voice of the church is

clear and distinct, “Master, say on; there is your work, give yourself wholly

to it.” There may be some advantages connected with this prearrangement,

but the Episcopalian public do not appear to have been made

partakers of them, for their public writers are always groaning over the

dreariness of sermons, and bemoaning the sad condition of a longsuffering

laity who are compelled to listen to them. The slavish habit of following the

course of the sun and the revolution of the months, instead of waiting upon

the Holy Spirit is, to my mind, quite enough to account for the fact that in

many churches, their own writers being judges, the sermons are nothing

better than specimens of “that decent debility which alike guards their

authors from ludicrous errors, and precludes them from striking beauties.”

Be it then taken for granted, that we all feel it to be most important, not

only to preach the truth, but to preach the right truth for each particular

occasion; our effort will be to descant upon such subjects as shall be best

adapted to our people’s wants, and most likely to prove a channel of grace

to their hearts.

Is there any difficulty in obtaining texts? I remember, in my earlier days,

reading somewhere in a volume of lectures upon Homiletics, a statement

which considerably alarmed me at the time; it was something to this effect:

“If any man shall find a difficulty in selecting a text, he had better at once

go back to the grocer’s shop, or to the plough, for he evidently has not the

capacity required for a minister.” Now, as such had been very frequently

my cross and burden, I inquired within myself whether I should resort to

some form of secular labor, and leave the ministry; but I have not done so,

for I still have the conviction that, although condemned by the sweeping

judgment of the lecturer, I follow a call to which God has manifestly set his

seal. I was so much in trouble of conscience through the aforesaid severe

remark, that I asked my grandfather, who had been in the ministry some

fifty years, whether he was ever perplexed in choosing his theme. He told

me frankly that this had always been his greatest trouble, compared with

which, preaching in itself was no anxiety at all. I remember the venerable

man’s remark, “The difficulty is not because there are not enough texts, but

because there are so many, that I am in a strait betwixt them.” Brethren,

we are sometimes like the lover of choice flowers, who finds himself


surrounded by all the beauties of the garden, with permission to select but

one. How long he lingers between the rose and the lily, and how great the

difficulty to prefer one among ten thousand blooming lovelinesses! To me

still, I must confess, my text selection is a very great embarrassment —

embarras de richesses, as the French say — an embarrassment of riches,

very different from the bewilderment of poverty — the anxiety of attending

to the most pressing of so many truths, all clamoring for a hearing, so many

duties all needing enforcing, and so many spiritual needs of the people all

demanding supply. I confess that I frequently sit hour after hour praying

and waiting for a subject, and that this is the main part of my study; much

hard labor have I spent in manipulating topics, ruminating upon points of

doctrine, making skeletons out of verses and then burying every bone of

them in the catacombs of oblivion, sailing on and on over leagues of

broken water, till I see the red lights and make sail direct to the desired

haven. I believe that almost any Saturday in my life I make enough outlines

of sermons, if I felt at liberty to preach them, to last me for a month, but I

no more dare to use them than an honest mariner would run to shore a

cargo of contraband goods. Themes flit before the mind one after another,

like images passing across the photographer’s lens, but until the mind is

like the sensitive plate, which retains the picture, the subjects are valueless

to us.

What is the right text? How do you know it? We know it by the signs of a

friend. When a verse gives your mind a hearty grip, from which you cannot

release yourself, you will need no further direction as to your proper

theme. Like the fish, you nibble at many baits, but when the hook has fairly

pierced you, you will wander no more. When the text gets a hold of us, we

may be sure that we have a hold of it, and may safely deliver our souls

upon it. To use another simile: you get a number of texts in your hand, and

try to break them up; you hammer at them with might and main, but your

labor is lost; at last you find one which crumbles at the first blow, and

sparkles as it falls in pieces, and you perceive jewels of the rarest radiance

flashing from within. It grows before your eye like the fabled seed which

developed into a tree while the observer watched it. It charms and

fascinates you, or it weighs you to your knees and loads you with the

burden of the Lord. Know then that this is the message which the Lord

would have you deliver; and, feeling this, you will become so bound by that

scripture that you will never feel at rest until you have yielded your whole

mind to its power, and have spoken upon it as the Lord shall give you


utterance. Wait for that elect word, even if you wait till within an hour of

the service. This may not be understood by cool, calculating men, who are

not moved by impulses as we are, but to some of us these things are a law

in our hearts against which we dare not offend. We tarry at Jerusalem till

power is given.

“I believe in the Holy Ghost.” This is one of the articles of the creed, but it

is scarcely believed among professors so as to be acted on. Many ministers

appear to think that they are to choose the text; they are to discover its

teaching; they are to find a discourse in it. We do not think so. We are to

use our own volitions, of course, as well as our understandings and

affections, for we do not pretend that the Holy Ghost will compel us to

preach from a text against our wills. He does not deal with us as though we

were musical boxes, to be wound up and set to a certain tune; but that

glorious inspirer of all truth deals with us as with rational intelligences,

who are swayed by spiritual forces congruous to our natures: still, devout

minds evermore desire that the choice of the text should rest with the allwise

Spirit of God, and not with their own fallible understandings, and

therefore they humbly put themselves into his hand, asking him to

condescend to direct them to the portion of meat in due season which he

has ordained for his people. Gurnal says, “Ministers have no ability of their

own for their work. Oh! how long may they sit tumbling their books over,

and puzzling their brains, until God comes to their help, and then — as

Jacob’s venison — it is brought to their hand. If God drop not down his

assistance, we write with a pen that hath no ink: if any one need walk

dependently upon God more than another, the minister is he.”

If any one inquire of me, “How shall I obtain the most proper text?” I

should answer, “Cry to God for it.” Harrington Evans, in his “Rules for

Sermons,” lay’s down as the first, “Seek God in prayer for choice of a

passage. Inquire why such a passage is decided upon. Let the question be

fairly answered. Sometimes the answer may be such as ought to decide the

mind against the choice.” If prayer alone should not guide you to the

desired treasure, it will in any case be a profitable exercise to you to have

prayed. The difficulty of settling upon a topic, if it makes you pray more

than usual, will be a very great blessing to you. Praying is the best

studying. Luther said so of old — “Bene orasse est bene studuisse,” and

the well-worn proverb will bear repeating. Pray over the Scripture; it is as

the treading of grapes in the wine-vat, the threshing of corn on the barn

floor, the melting of gold from the ore. Prayer is twice blest; it blesseth the


pleading preacher, and the people to whom he ministers. When your text

comes in answer to prayer, it will be all the dearer to you; it will come with

a divine savor and unction altogether unknown to the formal orator to

whom one theme is as another.

After prayer, we are bound with much earnestness to use fitting means for

concentrating our thoughts, and directing them in the best channel.

Consider the condition of your hearers. Reflect upon their spiritual state as

a whole and as individuals, and prescribe the medicine adapted to the

current disease, or prepare the food suitable for the prevailing necessity.

Let me caution you, however, against considering the whims of your

hearers, or the peculiarities of the wealthy and influential. Do not give too

much weight to the gentleman and lady who sit in the green pew, if you are

so unfortunate as to possess such an abominable place of distinction in a

house where all are on a level. Let the large contributor be considered by

all means as much as others, and let not his spiritual infirmities be

neglected; but he is not everybody, and you will grieve the Holy Spirit if

you think him to be so. Look at the poor in the aisles with equal interest,

and select topics which are within their range of thought, and which may

cheer them in their many sorrows. Do not suffer your heads to be turned by

respect to those one-sided members of the congregation, who have a sweet

tooth for one portion of the gospel, and turn a deaf ear to other parts of

truth; never go out of your way either to give them a feast or a scolding. It

may be satisfactory to think that they are pleased, if they are good people,

and one respects their predilections, but faithfulness demands that we

should not become mere pipers to our hearers, playing such tunes as they

may demand of us, but should remain as the Lord’s mouth to declare all his

counsels. I return to the remark, think over what your people really want

for their edification and let that be your theme. That famous apostle of the

north of Scotland, Dr. Macdonald, gives an instance to the point in his

“Diary of Work in St. Kilda:” — “Friday, May 27. At our morning exercise

this day, I read and gave some illustrations of Romans 12, which afforded

me an opportunity of stating the connection between faith and practice, and

that the doctrines of grace are according to godliness, and lead to holiness

in heart and life. This I deemed necessary, as from the high ground I had

occupied for some days past, I was afraid the people might veer towards

Antinomianism, an extreme as dangerous as Arminianism, if not more so.”

Consider what sins appear to be most rife in the church and congregation

— worldliness, covetousness, prayerlessness, wrath, pride, want of


brotherly love, slander, and such like evils. Take into account,

affectionately, the trials of your people, and seek for a balm for their

wounds. It is not necessary to go into minute details, either in the prayer or

in the sermon, as to all these trials of your congregation, although this was

the custom of a venerable minister who was once a great bishop in this

neighborhood, and has now gone to heaven. He was wont, in his abundant

love to his people, to give such hints as to births, deaths, and marriages, in

his flock, that one of the Sunday afternoon’s enjoyments of his constant

hearers must have consisted in finding out to whom the minister referred in

the various parts of his prayer and sermon. This was tolerated, and even

admired from him — from us it would be ridiculous: a patriarch may do

with propriety what a young man must scrupulously avoid. The venerable

divine whom I have just mentioned, had learned this particularizing from

the example of his father, for he was one of a family in which the children,

having observed that something particular had occurred during the day,

would say to each other, “We must wait till family prayer, when we shall

know all about it.” But I digress; this instance shows how an excellent

habit may degenerate into a fault, but the rule which I have laid down is not

affected by it. Certain trials will occur, at particular junctures, to many in

the congregation, and as these afflictions will invite your mind into new

fields of thought, you will do ill to be deaf to their call. Again, we must

watch the spiritual state of our people, and if we notice that they are falling

into a backsliding condition; if we fear that they are likely to be inoculated

by any mischievous heresy or perverse imagining; if anything, in fact, in the

whole physiological character of the church should strike our mind, we

must hasten to prepare a sermon which, by God’s grace, may stay the

plague. These are the indications among his hearers which the Spirit of

God gives to the careful, observant pastor as to his line of action. The

careful shepherd often examines his flock, and governs his mode of

treatment by the state in which he finds it. He will be likely to supply one

sort of food but sparingly, and another in greater abundance, and medicine

in its due quantity, according as his practiced judgment finds the one or the

other necessary.. We shall be rightly directed if we do but associate

ourselves with “that great Shepherd of the sheep.”

Do not, however, let us allow our preaching right home to our people to

degenerate into scolding them. They call the pulpit “Coward’s Castle,” and

it is a very proper name for it in some respects, especially when fools

mount the platform and impudently insult their hearers by holding up their


faults or infirmities to public derision. There is a personality — an

offensive, wanton, unjustifiable personality — which is to be studiously

avoided; it is of the earth, earthy, and is to be condemned in unmeasured

terms; while there is another personality, wise, spiritual, heavenly, which is

to be aimed at unceasingly. The word of God is sharper than any twoedged

sword, and therefore you can leave the word of God to wound and

kill, and need not be yourselves cutting in phrase and manner. God’s truth

is searching: leave it to search the hearts of men without offensive

additions from yourself. He is a mere bungler in portrait painting who

needs to write the name under the picture when it is hung up in the family

parlor where the person himself is sitting. Compel your hearers to perceive

that you speak of them, though you have not even in the remotest degree

named them, or pointed them out. Occasions may possibly occur when you

may be bound to go as far as Hugh Latimer, when speaking upon bribery

— he said, “He that took the silver basin and ewer for a bribe, thinketh that

it will never come out. But he may not know that I know it, and I know it

not alone; there be more beside me that know it. Oh, briber and bribery! He

was never a good man that will so take bribes; nor can I believe that he that

is a briber will be a good justice.” Here was as much prudent reticence as

bold disclosure; and if you go no further than this, no man dare, for shame

sake, accuse you of too great personality.

In the next place, the minister in looking after his text, should consider

what his previous topics have been. It would be unwise to insist

perpetually upon one doctrine to the neglect of others. Some of our

profounder brethren may be able to deal with the same subject in a series of

discourses, and may be able, by a turn of the kaleidoscope, to present new

forms of beauty with no change of subject, but the most of us, who are of

less fertile abilities, will find it best, to study variety, and deliver ourselves

upon a wide range of truth. I think it well frequently to look over the list of

my sermons, and see whether any doctrine has escaped my attention, or

any Christian grace has been neglected in my ministrations. It is well to

inquire whether we have been too doctrinal lately, or too barely practical,

or too exclusively experimental. We do not desire to degenerate into

Antinomians, nor, on the other hand, to descend to be mere teachers of a

cold morality, but our ambition is to make full proof of our ministry. We

would give every portion of Scripture its fair share in our heart and head.

Doctrine, precept, history, type, psalm, proverb, experience, warning,

promise, invitation, threatening, or rebuke — we would include the whole


of inspired truth within the circle of our teachings. Let us abhor all onesidedness,

all exaggeration of one truth and disparagement of another, and

let us endeavor to paint the portrait of truth with balanced features and

blended colors, lest we dishonor her by presenting distortion instead of

symmetry, and a caricature for a faithful copy.

Supposing, however, that you have prayed in that little room of yours,

have wrestled hard and supplicated long, and have thought over your

people and their wants, and still you cannot meet with the text — well, do

not fret about it, nor give way to despair. If you were about to go a

warfare at your own charges, it would be a very miserable thing to be short

of powder, and the battle so near; but as your Captain has to provide, there

is no doubt that all in good time he will serve out the ammunition. If you

trust in God, he will not, he cannot, fail you. Continue pleading and

watching, for to the industrious student heavenly help is certain. If you had

gone up and down idly all the week, and given no heed to proper

preparation, you could not expect divine aid; but if you have done your

best, and are now waiting to know your Lord’s message, your face shall

never be ashamed.

Two or three incidents have occurred to me which may seem rather odd to

you, but then I am an odd man. When I lived at Cambridge, I had, as usual,

to preach in the evening at a neighboring village, to which I had to walk.

After reading and meditating all day, I could not meet with the right text.

Do what I would, no response came from the sacred oracle, no light

flashed from the Urim and Thummim; I prayed, I meditated, I turned from

one verse to another, but the mind would not take hold, or I was, as

Bunyan would say, “much tumbled up and down in my thoughts.” Just then

I walked to the window and looked out. On the other side of the narrow

street in which I lived, I saw a poor solitary canary bird upon the slates,

surrounded by a crowd of sparrows, who were all pecking at it as if they

would tear it to pieces. At that moment the verse came to my mind —

“Mine heritage is unto me as a speckled bird, the birds round about are

against her.” I walked off with the greatest possible composure, considered

the passage during my long and lonely walk, and preached upon the

peculiar people, and the persecutions of their enemies, with freedom and

ease to myself, and I believe with comfort to my rustic audience. The text

was sent to me, and if the ravens did not bring it, certainly the sparrows

did. At another time, while laboring at Waterbeach, I had preached on the

Sunday morning, and gone home to dinner, as was my wont, with one of


the congregation. Unfortunately, there were three services, and the

afternoon sermon came so close upon the back of the morning, that it was

difficult to prepare the soul, especially as the dinner is a necessary but

serious inconvenience where a clear brain is required. Alas! for those

afternoon services in our English villages, they are usually a doleful waste

of effort. Roast beef and pudding lie heavy on the hearers’ souls, and the

preacher himself is deadened in his mental processes while digestion claims

the mastery of the hour. By a careful measuring of diet, I remained, on that

occasion, in an earnest, lively condition, but to my dismay, I found that the

pre-arranged line of thought was gone from me. I could not find the trail of

my prepared sermon, and press my forehead as I might, the missing topic

would not come. Time was brief, the hour was striking, and in some alarm

I told the honest farmer that I could not for rite life of me recollect what I

had intended to preach about. “Oh!” he said, “never mind; you will be sure

to have a good word for us.” Just at that moment a blazing block of wood

fell out of the fire upon the hearth at my feet, smoking into one’s eyes and

nose at a great rate. “There,” said the farmer, “there’s a text for you sir —

‘Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?’” No, I thought, it was not

plucked out, for it fell out of itself. Here was a text, an illustration, and a

leading thought as a nest egg for more. Further light came, and the sermon

was certainly not worse than my more prepared effusions; it was better in

the best sense, for one or two came forward declaring themselves to have

been aroused and converted through that afternoon’s sermon. I have

always considered that it was a happy circumstance that I had forgotten the

text from which I had intended to preach. At New Park Street, I once

passed through a very singular experience, of which witnesses are present

in this room. I had passed happily through all the early parts of divine

service in the evening of the Sabbath, and was giving out the hymn before

sermon. I opened the Bible to find the text, which I had carefully studied as

the topic of discourse, when on the opposite page another passage of

Scripture sprang upon me like a lion from a thicket, with vastly more

power than I had felt when considering the text which I had chosen. The

people were singing and I was sighing. I was in a strait betwixt two, and

my mind hung as in the balances. I was naturally desirous to run in the

track which I had carefully planned, but the other text would take no

refusal, and seemed to tug at my skirts, crying, “No, no, you must preach

from me. God would have you follow me.” I deliberated within myself as

to my duty, for I would neither be fanatical nor unbelieving, and at last I

thought within myself, “Well, I should like to preach the sermon which I


have prepared, and it is a great risk to run to strike out a new line of

thought, but still as this text constrains me, it may be of the Lord, and

therefore I will venture upon it, come what may.” I almost always

announce my divisions very soon after the exordium, but on this occasion,

contrary to my usual custom, I did not do so, for a reason which some of

you may probably guess. I passed through the first head with considerable

liberty, speaking perfectly extemporaneously both as to thought and word.

The second point was dwelt upon with a consciousness of unusual quiet

efficient power, but I had no idea what the third would or could be, for the

text yielded no more matter just then, nor can I tell even now what I could

have done had not an event occurred upon which I had never calculated. I

had brought myself into great difficulty by obeying what I thought to be a

divine impulse, and I felt comparatively easy about it, believing that God

would help me, and knowing that I could at least close the service should

there be nothing more to be said. I had no need to deliberate, for in one

moment we were in total darkness — the gas had gone out, and as the

aisles were choked with people, and the place everywhere crowded, it was

a great peril, but a great blessing. What was I to do then? The people were

a little frightened, but I quieted them instantly by telling them not to be at

all alarmed, though the gas was out, for it would soon be re-lighted; and as

for myself, having no manuscript, I could speak just as well in the dark as

in the light, if they would be so good as to sit and listen. Had my discourse

been ever so elaborate, it would have been absurd to have continued it, and

so as my plight was, I was all the less embarrassed. I turned at once

mentally to the well-known text which speaks of the child of light walking

in darkness, and the child of darkness walking in the light, and found

appropriate remarks and illustrations pouring in upon me, and when the

lamps were again lit, I saw before me an audience as rapt and subdued as

ever a man beheld in his life. The odd thing of all was, that some few

church-meetings afterwards, two persons came forward to make

confession of their faith, who professed to have been converted that

evening; but the first owed her conversion to the former part of the

discourse, which was on the new text that came to me and the other traced

his awakening to the latter part, which was occasioned by the sudden

darkness. Thus, you see, Providence befriended me. I cast myself upon

God, and his arrangements quenched the light at the proper time for me.

Some may ridicule, but I adore; others may even censure, but I rejoice.

Anything is better than mechanical sermonizing, in which the direction of

the Spirit is practically ignored. Every Holy Ghost preacher, I have no


doubt, will have such recollections clustering around his ministry. I say,

therefore, watch the course of Providence; cast yourselves upon the Lord’s

guidance and help. If you have solemnly done your best to get a text, and

the subject does not start up before you, go up into the pulpit firmly

convinced that you will receive a message when the time comes, even

though you have not a word at that moment.

In the life of Samuel Drew, a famous Methodist preacher, we read, “Whilst

stopping at a friend’s house, in Cornwall, after preaching, a person who

had attended the service, observing to him, that he had, on that occasion,

surpassed his usual ability; and other individuals concurring in the opinion,

Mr. Drew said, ‘If it be true, it is the more singular, because my sermon

was entirely unpremeditated. I went into the pulpit designing to address

you from another text, but looking upon the Bible, which lay open, that

passage from which you heard me speak just now, ‘Prepare to meet thy

God, O Israel,’ arrested my attention so forcibly as to put to flight my

former ideas; and though I had never considered the passage before, I

resolved instantly to make it the subject of my discourse.” Mr. Drew did

well to be obedient to the heavenly direction.

Under certain circumstances you will be absolutely compelled to cast away

the well-studied discourse, and rely upon the present help of the Holy

Spirit, using purely extempore speech. You may find yourself in the

position of the late Kingman Nott, when preaching in the National Theater,

New York. In one of his letters, he: says, “The building was filled full, and

mostly with young men and boys of the roughest type. I went with a

sermon in my mind, but; as soon as I came upon the stage, greeted with a

‘Hi! hi!’ and saw the motley and uproarious crowd I had to do with, I let

all thoughts of the sermon go, and catching up the parable of the Prodigal

Son, tried to interest them in that, and succeeded in keeping most of them

inside the house, and tolerably attentive.” What a simpleton would he have

been had he persevered in his unsuitable prelection! Brethren, I beseech

you, believe in the Holy Ghost, and practically carry out your faith.

As a further assistance to a poor stranded preacher, who cannot launch his

mind for want of a wave or two of thought, I recommend him in such a

case, to turn again and again to the Word of God itself, and read a

chapter, and ponder over its verses one by one; or let him select a single

verse, and get his mind fully exercised upon it. It may be that he will not

find his text in the verse or chapter which he reads, but the right word will


come to him through his mind being actively engaged upon holy subjects.

According to the relation of thoughts to each other, one thought will

suggest another, and another, until a long procession will have passed

before the mind, out of which one or other will be the predestined theme.

Read also good suggestive books, and get your mind aroused by them. If

men wish to get water out of a pump which has not been lately used, they

first pour water down, and then the pump works. Reach down one of the

Puritans, and thoroughly study the work, and speedily you will find

yourself like a bird on the wing, mentally active and full of motion.

By way of precaution, however, let me remark, that we ought to be always

in training for text-getting and sermon-making. We should constantly

preserve the holy activity of our minds. Woe unto the minister who dares

to waste an hour. Read John Foster’s “Essay on the Improvement of

Time,” and resolve never to lose a second of it. A man who goes up and

down from Monday morning till Saturday night, and indolently dreams that

he is to have his text sent down by an angelic messenger in the last hour or

two, of the week, tempts God, and deserves to stand speechless on the

Sabbath. We have no leisure as ministers; we are never off duty, but are on

our watchtowers day and night. Students, I tell you solemnly, nothing will

excuse you from the most rigid economy of time; it is at your peril that,

you trifle with it. The leaf of your ministry will soon wither unless, like the

blessed man in the first Psalm, you meditate in the law of the Lord both day

and night. I am most anxious that you should not throw away time in

religious dissipation, or in gossiping and frivolous talk. Beware of running

about from this meeting to that, listening to mere twaddle, and contributing

your share to the general blowing up of windbags. A man great at teadrinkings,

evening parties, and Sunday-school excursions, is generally little

everywhere else. Your pulpit preparations are your first business, and if

you neglect these, you will bring no credit upon yourself or your office.

Bees are making honey from morning till night, and we should be always

gathering stores for our people. I have no belief in that ministry which

ignores laborious preparation. When traveling in Northern Italy, our driver

at night slept in the carriage, and when I called him up in the morning, he

leaped out, cracked his whip three times, and said he was quite ready. Such

a rapid toilet I hardly appreciated, and wished that he had slept elsewhere,

or that I had to occupy another seat. You who are ready to preach in a

hop, skip, and jump, will pardon me if I take a pew somewhere else.

Habitual mental exercise in the direction of our work is advisable.


Ministers should always be making their hay, but especially while the sun

shines. Do you not find yourself sometimes wonderfully ready at

sermonizing? Mr. Jay said that when he felt in such a condition, he would

take out his paper and jot down texts and divisions of sermons, and keep

them in store, that they might serve him at times when his mind was not so

ready. The lamented Thomas Spencer wrote, “I keep a little book, in which

I enter every text of Scripture which comes into my mind with power and

sweetness. Were I to dream of a passage of Scripture I should enter it, and

when I sit down to compose I look over the book, and have never found

myself at a loss for a subject.” Watch for subjects as you go about the city

or the country. F14 Always keep your eyes and ears open, and you will hear

and see angels. The world is full of sermons — catch them on the wing. A

sculptor believes, whenever he sees a rough block of marble that there is a

noble statue concealed within it, and that he has only to chip away the

superfluities and reveal it. So do you believe that there is within the husk of

everything the kernel of a sermon for the wise man. Be wise, and see the

heavenly in its earthly pattern. Hear the voices from the skies, and translate

them into the language of men. Always a preacher be thou, O man of God,

foraging for the pulpit, in all provinces of nature and art, storing and

preparing at all hours and seasons.

I am asked whether it is a good thing to announce arrangements, and

publish lists of projected sermons. I answer, Every man in his own order. I

am not a judge for others; but I dare not attempt such a things, and should

signally fail if I were to venture upon it. Precedents are much against my

opinion, and at the head of them the sets of discourses by Matthew Henry,

John Newton, and a host of others, still I can only speak my own personal

impressions, and leave each man to be a law unto himself. Many eminent

divines have delivered valuable courses of sermons upon pre-arranged

topics, but we are not eminent, and must counsel others like ourselves to

be cautious how they act. I dare not announce what I shall preach from

tomorrow, much less what I shall preach from in six weeks’ or six months’

time, the reason being partly this, that I am conscious of not possessing

those peculiar gifts which are necessary to interest an assembly in one

subject or set of subjects, for any length of time. Brethren of extraordinary

research and profound learning can do it, and brethren with none of these,

and no common sense, may pretend to do it, but I cannot. I am obliged to

owe a great deal of my strength to variety rather than profundity. It is

questionable whether the great majority of list preachers had not far better


burn their programs if they would succeed. I have a very lively, or rather a

deadly, recollection of a certain series of discourses on the Hebrews, which

made a deep impression on my mind of the most undesirable kind. I wished

frequently that the Hebrews had kept the epistle to themselves, for it sadly

bored one poor Gentile lad. By the time the seventh or eighth discourse

had been delivered, only the very good people could stand it: these, of

course, declared that they never heard more valuable expositions, but to

those of a more carnal judgment it appeared that each sermon increased in

dullness. Paul, in that epistle, exhorts us to suffer the word of exhortation,

and we did so. Are all courses of sermons like this? Perhaps not, and yet I

fear the exceptions are few, for it is even said of that wonderful expositor,

Joseph Caryl, that he commenced his famous lectures upon Job with eight

hundred hearers, and closed the book with only eight! A prophetical

preacher enlarged so much upon “the little horn” of Daniel, that one

Sabbath morning he had but seven hearers remaining. They doubtless

thought it

“Strange that a harp of thousand strings,

Should play one tune so long.”

Ordinarily, and for ordinary men, it seems to me that pre-arranged

discourses are a mistake, are never more than an apparent benefit, and

generally a real mischief. Surely to go through a long epistle must require a

great deal of genius in the preacher, and demand a world of patience on the

part of the hearers. I am moved by a yet deeper consideration in what I

have now said: it strikes me that many a truly living, earnest preacher,

would feel a program to be a fetter. Should the preacher announce for next

Lord’s day a topic full of joy, requiring liveliness and exaltation of spirit, it

is very possible that he may, from various causes, find himself in a sad and

burdened state of mind; nevertheless he must put the new wine into his old

bottle, and go up to the wedding feast wearing his sackcloth and ashes, and

worst of all, this he may be bound to repeat for a whole month. Is this quite

as it should be? It is important that the speaker should be in tune with his

theme, but how is this to be secured unless the election of the topic is left

to influences which shall work at the time? A man is not a steam engine, to

run on metals, and it is unwise to fix him in one groove. Very much of the

preacher’s power will lie in his whole soul being in accord with the subject,

and I should be afraid to appoint a subject for a certain date lest, when the

time come, I should not be in the key for it. Besides, it is not easy to see

how a man can exhibit dependence upon the guidance of the Spirit of God,


when he has already prescribed his own route. Perhaps you will say, “That

is a singular objection, for why not rely upon him for twenty weeks as well

as for one?” True, but we have never had a promise to warrant such faith.

God promises to give us grace according to our days, but he says nothing

of endowing us with a reserve fund for the future.

“Day by day the manna fell;

Oh, to learn this lesson well!”

Even so will our sermons come to us, fresh from heaven, when required. I

am jealous of anything which should hinder your daily dependence upon

the Holy Spirit, and therefore I register the opinion already given. To you,

my younger brethren, I feel safe in saying with authority, leave ambitious

attempts at elaborate series of discourses to older and abler men. We have

but a small share of mental gold and silver, let us invest our little capital in

useful goods which will obtain a ready market, and leave the wealthier

merchants to deal in more expensive and cumbrous articles. We know not

what a day may bring forth — let us wait for daily teaching, and do nothing

which might preclude us from using those materials which providence may

today or tomorrow cast in our way.

Perhaps you will ask whether you should preach from texts which persons

select for you, and request you to preach upon! My answer would be as a

rule, never; and if there must be exceptions let them be few. Let me remind

you that you do not keep a shop to which customers may come and give

their orders. When a friend suggests a topic, think it over, and consider

whether it be appropriate, and see whether it comes to you with power.

Receive the request courteously, as you are in duty bound to do as a

gentleman and a Christian; but if the Lord whom you serve does not cast

his light upon the text, do not preach from it, let who may persuade you.

I am quite certain that if we will wait upon God for our subjects, and make

it a matter of prayer that we may be rightly directed, we shall be led forth

by a right way; but if we are puffed up with the idea that we can very easily

choose for ourselves, we shall find that even in the selection of a subject,

without Christ we can do nothing. Wait upon the Lord, hear what he

would speak, receive the word direct from God’s mouth, and then go forth

as an ambassador fresh from the court of heaven. “Wait, I say, on the





MANY writers upon Homiletics condemn in unmeasured terms even the

occasional spiritualizing of a text. F15 “Select texts,” say they, “which give a

plain, literal sense; never travel beyond the obvious meaning of the

passage; never allow yourself to accommodate or adapt; it is an artifice of

men of artificial culture, a trick of mountebanks, a miserable display of bad

taste and impudence.” Honor to whom honor is due, but I humbly beg

leave to dissent from this learned opinion, believing it to be more fastidious

than correct, more plausible than true. F16 A great deal of real good may be

done by occasionally taking forgotten, quaint, remarkable, out-of-the-way

texts; and I feel persuaded that if we appeal to a jury of practical,

successful preachers, who are not theorizers, but men actually in the field,

we shall have a majority in our favor. It may be that the learned rabbis of

this generation are too sublime and celestial to condescend to men of low

estate; but we who have no high culture, or profound learning, or

enchanting eloquence to boast of, have deemed it wise to use the very

method which the grandees have proscribed; for we find it one of the best

ways of keeping out of the rut of dull formality, and it yields us a sort of

salt with which to give flavor to unpalatable truth. Many great soulwinners

have felt it meet to give a fillip to their ministry, and to arrest their

people’s attention by now and then striking out a path which had not been

trodden heretofore. Experience has not taught them that they were in error,

but the reverse. Within limit, my brethren, be not afraid to spiritualize, or

to take singular texts. Continue to look out passages of Scripture, and not

only give their plain meaning, as you are bound to do, but also draw from

them meanings which may not lie upon their surface. Take the advice for

what it is worth, but I seriously recommend you to show the superfine

critics that everybody does not worship the golden image which they have;

set up. I counsel you to employ spiritualizing within certain limits and

boundaries, but I pray you do not, under cover of this advice, rush

headlong into incessant and injudicious “imaginings,” as George Fox would

call them. Do not drown yourselves because you are recommended to

bathe, or hang yourselves on an oak because tannin is described as a


valuable astringent. An allowable thing carried to excess is a vice, even as

fire is a good servant in the grate, but a bad master when raging in a

burning house. Too much even of a good thing surfeits and disgusts, and in

no case is this fact more sure than in the one before us.

I. The first canon to be observed is this — do not violently strain a text by

illegitimate spiritualizing. This is a sin against common sense. How

dreadfully the word of God has been mauled and mangled by a certain band

of preachers who have laid texts on the rack to make them reveal what

they never would have otherwise spoken. Mr. Slopdash, of whom Rowland

Hill tells us in his Village Dialogues, is but a type of a numerous

generation. That worthy is described as delivering himself of a discourse

upon, “I had three white baskets on my head,” from the dream of

Pharaoh’s baker, Upon this the “thrice-anointed ninny-hammer,” as a friend

of mine would call him, discoursed upon the doctrine of the Trinity! A dear

minister of Christ, a venerable and excellent brother, one of the most

instructive ministers in his county, told me that he missed one day a

laboring man and his wife from his chapel. He missed them again and

again, Sunday after Sunday, and one Monday, meeting the husband in the

street, he said to him, “Well, John, I have not seen you lately.” “No sir,”

was the reply, “We did not seem to profit under your ministry as we used

to do.” “Indeed, John, I am very sorry to hear it.” “Well, me and my missis

likes the doctrines of grace, and therefore we’ve gone to hear Mr. Bawler

lately.” “Oh! you mean the good man at the High Calvinist Meeting?”

“Yes, sir, and we are so happy; we get right good food there, sixteen

ounces to the pound. We were getting half starved under your ministry —

though I always shall respect you as a man, sir.” “All right, my friend; of

course you ought to go where you get good for your soul, I only hope it is

good; but what did you get last Sunday?” “Oh! we had a most refreshing

time, sir. In the morning we had — I don’t seem to like to tell you —

however, we had really a most precious time.” “Yes, but what was it,

John?” “Well, sir, Mr. Bawler led us blessedly into that passage, ‘Art thou

a man given to appetite? Put a knife to thy throat when thou sittest before

a ruler,” “Whatever did he make out of that.” “Well, sir, I can tell you what

he made out of it, but I should like to know first what you would have said

upon it.” “I don’t know, John; I don’t think I should have taken it at all,

but if I must have spoken about it, I should have said that a person given to

eating and drinking should take care what he was about when he was in the

presence of great men, or he would ruin himself. Gluttony even in this life


is ruinous.” “Ah!” said the man, “that is your dead-letter way of rendering

it. As I told my missis the other day, ever since we have been to hear Mr.

Bawler, the Bible has been opened up to us so that we can see a great deal

more in it than we used to do.” “Yes, but what did Mr. Bawler tell you

about his text?” “Well, he said a man given to appetite was a young

convert, who is sure to have a tremendous appetite for preaching, and

always wants food; but he ain’t always nice about what sort of food it is.”

“What next, John?” “He said that if the young convert went to sit before a

ruler — that is to say, a legal preacher, or a duty-faith man, it would be the

worse for him.” “But how about the knife, John?” “Well, sir, Mr. Bawler

said it was a very dangerous thing to hear legal preachers, it would be sure

to ruin the man; and he might just as well cut his throat at once, sir!” The

subject was, I suppose, the mischievous effects of young Christians

listening to any preachers but those of the hyper school; and the moral

drawn from it was, that sooner than this brother should go to hear his

former minister, he had better cut his throat! That was accommodating

considerably! Ye critics, we give over such dead horses as these to your

doggish teeth. Rend and devour as ye will, we will not upbraid. We have

heard of another performer who delivered his mind upon Proverbs 21:17.

“He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man: he that loveth wine and oil

shall not be rich.” The Proverbs are a favorite field for spiritualizers to

disport themselves withal. Our worthy disposed of the proverb in this

fashion: “ ‘He that loveth pleasure, that is, the Christian who enjoys the

means of grace, ‘shall be a poor man,’ that is, he shall be poor in spirit;

‘and he that loveth wine and oil;’ that is to say, rejoices in covenant

provisions, and enjoys the oil and wine of the gospel, ‘shall not be rich,’

that is, he shall not be rich in his own esteem;” showing the excellence of

those who are poor in spirit, and how they shall enjoy the pleasures of the

gospel — a very proper sentiment, but my carnal eyes fail to see it in the

text. You have all heard of William Huntingdon’s famous rendering of the

passage in Isaiah 11:8: “The sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp,

and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice’ den.” “ ‘The

sucking child,’ that is, the babe in grace, ‘shall play on the hole of the asp,’

‘the asp,’ that is, the Arminian: ‘the hole of the, asp,’ that is, the

Arminian’s mouth.” Then follows an account of the games in which simple

minds are more than a match for Arminian wisdom. Professors of the other

school of divinity have usually had the good sense not to return the

compliment, or the Antinomians might have found themselves ranked with

cockatrices, and their opponents boastfully defying them at the mouths of


their dens. Such abuse only injures those who use it. Theological

differences are better expounded and enforced than by such buffoonery.

Ludicrous results sometimes arise from sheer stupidity inflated with

conceit. One instance may suffice. A worthy minister told me the other day

that he had been preaching lately to his people upon the nine and twenty

knives of Ezra. I am sure he would handle these edged tools discreetly, but

I could not refrain from saying that I hoped he had not imitated the very

sage interpreter who saw in that odd number of knives a reference to the

four-and-twenty elders of the Apocalypse.

A passage in the Proverbs reads as follows: “For three things the earth is

disquieted, and for four which it cannot bear: for a servant when he

reigneth; and a fool when he is filled with meat: for an odious woman when

she is married; and an handmaid that is heir to her mistress.” A raving

spiritualizer declares that this is a sweet picture of the work of grace in the

soul, and shows what it is that disquiets Arminians, and sets them by the

ears. “ ‘A servant when he reigneth,’ that is, poor servants like ourselves, when

we are made to reign with Christ; ‘a fool when he is filled with meat,’ f17 that

is, poor foolish men like us, when we are fed with the finest of the wheat of

gospel truth; ‘an odious woman when she is married,’ that is, a sinner when

he is united to Christ; ‘A handmaid that is heir to her mistress,’ that is,

when we poor handmaids that were under the law, bondslaves, come into

the privileges of Sarah, and become heirs to our own mistress.”

These are a few specimens of ecclesiastical curiosities which are as

numerous and valuable as the relics which are every day gathered so

plentifully on the battle-field of Waterloo, and accepted by the more

verdant as priceless treasures. But we have surfeited you, and have no wish

to waste more of your time. From all such rank absurdity need you be

admonished to turn away! Such maunderings dishonor the Bible, are an

insult to the common-sense of the hearers, and a deplorable lowering of the

minister. This, however, is no more the spiritualizing which we recommend

to you than the thistle, in Lebanon is the cedar of Lebanon. Avoid that

childish trifling and outrageous twisting of texts which will make you a

wise man among fools, but a fool among wise men.

II. Our second is, never spiritualize upon indelicate subjects. It is needful

to say this, for the Slopdash family are never more at home than when they

speak in a way to crimson the cheek of modesty. There is a kind of beetle

which breeds in filth, and this creature has its prototype among men. Do I


not at this moment call to mind a savory divine who enlarged with

wonderful gusto and sensuous unction upon the concubine cut into ten

pieces: Greenacre himself could not have done it better. What abominable

things have been said upon some of the sterner and more horrifying similes

of Jeremiah and Ezekiel! Where the Holy Spirit is veiled and chaste, these

men have tom away the veil, and spoken as none but naughty tongues

would venture to do. I am not squeamish, indeed, far from it, but

explanations of the new birth by analogies suggested by a monthly nurse,

expositions of the rite of circumcision, and minute descriptions of married

life, would arouse my temper and make me feel inclined to command with

Jehu that the shameless one should be thrown down from the exalted

position disgraced by such brazen-faced impudence. F18 I know it is said,

“Honi soit qui mal y pense,” but I aver that no pure mind ought to be

subjected to the slightest breath of indelicacy from the pulpit. Caesar’s wife

must be without suspicion, and Christ’s ministers must be without speck in

their lives or stain in their speech. Gentlemen, the kissing and hugging

which some preachers delight in is disgusting: Solomon’s Song had better

be let alone than dragged in the mire as it often is. Young men especially

must be scrupulously, jealously modest and pure in word: an old man is

pardoned, I scarce know why, but a young man is utterly without excuse

should he overstep the strict line of delicacy.

III. Next, and thirdly, never spiritualize for the sake of showing what an

uncommonly clever fellow you are. Such an intention will be wicked, and

the method used will be foolish. Only an egregious simpleton will seek to

be noted for doing what nine men out of ten could do quite as well. A

certain probationer once preached a sermon upon the word “but,” thus

hoping to ingratiate himself with the congregation, who would, he thought,

be enraptured with the powers of a brother who could enlarge so

marvelously upon a mere conjunction. His subject appears to have been,

the fact that whatever there may be of good in a man’s character, or

admirable in a man’s position, there is sure to be some difficulty, some trial

in connection with us all: “Naaman was a great man with his master,

but…..” When the orator descended from the pulpit the deacons said,

“Well, sir, you have given us a singular sermon, but — you are not the man

for the place; that we can see very clearly.” Alas! for wit when it becomes

so common, and withal puts a weapon into the hand of its own adversaries!

Remember that spiritualizing is not such a wonderful display of ingenuity,

even if you are able to do it well, and that without discretion it is the most


ready method of revealing your egregious folly. Gentlemen, if you aspire to

emulate Origen in wild, daring, interpretations, it may be as well to read his

life and note attentively the follies into which even his marvelous mind was

drawn by allowing a wild fancy to usurp absolute authority over his

judgment; and if you set yourselves to rival the vulgar declaimers of a past

generation, let me remind you that the cap and bells do not now command

the same patronage as fell to their share a few years ago.

Our third caution is, never pervert Scripture to give it a novel and so-called

spiritual meaning, lest you be found guilty of that solemn curse with which

the roll of inspiration is guarded and closed. Mr. Cook, of Maidenhead, felt

himself obliged to separate from William Huntingdon because of his

making the seventh commandment to mean the Lord speaking to his Son

and saying, “Thou shalt not covet the devil’s wife, i.e., the non-elect.” One

can only say, horrible! Perhaps it would be an insult to your reason and

your religion to say, loathe the thought of such profanity. You instinctively

shrink from it.

Once more, in no case allow your audience to forget that the narratives

which you spiritualize are facts, and not mere myths or parables. The first

sense of the passage must never be drowned in the outflow of your

imagination; it must be distinctly declared and allowed to hold the first

rank; your accommodation of it must never thrust out the original and

native meaning, or even push it into the background. The Bible is not a

compilation of clever allegories or instructive poetical traditions; it teaches

literal facts and reveals tremendous realities: let your full persuasion of this

truth be manifest to all who attend your ministry. It will be an ill day for the

church if the pulpit should even appear to endorse the skeptical hypothesis

that Holy Scripture is but the record of a refined mythology, in which

globules of truth are dissolved in seas of poetic and imaginary detail.

However, there is a legitimate range for spiritualizing, or rather for the

particular gift which leads men to spiritualize. F19 For instance, you have

frequently been shown that the types yield ample scope for the exercise of a

sanctified ingenuity. Why need you go about to find “odious women” to

preach upon, when you have before you the tabernacle in the wilderness,

with all its sacred furniture, the burnt-offering, the peace-offering, and all

the various sacrifices which were offered before God? Why struggle for

novelties when the temple and all its glories are before you? F20 The largest

capacity for typical interpretation will find abundant employment in the


undoubted symbols of the Word of God, and it will be safe to enter upon

such an exercise, because the symbols are of divine appointment.

When you have exhausted all the Old Testament types, you have left to

you an heirloom of a thousand metaphors. Benjamin Keach, in his

laborious treatise, proves most practically what mines of truth lie concealed

in the metaphors of Scripture. His work, by the way, is open to much

criticism on the score of making metaphors run not only on all-fours, but

on as many legs as a centipede; but it does not deserve the condemnation

of Dr. Adam Clarke, when he says it has done more to debase the taste

both of preachers and people than any other work of the kind. A discreet

explanation of the poetical allusions of Holy Scripture will be most

acceptable to your people, and, with God’s blessing, not a little profitable.

But supposing you have expounded all the usually accepted types, and

have cast light upon the emblems and figurative expressions, must your

fancy and delight in similitudes go to sleep? By no means. When the

apostle Paul finds a mystery in Melchisedek, and speaking of Hagar and

Sarah, says, “Which things are an allegory,” he gives us a precedent for

discovering scriptural allegories in other places besides the two mentioned.

Indeed, the historical books not only yield us here and there an allegory,

but seem as a whole to be arranged with a view to symbolical teaching. A

passage from Mr. Andrew Jukes’ preface to his work on the types of

Genesis, will show how, without violence, a most elaborate theory may be

constructed by a devout mind: “As a base or ground for what is to follow,

we first are shown what springs from man, and all the different forms of

life, which either by nature or grace can grow out of the root of old Adam.

This is the book of Genesis. Then we see, that be it bad or good which has

come out of Adam, there must be redemption; so an elect people by the

blood of the Lamb are saved from Egypt. This is Exodus. After redemption

is known, we come to the experience of the elect as needing access, and

learning the way of it, to God the Redeemer in the sanctuary. This we get

in Leviticus. Then in the wilderness of this world, as pilgrims from Egypt,

the house of bondage, to the promised land beyond Jordan, the trials of the

journey are learnt, from that land of wonders and man’s wisdom to the land

flowing with milk and honey. This is the book of Numbers. Then comes the

desire to exchange the wilderness for the better land, from, entering which

for a season after redemption is known the elect yet shrink; answering to

the desire of the elect at a certain stage to know the power of the

resurrection, to live even now as in heavenly places. The rules and precepts


which must be obeyed, if this is to be done, come next. Deuteronomy, a

second giving of the law, a second cleansing, tells the way of progress.

After which Canaan is indeed reached. We go over Jordan: we know

practically the death of the flesh, and what it is to be circumcised, and to

roll away the reproach of Egypt. We know now what it is to be risen with

Christ, and to wrestle, not with flesh and blood, but with principalities and

powers in heavenly places. This is Joshua. Then comes the failure of the

elect in heavenly places, failure arising from making leagues with

Canaanites instead of overcoming them. This is Judges. After which the

different forms of rule, which the church may know, pass in review in the

books of Kings, from the first setting up of rule in Israel down to its

extinction, when for their sin the rule of Babylon supersedes that of the

elect. When this is known with all its shame, we see the remnants of the

elect, each according to its measure, doing what may be done, if possible,

to restore Israel; some, like Ezra, returning to build the temple, that is, to

restore the forms of true worship; and some coming up, like Nehemiah, to

build the wall, that is, to re-establish, by Gentile permission, a feeble

imitation of the ancient polity; while a third remnant in Esther is seen in

bonds, but faithful, providentially saved, though God’s name (and this is

characteristic of their state) never appears throughout the whole record.” I

should be far from recommending you to become as fanciful as the

ingenious author I have just quoted sometimes becomes, through the large

indulgence of his tendency to mysticism, but nevertheless, you will read the

Word with greatly increased interest if you are a sufficiently careful reader

to have noticed the general run of the books of the Bible, and their

consecutiveness as a system of types.

Then, too, the faculty which turns to spiritualizing will be well employed in

generalizing the great universal principles evolved by minute and separate

facts. This is an ingenious, instructive, and legitimate pursuit. Perhaps you

might not elect to preach upon, “Take it by the tail,” but the remark arising

from it is natural enough — “there is a way of taking everything.” Moses

took the serpent by the tail, so there is a mode of grasping our afflictions

and finding them stiffen in our hands into a wonder-working rod; there is a

way of holding the doctrines of grace, a way of encountering ungodly men,

and so on. In hundreds of scriptural incidents you may find great general

principles which may nowhere be expressed in so many words. Take the

following instances from Mr. Jay. From Psalm 74:14, “Thou brakest the

heads of leviathan in pieces, and gavest him to be meat to the people


inhabiting the wilderness,” he teaches the doctrine that the greatest foes of

God’s pilgrim people shall be slain, and the remembrance of the mercy shall

refresh the saints. From Genesis 35:8, “But Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse

died, and she was buried beneath Beth-el, under an oak: and the name of it

was called Allon-bachuth,” he discourses upon good servants, and the

certainty of death. Upon 2 Samuel 15:15, “And the king’s servants said

unto the king, Behold, thy servants are ready to do whatsoever my lord the

king shall appoint,” he shows that such language may with propriety be

adopted by Christians, and addressed to Christ. Should anyone take

exception to the form of spiritualizing which Mr. Jay so efficiently and

judiciously indulged in, he must be a person whose opinion need not sway

you in the least. After my own ability I have taken the liberty to do the

same, and the outlines of many sermons of the kind may be found in my

little work entitled “Evening by Evening,” and a less liberal sprinkling in its

companion, “Morning by Morning.”

A notable instance of a good sermon fixed upon a strained and unjustifiable

basis, is that of Everard, in his “Gospel Treasury” In the discourse upon

Joshua 15:16, 17, where the words are, “And Caleb said, He that smiteth

Kirjath-sepher, and taketh it, to him will I give Achsah my daughter to

wife. And Othniel the son of Kenaz:, the brother of Caleb, took it: and he

gave him Achsah his daughter to wife;” here the run of the preacher’s

utterance is based upon the translation of the Hebrew proper names, so

that he makes it read, “A good heart said, Whosoever smiteth and taketh

the city of the letter, to him will I give the rending of the veil; and Othniel

took it as being God’s fit time or opportunity, and he married Achsah, that

is, enjoyed the rending of the veil, and thereby had the blessing both of the

upper and nether springs.” Was there no other method of showing that we

are to search after the inner sense of Scripture, and not rest in the mere

words or letter of the Book?

The parables of our Lord in their expounding and enforcement afford the

amplest scope for a matured and disciplined fancy, and if these have all

passed before you, the miracles still remain, rich in symbolical teaching.

There can be no doubt that the miracles are the acted sermons of our Lord

Jesus Christ. You have his “word sermons” in his matchless teaching, and

his “deed sermons” in his peerless acts. Despite many doctrinal failures,

you will find Trench, on the miracles, most helpful in this direction. All our

Lord’s mighty works are full of teaching. Take the story of the healing of

the deaf and dumb man. The poor creature’s maladies are eminently


suggestive of man’s lost estate, and our Lord’s mode of procedure most

instructively illustrates the plan of salvation. “Jesus took him aside from the

multitude” — the soul must be made to feel its own personality and

individuality, and must be led into loneliness. He “put his fingers into his

ears,” the source of the mischief indicated; sinners are convinced of their

state. “And spat” — the gospel is a simple and a despised means, and the

sinner, in order to salvation, must humble himself to receive it. He

“touched his tongue,” further pointing out where the mischief lay — .our

sense of need grows on us. He “looked up to heaven” — Jesus reminded

his patient that all strength must come from above — a lesson which every

seeker must learn. “He sighed,” showing that the sorrows of the Healer are

the means of our healing. And then he said, “Ephphatha, Be opened” —

here was the effectual word of grace which wrought an immediate, perfect,

and lasting cure. From this one exposition learn all, and ever believe that

the miracles of Christ are a great picture gallery, illustrating his work

among the sons of men.

Let it be an instruction, however, to all who handle either the parables or

the metaphors, to be discreet. Dr. Gill is one whose name must ever be

mentioned with honor and respect in this house in which his pulpit still

stands, but his exposition of the parable of the Prodigal Son strikes me as

being sadly absurd in some points. The learned commentator tells us, “the

fatted calf” was the Lord Jesus Christ! Really, one shudders to see

spiritualizing come to this. Then also there is his exposition of the Good

Samaritan. The beast on which the wounded man was placed is again our

Lord Jesus, and the two pence which the Good Samaritan gave to the host,

are the Old and New Testament, or the ordinances of Baptism and the

Lord’s Supper.

Despite this caution, you may allow much latitude in spiritualizing to men

of rare poetical temperament, such as John Bunyan. Gentlemen, did you

ever read John Bunyan’s spiritualizing of Solomon’s Temple? It is a most

remarkable performance, and even when a little strained it is full of a

consecrated ingenuity. Take, for a specimen, one of his most far-fetched

explanations, and see if it can be improved. It is on “the Leaves of the Gate

of the Temple,” “The leaves of this gate or door, as I told you before, were

folding, and so as was hinted, have something of signification in them. For

by this means a man, especially a young disciple, may easily be mistaken;

thinking that the whole passage, when yet but a part, was open, whereas

three parts might be yet kept undiscovered to him. For these doors, as I


said before, were never yet set wide open, I mean in the antitype; never

man yet saw all the riches and fulness which is in Christ. So that I say, a

new comer, if he judged by present sight, especially if he saw but little,

might easily be mistaken, wherefore such for the most part are most

horribly afraid that they shall never get in thereat. How sayest thou, young

comer, is not this the case with thy soul? So it seems to thee that thou art

too big, being so great, so tun-bellied a sinner! But, O thou sinner, fear

not, the doors are folding-doors, and may be opened wider, and wider

again after that; wherefore when thou comest to this gate, and imaginest

that there is not space enough for time to enter, knock, and it shall be

wider opened unto thee, and thou shalt be received. Luke 11:9; John 6:37.

So then, whoever thou art, thou art come to the door of which the temple

door was a type, trust not to thy first conceptions of things, but believe

there is grace abundant. Thou knowest not yet what Christ can do, the

doors are folding-doors. He can ‘ do exceeding abundantly above all that

we can ask or think.’ Ephesians 3:20. The hinges on which these doors do

hang, were, as I told you, gold; to signify that they both turned upon

motives and motions of love, and also that the openings thereof were rich.

Golden hinges the gate to God doth turn upon. The posts on which these

doors did hang were of the olive tree, that fat and oily tree, to show that

they do never open with lothness, or sluggishness as doors do whose

hinges want oil. They are always oily, and so open easily and quickly to

those who knock at them. Hence you read that he that dwells in this house

gives freely, loves freely, and doth us good with all his heart. ‘Yea,’ saith

he, ‘I will rejoice over them to do them good, and I will plant them in this

land assuredly, with my whole heart, and with my whole soul.’ Jeremiah

3:12, 14, 22; Jeremiah 32:41; Revelation 21:6; Revelation 22:17.

Wherefore, the oil of grace, signified by this oily tree, or these olive-posts,

on which these doors do hang, do cause that they open glibly or frankly to

the soul.”

When Bunyan opens up the meaning of the doors being made of fir wood,

who but he would have said, “The fir tree is also the house of the stork,

that unclean bird, even as Christ is a harbor and shelter for sinners. As for

the stork, saith the text, the fir tree is her house; and Christ saith to the

sinners that see their want of shelter, ‘Come unto me, and I will give you

rest.’ He is a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in time of trouble.

Deuteronomy 14:18; Leviticus 11:19; Psalm 109:17; Psalm 74:2, 3;

Matthew 11:27, 28; Hebrews 6:17-20.” In his “House of the Forest of


Lebanon” he is still more puzzled, but works his way out as no other man

could have done. He finds the three rows of pillars of fifteen each to be an

enigma rather too deep for him, and gives it up, but not until he has made

some brave attempts upon it. Mr. Bunyan is the chief, and head, and lord

of all allegorists, and is not to be followed by us into the deep places of

typical and symbolical utterance. He was a swimmer, we are but mere

waders, and must not go beyond our depth.

I am tempted before I close this address to give a sketch or two of

spiritualizings which were familiar to me in my earliest days. I shall never

forget a sermon preached by an uneducated but remarkable man, who was

my near neighbor in the country. I had the notes of the discourse from his

own lips, and I trust they will remain as notes, and never be preached from

again in this world. The text was, “The night-hawk, the owl, and the

cuckoo.” That might not strike you as being exceedingly rich in matter; it

did not so strike me, and therefore I innocently inquired, “And what were

the heads?” He replied most archly, “Heads? why, wring the birds’ necks,

and there are three directly, the nighthawk, the owl, and the cuckoo.” He

showed that these birds were all unclean under the law, and were plain

types of unclean sinners. Night-hawks were persons who pilfered on the

sly, also people who adulterated their goods, and cheated their neighbors in

an underhand way without being suspected to be rogues. As for the owls,

they typified drunkards, who are always liveliest at night, while by day they

will almost knock their heads against a post because they are so sleepy.

There were owls also among professors. The owl is a very small bird when

he is plucked; he only looks big because he wears so many feathers; so,

many professors are all feathers, and if you could take away their boastful

professions there would be very little left of them. Then the cuckoos were

the church clergy, who always utter the same note whenever they open

their mouths in the church, and live on other birds’ eggs with their churchrates

and tithes. The cuckoos were also, I think, the free-willers, who were

always saying, “Do-do-do-do.” Was not this rather too much of a good

thing? Yet from the man who delivered it the sermon would not seem at all

remarkable or odd. The same venerable brother delivered a sermon equally

singular but far more original and useful; those who heard it will remember

it to their dying day. It was from this text: “The slothful man roasteth not

that which he took in hunting.” The good old man leaned upon the top of

the pulpit and said, “Then, my brethren, he was a lazy fellow!” That was

the exordium; and then he went on to say, “He went out a hunting, and


after much trouble he caught his hare, and then was too idle to roast it. He

was a lazy fellow indeed!” The good man made us all feel how ridiculous

such idleness was, and then he said, “But then you are very likely quite as

much to blame as this man, for you do just the same. You hear of a popular

minister coming down from London, and you put the horse in the cart, and

drive ten or twenty miles to hear him; and then when you have heard the

sermon you forget to profit by it. You catch the hare and do not roast it;

you go hunting after the truth, and then you do not receive it.” Then he

went on to show, that just as meat needs cooking to prepare it for

assimilation in the bodily system — I do not think he used that word

though — so the truth needs to go through a process before it can be

received into the mind so that we may feed thereon and grow. He said he

should show how to cook a sermon, and he did so most instructively. He

began as the cookery books do — “First catch your hare.” “So,” he said,

“first get a gospel sermon.” Then he declared that a great many sermons

were not worth hunting for, and that good sermons were mournfully

scarce, and it was worth while to go any distance to hear a solid, oldfashioned,

Calvinistic discourse. Then after the sermon had been caught,

there was much about it which might be necessary because of the

preacher’s infirmity, which was not profitable, and must be put away. Here

he enlarged upon discerning and judging what we heard, and not believing

every word of any man. Then followed directions as to roasting a sermon;

run the spit of memory through it from end to end, turn it round upon the

roasting-jack of meditation, before the fire of a really warm and earnest

heart, and in that way the sermon would be cooked and ready to yield real

spiritual nourishment. I do but give you the outline, and though it may look

somewhat laughable, it; was not so esteemed by the hearers. It was full of

allegory, and kept up the attention of the people from the beginning to the

end. “Well, my dear sir, how are you?” was my salutation to him one

morning, “I’m pleased to see you so well at your age.” “Yes, I am in fine

order for an old man, and hardly feel myself failing at all.” “I hope your

good health will continue for years to come, and that like Moses you will

go down to your grave with your eye undimmed and your natural force

unabated.” “All very fine,” said the old gentleman, “but in the first place,

Moses never went down to his grave at all, he went up to it; and in the next

place, what is the meaning of all you have been talking about? Why did not

the eye of Moses wax dim?” “I suppose, sir,” said I, very meekly, “that his

natural mode of life and quiet spirit had helped to preserve his faculties and

make him a vigorous old man.” “Very likely,” said he, “but that’s not what


I am driving at: what’s the meaning, the spiritual teaching of the whole

matter? Is it not just this: Moses is the law, and what a glorious end of the

law the Lord gave it on the mount of his finished work; how sweetly its

terrors are all laid to sleep with a kiss from God’s mouth! and, mark you,

the reason why the law no more condemns us is not because its eye is dim,

so that it cannot see our sins, or because its force is abated with which to

curse and punish; but Christ has taken it up to the mount and gloriously

made an end of it.” Such was his usual talk and such was his ministry.

Peace to his ashes. He fed sheep the first years of his life, and was a

shepherd of men the next, and, as he used to tell me, “found men by far the

more sheepish of the two.” The converts who found the road to heaven

under him were so many that, when we remember them, we are like those

who saw the lame man leaping through the word of Peter and John; they

were disposed to criticize, but “beholding the man that was healed standing

with Peter and John, they could say nothing against, it.”

With this I close, re-asserting the opinion, that guided by discretion and

judgment, we may occasionally employ spiritualizing with good effect to

our people; certainly we shall interest them and keep them awake.




OUR first rule with regard to the voice would be — do not think too much

about it, for recollect the sweetest voice is nothing without something to

say, and however well it may be managed, it will be like a well-driven cart

with nothing in it, unless you convey by it important and seasonable truths

to your people. Demosthenes was doubtless right, in giving a first, second,

and third place to a good delivery; but of what value will that be if a man

has nothing to deliver? A man with a surpassingly excellent voice who is

destitute of a well-informed head, and an earnest heart, will be “a voice

crying in the wilderness;” or, to use Plutarch’s expression, “Vox et

praeterea nihil.” Such a man may shine in the choir, but he is useless in the

pulpit. Whitfield’s voice, without his heart-power, would have left no more

lasting effects upon his hearers than Paganini’s fiddle. You are not singers

but preachers: your voice is but a secondary matter; do not be fops with it,

or puling invalids over it, as so many are. A trumpet need not be made of

silver, a ram’s-horn will suffice; but it must be able to endure rough usage,

for trumpets are for war’s conflicts, not for the drawing-rooms of fashion.

On the other hand, do not think too little of your voice, for its excellence

may greatly conduce to the result which you hope to produce. Plato, in

confessing the power of eloquence, mentions the tone of the speaker. “So

strongly,” says he, “does the speech and the tone of the orator ring in my

ears, that scarcely in the third or fourth day, do I recollect myself, and

perceive where on the earth I am; and for awhile I am willing to believe

myself living in the isles of the blessed.” Exceedingly precious truths may

be greatly matted by being delivered in monotonous tones. I once heard a

most esteemed minister, who mumbled sadly, compared to “a humble bee

in a pitcher,” a vulgar metaphor no doubt, but so exactly descriptive, that it

brings to my mind the droning sound at this instant most distinctly, and

reminds me of the parody upon Gray’s Elegy: —


“Now fades the glimmering subject from the sight,

And all the air a sleepy stillness holds,

Save where the parson hums his droning flight,

And drowsy tinklings lull the slumb’ring folds.”

What a pity that a man who from his heart delivered doctrines of

undoubted value, in language the most appropriate, should commit

ministerial suicide by harping on one string, when the Lord had given him

an instrument of many strings to play upon! Alas! alas! for that dreary

voice, it hummed and hummed like a mill-wheel to the same unmusical

turn, whether its owner spake of heaven or hell, eternal life or everlasting

wrath. It might be, by accident, a little louder or softer, according to the

length of the sentence, but its tone was still the same, a dreary waste of

sound, a howling wilderness of speech in which there was no possible

relief, no variety, no music, nothing but horrible sameness.

When the wind blows through the AEolian harp, it swells through all the

chords, but the heavenly wind, passing through some men, spends itself

upon one string, and that, for the most part, the most out of tune of the

whole. Grace alone could enable hearers to edify under the drum — drum

— drum of some divines. I think an impartial jury would bring in a verdict

of justifiable slumbering in many cases where the sound emanating from the

preacher lulls to sleep by its reiterated note. Dr. Guthrie charitably traces

the slumbers of a certain Scotch congregation, to bad ventilation in the

meeting-house; this has something to do with it, but a bad condition of the

valves of the preacher’s throat might be a still more potent cause. Brethren,

in the name of everything that is sacred, ring the whole chime in your

steeple, and do, not dun your people with the ding-dong of one poor

cracked bell.

When you do pay attention to the voice, take care not to fall into the

habitual and common affectations of the present day. Scarcely one man in

a dozen in the pulpit talks like a man. This affectation is not confined to

Protestants, for the Abbe Mullois remarks, “Everywhere else, men speak:

they speak at the bar and the tribune; but they no longer speak in the

pulpit, for there we only meet with a factitious and artificial language, and

a false tone. This style of speaking is only tolerated in the church, because,

unfortunately, it is so general there; elsewhere it would not be endured.

What would be thought of a man who should converse in a similar way in a

drawing-room? He would certainly provoke many a smile. Some time ago

there was a warder at the Pantheon — a good sort of fellow in his way —


who, in enumerating the beauties of the monument, adopted precisely the

tone of many of our preachers, and never failed thereby to excite the

hilarity of the visitors, who were as much amused with his style of address

as with the objects of interest which be pointed out to them. A man who

has not a natural and true delivery, should not be allowed to occupy the

pulpit; from thence, at least, everything that is false should be summarily

banished ....... In these days of mistrust everything that is false should be

set aside; and the best way of correcting one’s self in that respect, as

regards preaching, is frequently to listen to certain monotonous and

vehement preachers. We shall come away in such disgust, and with such a

horror of their delivery, that we shall prefer condemning ourselves to

silence rather than imitate them. The instant you abandon the natural and

the true, you forego the right to be believed, as well as the right of being

listened to.” You may go all round, to church and chapel alike, and you

will find that by far the larger majority of our preachers have a holy tone

for Sundays. They have one voice for the parlor and the bedroom, and

quite another tone for the pulpit; so that, if not double-tongued sinfully,

they certainly are so literally. The moment some men shut the pulpit door,

they leave their own personal manhood behind them, and become as

official as the parish beadle. There they might almost boast with the

Pharisee, that they are not as other men are, although it would be

blasphemy to thank God for it. No longer are they carnal and speak as

men, but a whine, a broken hum-haw, an ore rotundo, or some other

graceless mode of noise-making, is adopted, to prevent all suspicion of

being natural and speaking out of the abundance of the heart. When that

gown is once on, how often does it prove to be the shroud of the man’s

true self, and the effeminate emblem of officialism!

There are two or three modes of speech which I dare say you will

recognize as having frequently heard. That dignified, doctoral, inflated,

bombastic style, which I just now called the ore rotundo, is not quite so

common now as it used to be, but it is still admired by some.

(Unfortunately, the Lecturer could not here be reported by any known

form of letter-press, as he proceeded to read a hymn with a round, rolling,

swelling voice.) When a reverend gentleman was once blowing off steam in

this way, a man in the aisle said he thought the preacher “had swallowed a

dumpling,” but another whispered, “No, Jack, he ain’t swaller’d un; he’s

got un in his mouth a-wobblin.” I can imagine Dr. Johnson talking in that

fashion, at Bolt Court; and from men to whom it is natural it rolls with


Olympian grandeur, but in the pulpit away for ever with all imitation of it;

if it comes naturally, well and good, but to mimic it is treason to common

decency: indeed, all mimicry is in the pulpit near akin to an unpardonable


There is another style, at which I beseech you not to laugh. (Giving

another illustration.) A method of enunciation said to be very lady-like,

mincing, delicate, servant-girlified, dawdling, Dundrearyish, I know not

how else to describe it. We have, most of us, had the felicity of hearing

these, or some others, of the extensive genus of falsettos, high-stilts, and

affectations. I have heard many different varieties, from the fulness of the

Johnsonian to the thinness of the little genteel whisper; from the roaring of

the Bulls of Bashan up to the chip, chip, chip of a chaffinch. I have been

able to trace some of our brethren to their forefathers — I mean their

ministerial forefathers, from whom they first of all gathered these heavenly,

melodious, sanctified, in every way beautiful, but I must honestly add

detestable modes of speech. The undoubted order of their oratorical

pedigree is as follows: — Chip, which was the son of Lisp, which was the

son of Simper, which was the son of Dandy, which was the son of

Affectation; or Wobbler, which was the son of Grandiose, which was the

son of Pomposity, the same was the father of many sons. Understand, that

where even these horrors of sound are natural, I do not condemn them — .

let every creature speak in its own tongue; but the fact is, that in nine cases

out of ten, these sacred brogues, which I hope will soon be dead

languages, are unnatural and strained. I am persuaded that these tones and

semitones and monotones are Babylonian, that they are not at all the

Jerusalem dialect; for the Jerusalem dialect has this one distinguishing

mark, that it is a man’s own mode of speech, and is the same out of the

pulpit as it is in it. Our friend of the affected ore rotundo school was never

known to talk out of the pulpit as he does in, or to say in the parlor in the

same tone which he uses in the pulpit. “Will you be so good as to give me

another cup of tea; I take sugar, if you please.” He would make himself

ludicrous if he did so, but the pulpit is to be favored with the scum of his

voice, which the parlor would not tolerate. I maintain that the best notes a

man’s voice is capable of should be given to the proclamation of the

gospel, and these are such as nature teaches him to use in earnest

conversation. Ezekiel served his Master with his most musical and

melodious powers, so that the Lord said, “Thou art unto them as a very

lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an


instrument.” Although, this, alas! was of no use to Israel’s hard heart, as

nothing will be but the Spirit of God, yet it well became the prophet to

deliver the word of the Lord in the best style of voice and manner.

In the next place, if you have any idiosyncrasies of speech, which are

disagreeable to the ear, correct them, if possible. F21 It is admitted that this

is much more easy for the teacher to inculcate than for you to practice. Yet

to young men in the morning of their ministry, the difficulty is not

insuperable. Brethren from the country have a flavor of their rustic diet in

their mouths, reminding us irresistibly of the calves of Essex, the swine of

Berkshire, or the runts of Suffolk. Who can mistake the Yorkshire or

Somersetshire dialects, which are not merely provincial pronunciations, but

tones also? It would be difficult to discover the cause, but the fact is clear

enough, that in some counties of England men’s throats seem to be furred

up, like long-used teakettles, and in others, they ring like brass music, with

a vicious metallic sound. Beautiful these variations of nature may be in

their season and place, but my taste has never been able to appreciate them.

A sharp discordant squeak, like a rusty pair of scissors, is to be got rid of

at all hazards; so also is a thick, inarticulate utterance in which no word is

complete, but nouns, adjectives, and verbs are made into a kind of hash.

Equally objectionable is that ghostly speed in which a man talks without

using his lips, ventriloquising most horribly: sepulchral tones may fit a man

to be an undertaker, but Lazarus is not called out of his grave by hollow

moans. One of the surest ways to kill yourself is to speak from the throat

instead of the mouth. This misuse of nature will be terribly avenged by her;

escape the penalty by avoiding the offence. It may be well in this place to

urge you as soon as you detect yourself interposing hum-haw pretty

plentifully in your discourse, to purge yourself of the insinuating but

ruinous habit at once. There is no need whatever for it, and although those

who are now its victims may never be able to break the chain, you, who are

beginners in oratory, must scorn to wear the galling yoke. It is even needful

to say, open your mouths when you speak, for much of inarticulate

mumbling is the result of keeping the mouth half closed. It is not in vain

that the evangelists have written of our Lord, “He opened his mouth and

taught them.” Open wide the doors from which such goodly truth is to

march forth. Moreover, brethren, avoid the use of the nose as an organ of

speech, for the best authorities are agreed that it is intended to smell with.

Time was, when the nasal twang was the correct thing, but in this

degenerate age you had better obey the evident suggestion of nature, and


let the mouth keep to its work without the interference of the olfactory

instrument. Should an American student be present he must excuse my

pressing this remark upon his attention. Abhor the practice of some men,

who will not bring out the letter “r” such a habit is “vewy wuinous and

wediculous, vewy wetched and wepwehensible.” Now and then a brother

has the felicity to possess a most winning and delicious lisp. This is perhaps

among the least of evils, where the brother himself is little and winning,

but it would ruin any being who aimed at manliness and force. I can

scarcely conceive of Elijah lisping to Ahab, or Paul prettily chipping his

words on Mars’ Hill. There may be a peculiar pathos about a weak and

watery eye, and a faltering style; we will go further, and admit that where

these are the result of intense passion, they are sublime; but some possess

them by birth, and use them rather too freely: it is, to say the least,

unnecessary for you to imitate them. Speak as educated nature suggests to

you, and you will do well; but let it be educated, and not raw, rude,

uncultivated nature. Demosthenes took, as you know, unbounded pains

with his voice, and Cicero, who was naturally weak, made a long journey

into Greece to correct his manner of speaking. With far nobler themes, let

us not be less ambitious to excel. “Deprive me of everything else,” says

Gregory, of Nazianzen, “but leave me eloquence, and I shall never regret

the voyages which I have made in order to study it.”

Always speak so as to be heard. I know a man who weighs sixteen stone,

and ought to be able to be heard half-a-mile, who is so gracelessly indolent,

that in his small place of worship you can scarcely hear him in the front of

the gallery. What is the use of a preacher whom men cannot hear? Modesty

should lead a voiceless man to give place to others who are more fitted for

the work of proclaiming the messages of the King. Some men are loud

enough, but they are not distinct, their words overlap each other, play at

leap-frog, or trip each other up. Distinct utterance is far more important

than wind-power. Do give a word a fair chance, do not break its back in

your vehemence, or run it off its legs in your haste. It is hateful to hear a

big fellow mutter and whisper when his lungs are quite strong enough for

the loudest speech; but at the same time, let a man shout ever so lustily, he

will not be well heard unless he learns to push his words forward with due

space between. To speak too slowly is miserable work, and subjects active

minded hearers to the disease called the “horrors.” It is impossible to hear a

man who crawls along at a mile an hour. One word today and one

tomorrow is a kind of slow-fire which martyrs only could enjoy.


Excessively rapid speaking, tearing and raving into utter rant, is quite as

inexcusable; it is not, and never can be powerful, except with idiots, for it

turns what should be an army of words into a mob, and most effectually

drowns the sense in floods of sound. Occasionally, one hears an infuriated

orator of indistinct utterance, whose impetuosity hurries him on to such a

confusion of sounds, that at a little distance one is reminded of Lucan’s

lines: —

“Her gabbling tongue a muttering tone confounds,

Discordant and unlike to human sounds;

It seem’d of dogs the bark, of wolves the howl,

The doleful screeching of the midnight owl;

The hiss of snakes, the hungry lion’s roar,

The bound of billows beating on the shore;

The groan of winds among the leafy wood,

And burst of thunder from the rending cloud!

Twas these, all these in one.”

It is an infliction not to be endured twice, to hear a brother who mistakes

perspiration for inspiration, tear along like a wild horse with a hornet in his

ear till he has no more wind, and must needs pause to pump his lungs full

again; a repetition of this indecency several times in a sermon is not

uncommon, but is most painful. Pause soon enough to prevent that “hough

hough,” which rather creates pity for the breathless orator than sympathy

with the subject in hand. Your audience ought not to know that you

breathe at all — the process of respiration should be as unobserved as the

circulation of the blood. It is indecent to let the mere animal function of

breathing cause any hiatus in your discourse.

Do not as a rule exert your voice to the utmost in ordinary preaching.

Two or three earnest men, now present, are tearing themselves to pieces by

needless bawling; their poor lungs are irritated, and their larynx inflamed by

boisterous shouting, from which they seem unable to refrain. Now it is all

very well to “Cry aloud and spare not,” but “Do thyself no harm” is

apostolical advice. When persons can hear you with half the amount of

voice, it is as well to save the superfluous force for times when it may be

wanted. “Waste not, want not” may apply here as well as elsewhere. Be a

little economical with that enormous volume of sound. Do not give your

hearers head-aches when you mean to give them heart-aches: you aim to

keep them from sleeping in their pews, but remember that it is not needful

to burst the drums of their ears. “The Lord is not in the wind.” Thunder is


not lightning. Men do not hear in proportion to the noise created; in fact,

too much noise stuns the ear, creates reverberations and echoes, and

effectually injures the power of your sermons. Adapt your voice to your

audience; when twenty thousand are before you, draw out the stops and

give the full peal, but not in a room which will only hold a score or two.

Whenever I enter a place to preach, I unconsciously calculate how much

sound is needed to fill it, and after a few sentences my key is pitched. If

you can make the man at the end of the chapel hear, if you can see that he

is catching your thought, you may be sure that those nearer can hear you,

and no more force is needed, perhaps a little less will do — watch and see.

Why speak so as to be heard in the street when there is nobody there who

is listening to you? Whether in doors or out, see that the most remote

hearers can follow you, and that will be sufficient. By the way, I may

observe, that brethren should out of mercy to the weak, always attend

carefully to the force of their voices in sick rooms, and in congregations

where some are known to be very infirm. It is a cruel thing to sit down by a

sick man’s bed-side, and shout out “THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD.” If

you act so thoughtlessly, the poor man will say as soon as you are down

stairs, “Dear me! how my head aches. I am glad the good man is gone,

Mary; that is a very precious Psalm and so quiet like, but he read it out like

thunder and lightning, and almost stunned me!” Recollect, you younger

and unmarried men, that soft whispers will suit the invalid better than roll

of drum and culverin.

Observe carefully the rule to vary the force of your voice. The old rule

was, to begin very softly, gradually rise higher, and bring out your loudest

notes at the end. Let all such regulations be blown to pieces at the

cannon’s mouth; they are impertinent and misleading. Speak softly or

loudly, as the emotion of the moment may suggest, and observe no

artificial and fanciful rules. Artificial rules are an utter abomination. As M.

de Cormorin satirically puts it, “Be impassioned, thunder, rage, weep, up

to the fifth word, of the third sentence, of the tenth paragraph, of the tenth

leaf. How easy that would be! Above all, how very natural!” In imitation of

a popular preacher, to whom it was unavoidable, a certain minister was

accustomed in the commencement of his sermon to speak in so low a key,

that no one could possibly hear him. Everybody leaned forward, fearing

that something good was being lost in the air, but their straining was in

vain, a holy mutter was all they could discern. If the brother could not have

spoken out none should have blamed him, but it was a most absurd thing to


do this when in a short time he proved the power of his lungs by filling the

whole structure by sonorous sentences. If the first half of his discourse was

of no importance, why not omit it? and if of any value at all, why not

deliver it distinctly? Effect, gentlemen, that was the point aimed at; he

knew that one who spake in that fashion had produced great effects, and he

hoped to rival him. If any of you dare commit such a folly for such a

detestable object, I heartily wish you had never entered this Institution. I

tell you most seriously, that the thing called “effect,” is hateful, because it

is untrue, artificial, tricky, and therefore despicable. Never do anything for

effect, but scorn the stratagems of little minds, hunting after the approval

of connoisseurs in preaching, who are a race as obnoxious to a true

minister as locusts to the Eastern husbandman. But I digress: be clear and

distinct at the very first. Your exordia are too good to be whispered to

space. Speak them out boldly, and command attention at the very outset by

your manly tones. Do not start at the highest pitch as a rule, for then you

will not be able to rise when you warm with the work; but still be

outspoken from the first. Lower the voice when suitable even to a whisper;

for soft, deliberate, solemn utterances are not only a relief to the ear, but

have a great aptitude to reach the heart. Do not be afraid of the low keys,

for if you throw force into them they are as well heard as the shouts. You

need not speak in a loud voice in order to be heard well. Macaulay says of

William Pitt, “His voice, even when it sank to a whisper, was heard to the

remotest benches of the House of Commons.” It has been well said that the

most noisy gun is not the one which carries a ball the furthest: the crack of

a rifle is anything but noisy. It is not the loudness of your voice, it is the

force which you put into it that is effective. I am certain that I could

whisper so as to be heard throughout every corner of our great Tabernacle,

and I am equally certain that I could holloa and shout so that nobody could

understand me. The thing could be done here, but perhaps the example is

needless, as I fear some of you perform the business with remarkable

success. Waves of air may dash upon the ear in such rapid succession that

they create no translatable impression on the auditory nerve. Ink is

necessary to write with, but if you upset the ink bottle over the sheet of

paper, you convey no meaning thereby, so is it with sound; sound is the

ink, but management is needed, not quantity, to produce an intelligible

writing upon the ear. If your sole ambition be to compete with —

“Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs,

Whose throat surpass’d the force of fifty tongues,”


then bawl yourselves into Elysium as rapidly as possible, but if you wish to

be understood, and so to be of service, shun the reproach of being

“impotent and loud.” You are aware that shrill sounds travel the farthest:

the singular cry which is used by travelers in the wilds of Australia, owes

its remarkable power to its shrillness. A bell will be heard much farther off

than a drum; and, very singularly, the more musical a sound is the farther it

travels. It is not the thumping of the piano which is needed, but the

judicious sounding of the best keys. You will therefore feel at liberty to

ease the strain very frequently in the direction of loudness, and you will be

greatly relieving both the ears of the audience and your own lungs. Try all

methods, from the sledge-hammer to the puff-ball. Be as gentle as a zephyr

and as furious as a tornado. Be, indeed, just what every common-sense

person is in his speech when he talks naturally, pleads vehemently,

whispers confidentially, appeals plaintively, or publishes distinctly.

Next to the moderation of lung-force, I should place the rule, modulate

your tones. Alter the key frequently and vary the strain constantly. Let the

bass, the treble, and the tenor, take their turn. I beseech you to do this out

of pity to yourself and to those who hear you. God has mercy upon us and

arranges all things to meet our cravings for variety; let us have mercy upon

our fellow creatures, and not persecute them with the tedium of sameness.

It is a most barbarous thing to inflict upon the tympanum of a poor fellow

creature’s ear the anguish of being bored and gimbleted with the same

sound for half an hour. What swifter mode of rendering the mind idiotic or

lunatic could be conceived than the perpetual droning of a beetle, or

buzzing of a blue-bottle, in the organ of hearing? What dispensation have

you by which you are to be tolerated in such cruelty to the helpless victims

who sit under your drum-drum ministrations? Kind nature frequently

spares the drone’s unhappy victims the full effect of his tortures by

steeping them in sweet repose. This, however, you do not desire; then

speak with varied voice. How few ministers remember that monotony

causes sleep. I fear the charge brought by a writer in the “Imperial Review”

is true to the letter of numbers of my brethren. “We all know how the noise

of running water, or the murmur of the sea, or the sighing of the south

wind among the pines, or the moaning of wood-doves, induces a delicious

dreamy languor. Far be it from us to say that the voice of a modern divine

resembles, in the slightest degree, any of these sweet sounds, yet the effect

is the same, and few can resist the drowsy influences of a lengthy

dissertation, delivered without the slightest variation of tone or alteration


of expression. Indeed, the very exceptional use of the phrase ‘an

awakening discourse,’ even by those most familiar with such matters,

conveys the implication that the great majority of pulpit harangues are of a

decidedly soporific tendency. It is an ill case when the preacher

Leaves his hearers perplex’d —

Twixt the two to determine:

‘Watch and pray,’ says the text,

‘Go to sleep,’ says the sermon.”

However musical your voice may be in itself, if you continue to sound the

same chord perpetually, your hearers will perceive that its notes are by

distance made more sweet. Do in the name of humanity cease intoning and

take to rational speaking. Should this argument fail to move you, I am so

earnest about this point, that if you will not follow my advice out of mercy

to your hearers, yet do it out of mercy to yourselves; for as God in his

infinite wisdom has been pleased always to append a penalty to every sin

against his natural as well as moral laws, so the evil of monotony is

frequently avenged by that dangerous disease called dysphonia clericorum,

or, “Clergyman’s sore throat.” When certain of our brethren are so beloved

by their hearers that they do not object to pay a handsome sum to get rid of

them for a few months, when a journey to Jerusalem is recommended and

provided for, bronchitis of a modified order is so remarkably overruled for

good, that my present argument will not disturb their equanimity; but such

is not our lot, to us bronchitis means real misery, and therefore, to avoid it,

we would follow any sensible suggestion. If you wish to ruin your throats

you can speedily do so, but if you wish to preserve them, note what is now

laid before you. I have often in this room compared the voice to a drum. If

the drummer should always strike in one place on the head of his drum, the

skin would soon wear into a hole; but how much longer it would have

lasted him if he had varied his thumping and had used the entire surface of

the drum-head! So it is with a man’s voice. If he uses always the same

tone, he will wear a hole in that part of the throat which is most exercised

in producing that monotony, and very soon he will suffer from bronchitis. I

have heard surgeons affirm, that Dissenting bronchitis differs from the

Church of England article. There is an ecclesiastical twang which is much

admired in the Establishment, a sort of steeple-in-the-throat grandeur, an

aristocratic, theologic, parsonic, supernatural, infra-human mouthing of

language and rolling over of words. It may be illustrated by the following

specimen. “He that hath yaws to yaw let him yaw,” which is a remarkable,


if not impressive, rendering of a Scripture text. Who does not know the

hallowed way of pronouncing — “Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture

moveth us in divers places”? It rolls in my ears now like Big Ben —

coupled with boyish memories of monotonous peals of “The Prince Albert,

Albert Prince of Wales, and all the Royal Family .... Amen.” Now, if a man

who talks so unnaturally does not get bronchitis, or some other disease, I

can only say that throat diseases must be very sovereignly dispensed. At

the Nonconformist hobbies of utterance I have already struck a blow, and I

believe it is by them that larynx and lungs become delicate, and good men

succumb to silence and the grave. Should you desire my authority for the

threat which I have held out to you, I shall give you the opinion of Mr.

Macready, the eminent tragedian, who, since he looks at the matter from

an impartial but experimental standpoint, is worthy of a respectful hearing.

“Relaxed throat is usually caused, not so much by exercising the organ, as

by the kind of exercise; that is, not so much by long or loud speaking, as by

speaking in a feigned voice. I am not sure that I shall be understood in this

statement, but there is not one person in, I may say, ten thousand, who in

addressing a body of people, does so in his natural voice; and this habit is

more especially observable in the pulpit. I believe that relaxation of the

throat results from violent efforts in these affected tones, and that severe

irritation, and often ulceration, is the consequence. The labor of a whole

day’s duty in a church is nothing, in point of labor, compared with the

performance of one of Shakespeare’s leading characters, nor I should

suppose, with any of the very great displays made by our leading statesmen

in the Houses of Parliament; and I feel very certain that the disorder, which

you designate as ‘Clergyman’s sore throat,’ is attributable generally to the

mode of speaking, and not to the length of time or violence of effort that

may be employed. I have known several of my former contemporaries on

the stage suffer from sore throat, but I do not think, among those eminent

in their art, that it could be regarded as a prevalent disease.” Actors and

barristers have much occasion to strain their vocal powers, and yet there is

no such thing as a counsel’s sore throat, or a tragedian’s bronchitis; simply

because these men dare not serve the public in so slovenly a manner as

some preachers serve their God. Samuel Fenwick, Esq., M.D. in a popular

treatise upon “Diseases of the Throat and Lungs,” f22 has most wisely said,

“From what was stated respecting the physiology of the vocal chords, it

will be evident that continued speaking in one tone is much more fatiguing

than frequent alterations in the pitch of the voice; because by the former,

one muscle or set of muscles alone is strained, whilst by the latter, different


muscles are brought into action, and thus relieve one another. In the same

way, a man raising his arm at right angles to his body, becomes fatigued in

five or ten minutes, because only one set of muscles has to bear the weight;

but these same muscles can work the whole day if their action is alternated

with that of others. Whenever, therefore, we hear a clergyman droning

through the church service, and in the same manner and tone of voice

reading, praying, and exhorting, we may be perfectly sure that he is giving

ten times more labor to his vocal chords than is absolutely necessary.”

This may be the place to reiterate an opinion which I have often expressed

in this place, of which I am reminded by the author whom I have quoted. If

ministers would speak oftener, their throats and lungs would be less liable

to disease. Of this I am quite sure; it is matter of personal experience and

wide observation, and I am confident that I am not mistaken. Gentlemen,

twice a week preaching is very dangerous, but I have found five or six

times healthy, and even twelve or fourteen not excessive. A costermonger

set to cry cauliflowers and potatoes one day in the week, would find the

effort most laborious, but when he for six successive days fills streets and

lanes and alleys with his sonorous din, he finds no dysphonia pomariorum,

or, “Costermonger’s sore throat,” laying him aside from his humble toils. I

was pleased to find my opinion, that infrequent preaching is the root of

many diseases, thus plainly declared by Dr. Fenwick. “All the directions

which have been here laid down will, I believe, be ineffectual without

regular daily practice of the voice. Nothing seems to have such a tendency

to produce this disease as the occasional prolonged speaking, alternating

with long intervals of rest, to which clergymen are more particularly

subject. Any one giving the subject a moment’s consideration will readily

understand this. If a man, or any other animal, be intended for any unusual

muscular exertion, he is regularly exercised in it, day by day, and labor is

thus rendered easy which otherwise it would be almost impossible to

execute. But the generality of the clerical profession undergo a great

amount of muscular exertion in the way of speaking only on one day of the

week, whilst in the remaining six days they scarcely ever raise their voice

above the usual pitch. Were a smith or a carpenter thus occasionally to

undergo the fatigue connected with the exercise of his trade, he would not

only be quite unfitted for it, but he would lose the skill he had acquired.

The example of the most celebrated orators the world has seen proves the

advantages of regular and constant practice of speaking; and I would on

this account, most strongly recommend all persons subject to this


complaint to read aloud once or twice a day, using the same pitch of voice

as in the pulpit, and paying especial attention to the position of the chest

and throat, and to clear and proper articulation of the words.” Mr. Beecher

is of the same opinion, for he remarks, “Newsboys show what out-of-door

practice will do for a man’s lungs. What would, the pale and feeblespeaking

minister do who can scarcely make his voice reach two hundred

auditors if he were set to cry newspapers? Those New York newsboys

stand at the head of a street, and send down their voices through it, as an

athletic would roll a ball down an alley. We advise men training for

speaking professions to peddle wares in the streets for a little time. Young

ministers might go into partnership with newsboys awhile, till they got their

mouths open and their larynx nerved and toughened.”

Gentlemen, a needful rule is — always suit your voice to your matter. Do

not be jubilant over a doleful subject, and on the other hand, do not drag

heavily where the tones ought to trip along merrily, as though they were

dancing to the tune of the angels in heaven. This rule I shall not enlarge

upon, but rest assured it is of the utmost importance, and if obediently

followed, will always secure attention, provided your matter is worth it.

Suit your voice to your matter always, and, above all, in everything be

natural f23 Away for ever with slavish attention to rules and models. Do

not imitate other people’s voices, or, if from an unconquerable propensity

you must follow them, emulate every orator’s excellencies, and the evil will

be lessened. I am myself, by a kind of irresistible influence, — drawn to be

an imitator, so that a journey to Scotland or Wales will for a week or two

materially affect my pronunciation and tone. Strive against it I do, but there

it is, and the only cure I know of is to let the mischief die a natural death.

Gentlemen, I return to my rule — use your own natural voices. Do not be

monkeys, but men; not parrots, but men of originality in all things. It is said

that the most becoming way for a man to wear his beard is that in which it

grows, for both in color and form it will suit his face. Your own modes of

speech will be most in harmony with your methods of thought and your

own personality. The mimic is for the playhouse, the cultured man in his

sanctified personality is for the sanctuary. I would repeat this rule till I

wearied you if I thought you would forget it; be natural, be natural, be

natural evermore. An affectation of voice, or an imitation of the manner of

Dr. Silvertongue, the eminent divine, or even of a well beloved tutor or

president will inevitably ruin you. I charge you throw away the servility of

imitation and rise to the manliness of originality.


We are bound to add — endeavor to educate your voice. Grudge no pains

or labor in achieving this, for as it has been well observed, “However

prodigious may be the gifts of nature to her elect, they can only be

developed and brought to their extreme perfection by labor and study.”

Think of Michael Angelo working for a week without taking off his

clothes, and Handel hollowing out every key of his harpsichord, like a

spoon, by incessant practice. Gentlemen, after this, never talk of difficulty

or weariness. It is almost impossible to see the utility of Demosthenes’

method of speaking with stones in his mouth, but any one can perceive the

usefulness of his pleading with the boisterous billows, that he might know

how to command a hearing amidst the uproarious assemblies of his

countrymen; and in his speaking as he ran up hill that his lungs might

gather force from laborious use the reason is as obvious as the self-denial is

commendable. We are bound to use every possible means to perfect the

voice by which we are to tell forth the glorious gospel of the blessed God.

Take great care of the consonants, enunciate every one of them clearly;

they are the features and expression of the words. Practice indefatigably till

you give every one of the consonants its due; the vowels have a voice of

their own, and therefore they can speak for themselves. In all other matters

exercise a rigid discipline until you have mastered your voice, and have it in

hand like a well-trained steed. Gentlemen with narrow chests are advised

to use the dumb-bells every morning, or better still, those clubs which the

College has provided for you. You need broad chests, and must do your

best to get them. Do not speak with your hands in your waistcoat pockets

so as to contract your lungs, but throw the shoulders back as public singers

do. Do not lean over a desk while speaking, and never hold the head down

on the breast while preaching. Upward rather than downward let the body

bend. Off with all tight cravats and button-up waistcoats; leave room for

the full play of the bellows and the pipes. Observe the statues of the Roman

or Greek orators, look at Raphael’s picture of Paul, and, without

affectation, fall naturally into the graceful and appropriate attitudes there

depicted, for these are best for the voice. Get a friend to tell you your

faults, or better still, welcome an enemy who will watch you keenly and

sting you savagely, What a blessing such an irritating critic will be to a wise

man, what an intolerable nuisance to a fool! Correct yourself diligently and

frequently, or you will fall into errors unawares, false tones will grow, and

slovenly habits will form insensibly; therefore criticize yourself with

unceasing care. Think nothing little by which you may be even a little more

useful. But, gentlemen, never degenerate in this business into pulpit fops,


who think gesture and voice to be everything. I am sick at heart when I

hear of men taking a whole week to get up a sermon, much of the getting

up consisting in repeating their precious productions before a glass! Alas!

for this age, if graceless hearts are to be forgiven for the sake of graceful

manners. Give us all the vulgarities of the wildest back-woods’ itinerant

rather than the perfumed prettinesses of effeminate gentility. I would no

more advise you to be fastidious with your voices than I would recommend

you to imitate Rowland Hill’s Mr. Taplash with his diamond ring, his

richly-scented pocket handkerchief, and his eyeglass. Exquisites are out of

place in the pulpit, they should be set up in a tailor’s window, with a ticket,

“This style complete, including MSS., £10 10s.”

Perhaps here may be the place to observe, that it were well if all parents

were more attentive to the teeth of their children, since faulty teeth may

cause serious damage to a speaker. There are men, whose articulation is

faulty, who should at once consult the dentist, I mean, of course, a

thoroughly scientific and experienced one; for a few false teeth or some

other simple arrangement would be a permanent blessing to them. My own

dentist very sensibly remarks in his circular, “When a portion or the whole

of the teeth are lost, a contraction of the muscles of the face and throat

follows, the other organs of the voice which have been accustomed to the

teeth are impaired, and put out of their common play, producing a break,

languor, or depression, as in a musical instrument which is deficient in a

note. It is vain to expect perfect symphony, and proportional and

consistent accent on the key, tone, and pitch of the voice, with deficiencies

in its organs, and of course the articulation becomes defective; such defect

adds much to the labor of speaking, to say the least, and in most cases

lisping, a too hasty or sudden drop, or a faint delivery, is the result; from

more serious deficiencies a mumbling and clattering is almost sure to

follow.” Where this is the mischief, and the cure is within reach, we are

bound for our works’ sake to avail ourselves of it. Teeth may seem

unimportant, but be it remembered, that nothing is little in so great a calling

as ours. I shall in succeeding remarks mention even smaller matters, but it

is with the deep impression that hints upon insignificant things may be of

unknown value in saving you from serious neglects or gross errors.

Lastly, I would say with regard to your throats — take care of them. Take

care always to clear them well when you are about to speak, but do not be

constantly clearing them while you are preaching. A very esteemed brother

of my acquaintance always talks in this way — “My dear friends — hem —


hem — this is a most — hem — important subject which I have now —

hem — hem — to bring before you, and — hem — hem — I have to call

upon you to give me — hem — hem — your most serious — hem —

attention.” F24 Avoid this most zealously. Others, from want of clearing the

throat, talk as if they were choked up, and were just about to expectorate;

it were far better to do so at once than to sicken the hearer by repeated

unpleasant sounds. Snuffling and sniffing are excusable enough when a

man has a cold, but they are extremely unpleasant, and when they become

habitual, they ought to be indicted under the “Nuisances Act.” Pray excuse

me, it may appear vulgar to mention such things, but your attention to the

plain and free observations made in this lecture room may save many

remarks at your expense hereafter.

When you have done preaching take care of your throat by never wrapping

it up tightly. From personal experience I venture with some diffidence to

give this piece of advice. If any of you possess delightfully warm woolen

comforters, with which there may be associated the most tender

remembrances of mother or sister, treasure them — treasure them in the

bottom of your trunk, but do not expose them to any vulgar use by

wrapping them round your necks. If any brother wants to die of influenza

let him wear a warm scarf round his neck, and then one of these nights he

will forget it, and catch such a cold as will last him the rest of his natural

life. You seldom see a sailor wrap his neck up. No, he always keeps it bare

and exposed, and has a turn-down collar, and if he has a tie at all, it is but a

small one loosely tied, so that the wind can blow all round his neck. In this

philosophy I am a firm believer, having never deviated from it for these

fourteen years, and having before that time been frequently troubled with

colds, but very seldom since. If you feel that you want something else,

why, then grow your beards! A habit most natural, scriptural, manly, and

beneficial. One of our brethren, now present, has for years found this of

great service. He was compelled to leave England on account of the loss of

his voice, but he has become as strong as Samson now that; his locks are

unshorn. If your throats become affected consult a, good physician, or if

you cannot do this, give what attention you please to the following hint.

Never purchase “Marsh-mallow Rock,” “Cough-no-more Lozenges,”

“Pulmonic Wafers,” Horehound, Ipecacuanha, or any of the ten thousand

emollient compounds. They may serve your turn for a time by removing

present uneasiness, but they ruin the throat by their laxative qualities; If

you wish to improve your throat take a good share of pepper — good


Cayenne pepper, and other astringent substances, as much as your stomach

can bear, do not go beyond that, because you must recollect that you have

to take care of your stomach as well its your throat, and if the digesting

apparatus be out of order, nothing can be right. Common sense teaches

you that astringents must be useful. Did you ever hear of a tanner making a

piece of hide into leather by laying it to soak in sugar? Neither would tolu,

ipecacuanha, or treacle serve his purpose, but the very reverse; if he wants

to harden and strengthen the skin, he places it in a solution of oak-bark, or

some astringent substance which draws the material together and

strengthens it. When I began to preach at Exeter Hall my voice was weak

for such a place — as weak as the usual run of voices, and it had frequently

failed me altogether in street preaching, but in Exeter Hall (which is an

unusually difficult place to preach in, from its excessive width in proportion

to its length), I always had a little glass of Chili vinegar and water just in

front of me, a draught of which appeared to give a fresh force to the

throat, whenever it grew weary and the voice appeared likely to break

down. When my throat becomes a little relaxed I usually ask the cook to

prepare me a basin of beef-tea, as strong with pepper as can be borne, and

hitherto this has been a sovereign remedy. However, as I am not qualified

to practice in medicine, you will probably pay no more attention to me in

medical matters than to any other quack. My belief is that half the

difficulties connected with the voice in our early days will vanish as we

advance in years, and find in use a second nature. I would encourage the

truly earnest to persevere; if they feel the Word of the Lord like fire in their

bones, even stammering may be overcome, and fear, with all its paralyzing

results, may be banished. Take heart, young brother, persevere, and God,

and nature, and practice, will help you.

I shall not detain you longer, but express the hope that your chest, lungs,

windpipe, larynx, and all your vocal organs may last you till you have

nothing more to say.




OUR subject is one which I find scarcely ever noticed in any books upon

homiletics — a very curious fact, for it is a most important matter, and

worthy of more than one chapter. I suppose the homiletical savans

consider that their entire volumes are seasoned with this subject, and that

they need not give it to us in lumps, because, like sugar in tea, it flavors the

whole. That overlooked topic is, How TO OBTAIN AND RETAIN THE

ATTENTION OF OUR HEARERS. Their attention must be gained, or nothing

can be done with them: and it must be retained, or we may go on wordspinning,

but no good will come of it.

Over the head of military announcements our English officers always place

the word “ATTENTION!” in large capitals, and we need some such word

over all our sermons. We need the earnest, candid, wakeful, continued

attention of all those who are in the congregation. If men’s minds are

wandering far away they cannot receive the truth, and it is much the same

if they are inactive. Sin cannot be taken out of men, as Eve was taken out

of the side of Adam, while they are fast asleep. They must be awake,

understanding what we are saying, and feeling its force, or else we may as

well go to sleep too. There are preachers who care very little whether they

are attended to or not; so long as they can hold on through the allotted

time it is of very small importance to them whether their people hear for

eternity, or hear in vain: the sooner such ministers sleep in the churchyard

and preach by the verse on their gravestones the better. Some brethren

speak up the ventilator, as if they sought the attention of the angels; and

others look down upon their book as if they were absorbed in thought, or

had themselves for an audience, and felt much honored thereby. Why do

not such brethren preach on the prairie and edify the stars? If their

preaching has no reference to their hearers they might do so with evident

propriety; if a sermon be a soliloquy, the more lonely the performer the

better. To a rational preacher (and all are not rational) it must seem

essential to interest all his audience, from the eldest to the youngest. We

ought not to make even children inattentive. “Make them inattentive,” say


you, “who does that?” I say that most preachers do; and when children are

not quiet in a meeting it is often as much our fault as theirs. Can you not

put in a little story or parable on purpose for the little ones? Can you not

catch the eye of the boy in the gallery, and the little girl downstairs, who

have begun to fidget, and smile them into order? I often talk with my eyes

to the orphan boys at the foot of my pulpit. We want all eyes fixed upon us

and all ears open to us. To me it is an annoyance if even a blind man does

not look at me with his face. If I see anybody turning round, whispering,

nodding, or looking at his watch, I judge that I am not up to the mark, and

must by some means win these minds. Very seldom have I to complain, and

when I do, my general plan is to complain of myself, and own that I have

no right to attention unless I know how to command it.

Now, there are some congregations whose attention you do not readily

gain, they do not care to be interested. It is useless to scold them; that will

be like throwing a bush at a bird to catch it. The fact is, that in most cases

there is another person whom you should, scold, and that is yourself. It

may be their duty to attend, but it is far more your duty to make them do

so. You must attract the fish to your hook, and if they do not come you

should blame the fisherman and not the fish. Compel them to stand still a

while and hear what God the Lord would speak to their souls. The minister

who recommended the old lady to take snuff in order to keep from dozing

was very properly rebuked by her reply, — that if he would put more snuff

into the sermon she would be awake enough. We must plentifully cast snuff

into the sermon, or something yet more awakening. Recollect that to some

of our people it is not so easy to be attentive; many of them are not

interested in the matter, and they have not felt enough of any gracious

operation on their hearts to make them confess that the gospel is of any

special value to them. Concerning the Savior whom you preach you may

say to them, —

“Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by,

Is it nothing to you that Jesus should die?”

Many of them have through the week been borne down by the press of

business cares. They ought to roll their burden on the Lord; but do you

always do so? Do you always find it easy to escape from anxieties? Are you

able to forget the sick wife and the ailing children at home? There is no

doubt whatever that many come into the house of God loaded heavily with

the thoughts of their daily avocations. The farmer recollects the fields that


are to be ploughed or to be sown; it is a wet Sunday, and he is reflecting

upon the yellow look of the young wheats. The merchant sees that

dishonored bill fluttering before his eyes, and the tradesman counts over his

bad debts. I should not wonder if the colors of the ladies’ ribbons and the

creak of the gentlemen’s boots, disturb many. There are troublesome flies

about, you know: Beelzebub, the god of flies, takes care that wherever

there is a gospel feast the guests should be worried with petty annoyances.

Often mental mosquitoes sting the man while you are preaching to him, and

he is thinking more of trifling distractions than of your discourse; is it so

very wonderful that he does? You must drive the mosquitoes away, and

secure your people’s undistracted thoughts, turning them out of the

channel in which they have been running six days into one suitable for the

Sabbath. You must have sufficient leverage in your discourse and its

subject to lift them right up from the earth to which they cleave, and to

elevate them a little nearer heaven.

Frequently it is very difficult for congregations to attend, because of the

place and the atmosphere. For instance, if the place is like this room at

present, sealed against the pure air, with every window closed, they have

enough to do to breathe, and cannot think of anything else: when people

have inhaled over and over again the air which has been in other people’s

lungs, the whole machinery of life gets out of gear, and they are more likely

to feel an aching head than a broken heart. The next best thing to the grace

of God for a preacher is oxygen. Pray that the windows of heaven may be

opened, but begin by opening the windows of your meeting-house. Look at

many of our country places, and I am afraid our city chapels too, and you

will find that the windows are not made to open. The modern barbarous

style of building gives us no more ceiling than a barn, and no more

openings for ventilation than would be found in an oriental dungeon, where

the tyrant expected his prisoner to die by inches. What would we think of a

house where the windows could not be opened? Would any of you hire

such a dwelling? Yet Gothic architecture and silly pride make many

persons renounce the wholesome sash window for little holes in the ceiling,

or bird traps in the windows, and so places are made far less comfortable

than Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace was to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

Provided all such chapels were properly insured, I could not pray for their

preservation from fire. Even where the windows will open they are often

kept closed by the month together, and from Sunday to Sunday the impure

atmosphere is unchanged. This ought not to be endured. I know some


people do not notice such things, and I have heard it remarked that foxes

are not killed by the stench of their own holes; but I am not a fox, and bad

air makes me dull, and my hearers dull too. A gust of fresh air through the

building might be to the people the next best thing to the gospel itself, at

least it; would put them into a fit frame of mind to receive the truth. Take

trouble on week days to remove the hindrance arising from foul air. In my

former chapel, in Park Street, I mentioned to my deacons several times my

opinion that the upper panes of the iron-framed windows had better be

taken out, as the windows were not made to open. I mentioned this several

times, and nothing came of it; but it providentially happened one Monday

that somebody removed most of those panes in a masterly manner, almost

as well as if they had been taken out by a glazier. There was considerable

consternation, and much conjecture as to who had committed the crime,

and I proposed that a reward of five pounds should be offered for the

discovery of the offender, who when found should receive the amount as a

present. The reward was not forthcoming, and therefore I have not felt it to

be my duty to inform against the individual. I trust none of you will suspect

me, for if you do I shall have to confess that I have walked with the stick

which let the oxygen into that stifling structure.

Sometimes the manners of our people are inimical to attention; they are

not in the habit of attending; they attend the chapel but do not attend to the

preacher. They are accustomed to look round at every one who enters the

place, and they come in at all times, sometimes with much stamping,

squeaking of boots, and banging of doors. I was preaching once to a

people who continually looked round, and I adopted the expedient of

saying, “Now, friends, as it is so very interesting to you to know who

comes in, and it disturbs me so very much for you to look round, I will, if

you like, describe each one as he comes in, so that you may sit and look at

me, and keep up at least a show of decency.” I described one gentleman

who came in, who happened to be a friend whom I could depict without

offence, as “a very respectable gentleman who had just taken his hat off,”

and so on; and after that one attempt I found it was not necessary to

describe any more, because they felt shocked at what I was doing, and I

assured them that I was much more shocked that they should render it

necessary for me to reduce their conduct to such an absurdity. It cured

them for the time being, and I hope for ever, much to their pastor’s joy.

We will now suppose that this is set right. You have let the foul air out of

the place, and reformed the manners of the people. What next? In order to


get attention, the first golden rule is, always say something worth hearing.

Most persons possess an instinct which leads them to desire to hear a good

thing. They have a similar instinct, also, which you had better take note of,

namely, that which prevents their seeing the good of attentively listening to

mere words. It is not a severe criticism to say that there are ministers

whose words stand in a very large proportion to their thoughts, in fact,

their words hide their thoughts, if they have any. They pour out heaps of

chaff, and, perhaps, there may be somewhere or other an oat or two, but it

would be hard to say where. Congregations will not long attend to words,

words, words, words, and nothing else. Amongst the commandments I am

not aware of one which runs thus: “Thou shalt not be verbose,” but it may

be comprehended under the command, “Thou shalt not steal” for it is a

fraud upon your hearers to give them words instead of spiritual food. “In

the multitude of words there wanteth not sin,” even in the best preacher.

Give your hearers something which they can treasure up and remember;

something likely to be useful to them, the best matter from the best of

places, solid doctrine from the divine Word. Give them manna fresh from

the skies; not the same thing over and over again, in the same form ad

nauseam, like workhouse bread cut into the same shape all the year round.

Give them something striking, something that a man might get up in the

middle of the night to hear and which is worth his walking fifty miles to

listen to. You are quite capable of doing that. Do it, brethren. Do it

continually, and you will have all the attention you can desire.

Let the good matter which you give them be very clearly arranged. There

is a great deal in that. It is possible to heap up a vast mass of good things

all in a muddle. Ever since the day I was sent to shop with a basket, and

purchased a pound of tea, a quarter-of-a-pound of mustard, and three

pounds of rice, and on my way home saw a pack of hounds and felt it

necessary to follow them over hedge and ditch (as I always did when I was

a boy), and found when I reached home that all the goods were

amalgamated — tea, mustard, and rice — into one awful mess, I have

understood the necessity of packing up my subjects in good stout parcels,

bound round with the thread of my discourse; and this makes me keep to

firstly, secondly, and thirdly, however unfashionable that method may now

be. People will not drink your mustardy tea, nor will they enjoy muddled

up sermons, in which you cannot tell head from tail, because they have

neither, but are like Mr. Bright’s Skye terrier, whose head and tail were


both alike. Put the truth before men in a logical, orderly manner, so that

they can easily remember it, and they will the more readily receive it.

Be sure, moreover, to speak plainly; because, however excellent your

matter, if a man does not comprehend it, it can be of no use to him; you

might as well have spoken to him in the language of Kamskatka as in your

own tongue, if you use phrases that are quite out of his line, and modes of

expression which are not suitable to his mind. Go up to his level if he is a

poor man; go down to his understanding if he is an educated person. You

smile at my contorting the terms in that manner, but I think there is more

going up in being plain to the illiterate, than there is in being refined for the

polite; at any rate, it is the more difficult of the two, and most like the

Savior’s mode of speech. It is wise to walk in a path where your auditors

can accompany you, and not to mount the high horse and ride over their

heads. Our Lord and Master was the King of preachers, and yet he never

was above anybody’s comprehension, except so far as the grandeur and

glory of his matter were concerned; his words and utterances were such

that he spake like “the holy child Jesus.” Let your hearts indite a good

matter, clearly arranged and plainly put, and you are pretty sure to gain the

ear, and so the heart.

Attend also to your manner of address; aim in that at the promotion of

attention. And here I should say, as a rule do not read your sermons. There

have been a few readers who have exercised great power, as, for instance,

Dr. Chalmers, who could not have had a more attentive audience had he

been extemporising; but then I do not suppose that we are equal to Dr.

Chalmers: men of such eminence may read if they prefer it, but for us there

is “a more excellent way.” The best reading I have ever heard has tasted of

paper, and has stuck in my throat. I have not relished it, for my digestion is

not good enough to dissolve foolscap. It is better to do without the

manuscript, even if you are driven to recite. It is best of all if you need

neither to recite nor to read. If you must read, mind that you do it to

perfection. Be the very best of readers, and you had need to be if you

would secure attention.

Here let me say, if you would be listened to, do not extemporize in the

emphatic sense, for that is as bad as reading, or perhaps worse, unless the

manuscript was written extemporaneously; I mean without previous study.

Do not go into the pulpit and say the first thing that comes to hand, for the

uppermost thing with most men is mere froth. Your people need discourses


which have been prayed over and laboriously prepared. People do not want

raw food, it must be cooked and made ready for them. We must give out

of our very souls, in the words which naturally suggest themselves, the

matter which has been as thoroughly prepared by us as it possibly could

have been by a sermon-writer; indeed, it should be even better prepared, if

we would speak well. The best method is, in my judgment, that in which

the man does not extemporize the matter, but extemporizes the words; the

language comes to him at the moment, but the theme has been well thought

out, and like a master in Israel he speaks of that which he knows, and

testifies of what he has seen.

In order to get attention, make your manner as pleasing as it can possibly

be. Do not, for instance, indulge in monotones. Vary your voice

continually. Vary your speed as well — dash as rapidly as a lightning flash,

and anon, travel forward in quiet majesty. Shift your accent, move your

emphasis, and avoid sing-song. Vary the tone; use the bass sometimes, and

let the thunders roll within; at other times speak as you ought to do

generally — from the lips, and let your speech be conversational. Anything

for a change. Human nature craves for variety, and God grants it in nature,

providence and grace; let us have it in sermons also. I shall not, however,

dwell much upon this, because preachers have been known to arouse and

sustain attention by their matter alone, when their mode of speech has been

very imperfect. If Richard Sibbes, the Puritan, were here this afternoon, I

would guarantee him fixed attention to anything that he had to say, and yet

he stammered dreadfully. One of his contemporaries says he Sib-ilated, he

lisped and hissed so much. We need not look far for instances in modern

pulpits, for there are too many of them; but we may remember that Moses

was slow of speech, and yet every ear was attent to his words; probably

Paul also labored under a similar infirmity, for his speech was said to be

contemptible, of this, however, we are not sure, for it was only the

criticism of his enemies. Paul’s power in the churches was very great, and

yet he was not always able to maintain attention when his sermon was

long, for at least one hearer went to sleep under him with serious result.

Manner is not everything. Still, if you have gathered good matter, it is a

pity to convey it meanly; a king should not ride in a dust-cart; the glorious

doctrines of grace should not be slovenly delivered. Right royal truths

should ride in a chariot of gold. Bring forth the noblest of your milk-white

steeds, and let the music sound forth melodiously from the silver trumpets,

as truth rides through the streets. If people do not attend, do not let them


find excuses in our faulty utterance. If, however, we cannot mend in this

respect let us be the more diligent to make up for it by the richness of our

matter, and on all occasions let us do our very best.

As a rule, do not make the introduction too long. It is always a pity to

build a great porch to a little house. An excellent Christian woman once

heard John Howe, and, as he took up an hour in his preface, her

observation was, that the dear good man was so long a time in laying the

cloth, that she lost her appetite: she did not think there would be any dinner

after all. Spread your table quickly, and have done with the clatter of the

knives and the plates. You may have seen a certain edition of Doddridge’s

“Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul,” with an introductory essay by

John Foster. The essay is both bigger and better than the book and

deprives Doddridge of the chance of being read. Is not this preposterous?

Avoid this error in your own productions. I prefer to make the introduction

of my sermon very like that of the town-crier, who rings his bell and cries,

“Oh, yes! Oh, yes! This is to give notice,” merely to let people know that

he has news for them, and wants them to listen. To do that, the

introduction should have something striking in it. It is well to fire a

startling shot as the signal gun to clear the decks for action. Do not start at

the full pitch and tension of your mind, but yet in such way that all will be

led to expect a good time. Do not make your exordium a pompous,

introduction into nothing, but a step to something better still. Be alive at

the very commencement.

In preaching, do not repeat yourselves. I used to hear a divine who had a

habit, after he had uttered about a dozen sentences, of saying, “As I have

already observed,” or, “I repeat what I before remarked.” Well, good soul,

as there was nothing particular in what he had said, the repetition only

revealed the more clearly the nakedness of the land. If it was very good,

and you said it forcibly, why go over it again? And if it was a feeble affair,

why exhibit it a second time? Occasionally, of course, the repetition of a

few sentences may be very telling; anything may be good occasionally, and

yet be very vicious as a habit. Who wonders that people do not listen the

first time when they know it is all to come over again?

Yet further, do not repeat the same idea over and over again in other

words. Let there be something fresh in each sentence. Be not for ever

hammering away at the same nail: yours is a large Bible; permit the people

to enjoy its length and breadth. And, brethren, do not think it necessary or


important every time you preach to give a complete summary of theology,

or a formal digest of doctrines, after the manner of Dr. Gill, — not that I

would discredit or speak a word against Dr. Gill — his method is

admirable for a body of divinity, or a commentary, but not suitable for

preaching. I know a divine whose sermons whenever they are printed read

like theological summaries, more fitted for a classroom than for a pulpit —

they fall flat on the public ear. Our hearers do not want the bare bones of

technical definition, but meat and flavor. Definitions and differences are all

very well; but when they are the staple of a sermon they remind us of the

young man whose discourse was made up of various important

distinctions. Upon this performance an old deacon observed, that there was

one distinction which he had omitted, namely, the distinction between meat

and bones. If preachers do not make that distinction, all their other

distinctions will not bring them much distinction..

In order to maintain attention, avoid being too long. An old preacher used

to say to a young man who preached an hour, — “My dear friend, I do not

care what else you preach about, but I wish you would always preach

about forty minutes.” We ought seldom to go much beyond that — forty

minutes, or say, three-quarters of an hour. If a fellow cannot say all he has

to say in that time, when will he say it? But somebody said he liked “to do

justice to his subject.” Well, but ought he not to do justice to his people,

or, at least, have a little mercy upon them, and not keep them too long?

The subject will not complain of you, but the people will. In some country

places, in the afternoon especially, the farmers have to milk their cows, and

one farmer bitterly complained to me about a young man — I think from

this College “Sir, he ought to have given over at four o’clock, but he kept

on till half-past, and there were all my cows waiting to be milked! How

would he have liked it if he had been a cow?” There was a great deal of

sense in that question. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to

Animals ought to have prosecuted that young sinner. How can farmers

hear to profit when they have cows-on-the-brain? The mother feels morally

certain during that extra ten minutes of your sermon that the baby is crying,

or the fire is out, and she cannot and will not give her heart to your

ministrations. You are keeping her ten minutes longer than she bargained

for, and she looks upon it as a piece of injustice on your part. There is a

kind of moral compact between you and your congregation that you will

not weary them more than an hour-and-a-half, and if you keep them longer,

it amounts to an infraction of a treaty and a piece of practical dishonesty of


which you ought not to be guilty. Brevity is a virtue within the reach of all

of us; do not let us lose the opportunity of gaining the credit which it

brings. If you ask me how you may shorten your sermons, I should say,

study them better. Spend more time in the study that you may need less in

the pulpit. We are generally longest when we have least to say. A man with

a great deal of well-prepared matter will probably not exceed forty

minutes; when he has less to say he will go on for fifty minutes, and when

he has absolutely nothing he will need an hour to say it in. Attend to these

minor things and they will help to retain attention.

If you want to have the attention of your people — to have it thoroughly

and always, it can only be accomplished by their being led by the Spirit of

God into an elevated and devout state of mind. If your people are

teachable, prayerful, active, earnest, devout, they will come up to the house

of God on purpose to get a blessing. They will take their seats prayerfully,

asking God to speak to them through you; they will remain on the watch

for every word, and will not weary. They will have an appetite for the

gospel, for they know the sweetness of the heavenly manna, and they will

be eager to gather their appointed portions. No man will ever have a

congregation to preach to which surpasses my own in this respect. Indeed,

those with whom the preacher is most at home are usually the best hearers

for him. It is comparatively easy to me to preach at the Tabernacle; my

people come on purpose to hear something, and their expectation helps to

fulfill itself. If they would hear another preacher with the same expectancy,

I believe they would generally be satisfied; though there are exceptions.

When the preacher first settles, he cannot expect that his congregation will

give him that solemn, earnest attention which those obtain who stand up

like fathers among their own children, endeared to their people by a

thousand memories, and esteemed for age and experience. Our whole life

must be such as to add weight to our words, so that in after years we shall

be able to wield the invincible eloquence of a long-sustained character, and

obtain, not merely the attention, but the affectionate veneration of our

flock. If by our prayers and tears and labors our people become spiritually

healthy, we need not fear that we shall lose their attention. A people

hungering after righteousness, and a minister anxious to feed their souls,

will act in sweetest harmony with each other when their common theme is

the Word of the Lord.


If you need another direction for winning attention, I should say, be

interested yourself, and you will interest others. There is more in those

words than there seems to be, and so I will follow a custom which I just

now condemned, and repeat the sentence, — be interested yourself, and

you will interest other people. Your subject must weigh so much upon

your own mind that you dedicate all your faculties at their best to the

deliverance of your soul concerning it; and then when your hearers see that

the topic has engrossed you, it will by degrees engross them.

Do you wonder that people do not attend to a man who does not feel that

he has anything important to say? Do you wonder that they do not listen

with all their ears when a man does not speak with all his heart? Do you

marvel that their thoughts ramble to subjects which are real to them when

they find that the preacher is wasting time over matters which he treats as

if they were fictions? Romaine used to say it was well to understand the art

of preaching, but infinitely better to know the heart of preaching; and in

that saying there is no little weight. The heart of preaching, the throwing of

the soul into it, the earnestness which pleads as for life itself, is half the

battle as to gaining attention. At the same time, you cannot hold men’s

minds in rapt attention by mere earnestness if you have nothing to say.

People will not stand at their doors for ever to hear a fellow beat a drum;

they will come out to see what he is at, but when they find that it is much

ado about nothing, they will slam the door and go in again, as much as to

say, “You have taken us in and we do not like it.” Have something to say,

and say it earnestly, and the congregation will be at your feet.

It may be superfluous to remark that for the mass of our people it is well

that there should be a goodly number of illustrations in our discourses.

We have the example of our Lord for that: and most of the greatest

preachers have abounded in similes, metaphors, allegories, and anecdotes.

But beware of overdoing this business. I read the other day the diary of a

German lady who has been converted from Lutheranism to our faith, and

she speaks of a certain village where she lives: — “There is a missionstation

here, and young men come down to preach to us. I do not wish to

find fault with these young gentlemen, but they tell us a great many very

pretty little stories, and I do not think there is much else in what they say.

Also I have, heard some of their little stories before, therefore they do not

so much interest me as they would do if they would tell us some good

doctrine out of the Scriptures.” The same thing has no doubt crossed many

other minds. “Pretty stories” are all very well, but it will never do to rely


upon them as the great attraction of a sermon. Moreover, take warning

concerning certain of these “pretty little stories,” for their day is over and

gone; the poor things are worn threadbare and ought to go into the ragbag.

I have heard some of them so many times, that I could tell them

myself, but there is no need. From stock anecdotes may both ourselves and

our hearers be mercifully delivered. Ancient jests sicken us when witlings

retail them as their own ideas, and anecdotes to which our greatgrandfathers

listened have much the same effect upon the mind. Beware of

those extremely popular compilations of illustrations which are in every

Sunday-school teacher’s hand, for nobody will thank you for repeating

what everybody already knows by heart: if you tell anecdotes let them have

some degree of freshness and originality; keep your eyes open, and gather

flowers from the garden and the field with your own hands; they will be far

more acceptable than withered specimens borrowed from other men’s

bouquets, however beautiful those may once have been. Illustrate richly

and aptly, but not so much with parables imported from foreign sources as

with apt similes growing out of the subject itself. Do not, however, think

the illustration everything; it is the window, but of what use is the light

which it admits if you have nothing for the light to reveal? Garnish your

dishes, but remember that the joint is the main point to consider, not the

garnishing. Real instruction must be given and solid, doctrine taught, or

you will find your imagery pall upon your hearers, and they will pine for

spiritual meat.

In your sermons cultivate what Father Taylor calls “the surprise power.”

There is a great deal of force in that for winning attention. Do not say what

everybody expected you would say. Keep your sentences out of ruts. If

you have already said, “Salvation is all of grace” do not always add, “and

not by human merit.,” but vary it and say, “Salvation is all of grace; selfrighteousness

has not a corner to hide its head in.” I fear I cannot recall

one of Mr. Taylor’s sentences so as to do it justice, but it was something

like this: “Some of you make no advance in the divine life, because you go

forward a little way and then you float back again: just like a vessel on a

tidal river which goes down with the stream just far enough to be carried

back again on the return tide. So you make good progress for a while, and

then all of a sudden” — what did he say? — “you hitch up in some muddy

creek.” Did he not also repeat us a speech to this effect, — “He felt sure

that if they were converted they would walk uprightly and keep their

bullocks out of their neighbor’s corn”? Occasional resorts to this system of


surprise will keep an audience in a state of proper expectancy. I sat last

year about this time on the beach at Mentone by the Mediterranean Sea.

The waves were very gently rising and falling, for there is little or no tide,

and the wind was still. The waves crept up languidly one after another, and

I took little heed of them, though they were just at my feet. Suddenly, as if

seized with a new passion, the sea sent up one far-reaching billow, which

drenched me thoroughly. Quiet as I had been before, you can readily

conceive how quickly I was on my, feet, and how speedily my daydreaming

ended. I observed to a ministering brother at my side, “This

shows us how to preach, to wake people up we must astonish them with

something they were not looking for.” Brethren, take them at unawares.

Let your thunderbolt drop out of a clear sky. When all is calm and bright

let the tempest rush up, and by contrast make its terrors all the greater.

Remember, however, that nothing will avail if you go to sleep yourself

while you are preaching. Is that possible? Oh, possible! It is done every

Sunday. Many ministers are more than half-asleep all through the sermon;

indeed, they never were awake at any time, and probably never will be

unless a cannon should be fired off near their ear: tame phrases, hackneyed

expressions, and dreary monotones make the staple of their discourses, and

they wonder that the people are so drowsy: I confess I do not.

A very useful help in securing attention is a pause. Pull up short every now

and then, and the passengers on your coach will wake up. The miller goes

to sleep while the mill wheels revolve; but if by some means or other the

grinding ceases, the good man starts and cries, “What now?” On a sultry

summer’s day, if nothing will keep off the drowsy feeling, be very short,

sing more than usual, or call on a brother or two to pray. A minister who

saw that the people would sleep, sat down and observed, “I saw you were

all resting, and I thought I would rest too.” Andrew Fuller had barely

commenced a sermon when he saw the people going to sleep. He said,

“Friends, friends, friends, this won’t do. I have thought sometimes when

you were asleep that it was my fault, but now you are asleep before I

begin, and it must be your fault. Pray wake up and give me an opportunity

of doing you some good.” Just so. Know how to pause. Make a point of

interjecting arousing parentheses of quietude. Speech is silver, but silence

is golden when hearers are inattentive. Keep on, on, on, on, on, with

commonplace matter and monotonous tone, and you are rocking the

cradle, and deeper slumbers will result; give the cradle a jerk, and sleep will



I suggest again that in order to secure attention all through a discourse we

must make the people feel that they have an interest in what we are saying

to them. This is, in fact, a most essential point, because nobody sleeps

while he expects to hear something to his advantage. I have heard of some

very strange things, but I never did hear of a person going to sleep while a

will was being read in which he expected a legacy, neither have I heard of a

prisoner going to sleep while the judge was summing up, and his life was

hanging in jeopardy. Self-interest quickens attention. Preach upon practical

themes, pressing, present, personal matters, and you will secure an earnest


It will be well to prevent attendants traversing the aisles to meddle with

gas or candles, or to distribute plates for collections, or to open windows,

Deacons and sextons trotting over the place are a torture never to be

patiently endured, and should be kindly, but decidedly, requested to

suspend their perambulations.

Late attendance, also, needs remedying, and our gentlest reasonings and

expostulations must be brought to bear upon it. I feel sure that the devil

has a hand in many disturbances in the congregation, which jar upon our

nerves, and distract our thoughts: the banging of a pew door, the sharp fall

of a stick on the floor, or the cry of a child, are all convenient means in the

hands of the evil one for hindering us in our work; we may, therefore, very

justifiably beg our people to preserve our usefulness from this class of


I gave you a golden rule for securing attention at the commencement,

namely, always say something worth hearing; I will now give you a

diamond rule, and conclude. Be yourself clothed with the Spirit of God,

and then no question about attention or non-attention will arise. Come

fresh from the closet and from communion with God, to speak to men for

God with all your heart and soul, and you must have power over them.

You have golden chains in your mouth which will hold them fast. When

God speaks men must listen; and though he may speak through a poor

feeble man like themselves, the majesty of the truth will compel them to

regard his voice. Supernatural power must be your reliance. We say to you,

perfect yourselves in oratory, cultivate all the fields of knowledge, make

your sermon mentally and rhetorically all it ought to be (you ought to do

no less in such a service), but at the same time remember, “it is not by

might, nor by power,” that men are regenerated or sanctified, but “by my


Spirit, saith the Lord.” Are you not conscious sometimes of being clad with

zeal as with a cloak, and filled to the full with the Spirit of God? At such

times you have had a hearing people, and, ere long, a believing people; but

if you are not thus endowed with power from on high, you are to them no

more than a musician who plays upon a goodly instrument, or sings a

sweet song, with a clear voice, reaching the ear but not the heart. If you do

not touch the heart you will soon weary the ear. Clothe yourself, then, with

the power of the Spirit of God, and preach to men as those who must soon

give an account, and who desire that their account may not be painful to

their people and grievous themselves, but that it may be to the glory of


Brethren, may the Lord be with you, while you go forth in his name and

cry, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.”




WE are not about to discuss the question as to whether sermons should be

written and read, or written, committed to memory and repeated, or

whether copious notes should be employed, or no notes at all. Neither of

these is the subject now under consideration, although we may incidentally

allude to each of them, but we are now to speak of extemporaneous speech

in its truest and most thorough form — speech impromptu, without special

preparation, without notes or immediate forethought.

Our first observation shall be that we would not recommend any man to

attempt preaching in this style as a general rule. If he did so, he would

succeed, we think, most certainly, in producing a vacuum in his meetinghouse;

his gifts of dispersion would be clearly manifested. Unstudied

thoughts coming from the mind without previous research, without the

subjects in hand having been investigated at all, must be of a very inferior

quality, even from the most superior men; and as none of us would have

the effrontery to glorify ourselves as men of genius or wonders of

erudition, I fear that our unpremeditated thoughts upon most subjects

would not be remarkably worthy of attention. Churches are not to be held

together except by an instructive ministry; a mere filling up of time with

oratory will not suffice. Everywhere men ask to be fed, really fed. Those

newfangled religionists, whose public worship consists of the prelections of

any brother who chooses to jump up and talk, notwithstanding their

flattering inducements to the ignorant and garrulous, usually dwindle away,

and die out; because, even men, with the most violently crotchety views,

who conceive it to be the mind of the Spirit that every member of the body

should be a mouth, soon grow impatient of hearing other people’s

nonsense, though delighted to dispense their own; while the mass of the

good people grow weary of prosy ignorance, and return to the churches

from which they were led aside, or would retrain if their pulpits were well

supplied with solid teaching. Even Quakerism, with all its excellencies, has

scarcely been able to survive the poverty of thought and doctrine displayed

in many of its assemblies by impromptu orators. The method of unprepared


ministrations is practically a failure, and theoretically unsound. The Holy

Spirit has made no promise to supply spiritual food to the saints by an

impromptu ministry. He will never do for us what we can do for ourselves.

If we can study and do not, if we can have a studious ministry and will not,

we have no right to call in a divine agent to make up the deficits of our

idleness or eccentricity. The God of providence has promised to feed his

people with temporal food; but if we came together to a banquet, and no

one had prepared a single dish, because all had faith in the Lord that food

would be given in the selfsame hour, the festival would not be eminently

satisfactory, but folly would be rebuked by hunger; as, indeed, it is in the

case of spiritual banquets of the impromptu kind, only men’s spiritual

receptacles are hardly such powerful orators as their stomachs. Gentlemen,

do not attempt, as a rule, to follow a system of things which is so generally

unprofitable that the few exceptions only prove the rule. All sermons ought

to be well considered and prepared by the preacher; and, as much as

possible, every minister should, with much prayer for heavenly guidance,

enter fully into his subject, exert all his mental faculties in original thinking,

and gather together all the information within his reach. Viewing the whole

matter from all quarters, the preacher should think it out, get it well

masticated and digested; and having first fed upon the word himself should

then prepare the like nutriment for others. Our sermons should be our

mental life-blood — the out-flow of our intellectual and spiritual vigor; or,

to change the figure, they should be diamonds well cut and well set —

precious, intrinsically, and bearing the marks of labor. God forbid that we

should offer to the Lord that which costs us nothing.

Very strongly do I warn all of you against reading your sermons, but I

recommend, as a most healthful exercise, and as a great aid towards

attaining extemporizing power, the frequent writing of them, Those of us

who write a great deal in other forms, for the press, et cetera, may not so

much require that exercise; but if you do not use the pen in other ways,

you will be wise to write at least some of your sermons, and revise them

with great care. Leave them at home afterwards, but still write them out,

that you may be preserved from a slipshod style. M. Bautain in his

admirable work on extempore speaking, remarks, “You will never be

capable of speaking properly in public unless you acquire such mastery of

your own thought as to be able to decompose it into its parts, to analyze it

into its elements, and then, at need, to recompose, re-gather, and

concentrate it again by a synthetical process. Now this analysis of the idea,


which displays it, as it were, before the eyes of the mind, is well executed

only by writing. The pen is the scalpel which dissects the thoughts, and

never, except when you write down what you behold internally, can you

succeed in clearly discerning all that is contained in a conception, or in

obtaining its well-marked scope. You then understand yourself, and make

others understand you.”

We do not recommend the plan of learning sermons by heart, and repeating

them from memory, that is both a wearisome exercise of an inferior power

of the mind and an indolent neglect of other and superior faculties. The

most arduous and commendable plan is to store your mind with matter

upon the subject of discourse, and then to deliver yourself with appropriate

words which suggest themselves at the time. This is not extemporaneous

preaching; the words are extemporal, as I think they always should be, but

the thoughts are the result of research and study. Only thoughtless persons

think this to be easy; it is at once the most laborious and the most efficient

mode of preaching, and it has virtues of its own of which I cannot now

speak particularly, since it would lead as away from the point in hand.

Our subject is the faculty of pure, unmixed, genuinely extemporaneous

speaking, and to this let us return. This power is extremely useful, and in

most cases is, with a little diligence, to be acquired. It is possessed by

many, yet not by so many that I shall be incorrect if I say that the gift is

rare. The improvisatori of Italy possessed the power of impromptu speech

to such an extent, that their extemporaneous verses upon subjects

suggested on the spot by the spectators, frequently amounted to hundreds

and even thousands of lines. They would produce whole tragedies as

spontaneously as springs bubble up with water, and rhyme away by the

half-hour and the hour together, on the spur of the moment, and perhaps

also on the spur of a little Italian wine. Their printed works seldom rise

above mediocrity, and yet one of them, Perfetti, gained the laurel crown

which had been awarded only to Petrarch and Tasso. Many of them at this

hour produce off-hand verses which are equal to the capacities of their

hearers, and secure their breathless attention. Why cannot we acquire just

such a power in prose? We shall not be able, I suppose, to produce verses,

nor need we desire the faculty. Many of you have no doubt versified a

little, (as which of us in some weak moment has not?) but we have put

away childish things now that the sober prose of life and death, and heaven

and hell, and perishing sinners, demands all our thought. F25


Many lawyers possess the gift of extemporaneous speech in a high degree.

They should have some virtues! Some weeks ago a wretched being was

indicted for the horrible crime of libeling a lawyer; it is well for him that I

was not his judge, for had such a difficult and atrocious crime been fairly

brought home to him, I would have delivered him over to be crossexamined

during the term of his natural life, hoping for mercy’s sake that it

might be a brief one. But the gentlemen of the bar are many of them most

ready speakers, and as you will clearly see, they must to a considerable

degree be extemporaneous speakers too, because it would be impossible

for them always to foresee the line of argument which the evidence, or the

temper of the judge, or the pleadings on the other side would require.

However well a case may be prepared, points must and will arise requiring

an active mind and a fluent tongue to deal with them. Indeed, I have been

astonished to observe the witty, sharp, and in every way appropriate replies

which counsel will throw off without forethought in our courts of law.

What a barrister can do in advocating the cause of his client, you and I

should surely be able to do in the cause of God. The bar must not be

allowed to excel the pulpit. We will be as expert in intellectual arms as any

men, be they who they may, God helping us.

Certain Members of the House of Commons have exercised the faculty of

extemporaneous speaking with great results. Usually of all tasks of hearing,

the most miserable is that of listening to one of the common ruck of

speakers from the House of Lords and Commons. Let it be proposed that

when capital punishment is abolished, those who are found guilty of

murder shall be compelled to listen to a selection of the dreariest

parliamentary orators. The members of the Royal Humane Society forbid.

Yet in the House some of the Members are able to speak

extemporaneously, and to speak well. I should imagine that some of the

finest things which have been said by John Bright, and Gladstone, and

Disraeli, were altogether what Southey would call jets from the great

Geyser when the spring is in full play. Of course, their long orations upon

the Budget, the Reform Bill, and so on, were elaborated to the highest

degree by previous manipulation; but many of their briefer speeches have,

no doubt, been the offspring of the hour, and yet have had an amazing

amount of power about them. Shall the representatives of the nation attain

an expertness of speech beyond the representatives of the court of heaven?

Brethren, covet earnestly this good gift, and go about to win it.


You are all convinced that the ability which we are considering must be a

priceless possession for a minister. Did we hear a single heart whisper, “I

wish I had it, for then I should have no need to study so arduously”? Ah!

then you must not have it, you are unworthy of the boon, and unfit to be

trusted with it. If you seek this gift as a pillow for an idle head, you will be

much mistaken; for the possession of this noble power will involve you in a

vast amount of labor in order to increase and even to retain it. It is like the

magic lamp in the fable, which would not shine except it was well rubbed,

and became a mere dim globe as soon as the rubbing ceased. What the

sluggard desires for the sake of ease, we may however covet for the best of


Occasionally one has heard or read of men agreeing, by way of bravado, to

preach upon texts given them at the time in the pulpit, or in the vestry:

such vainglorious displays are disgusting, and border on profanity. As well

might we have exhibitions of juggling on the Sabbath as such

mountebankism of oratory. Our talents are given us for far other ends.

Such a prostitution of gift I trust you will never be allowed to perpetrate.

Feats of speech are well enough in a debating club, but in the ministry they

are abominable even when a Bossuet lends himself to them.

The power of impromptu speech is invaluable, because it enables a man on

the spur of the moment, in an emergency, to deliver himself with propriety.

These emergencies will arise. Accidents will occur in the best regulated

assemblies. Singular events may turn the premeditated current of your

thoughts quite aside. You will see clearly that the subject selected would

be inopportune, and you will as a wise man drift into something else

without demur. When the old road is closed, and there is no help for it but

to make a new way for the chariot, unless you are qualified to drive the

horses over a ploughed field as well as along the macadamized road on

which you hoped to travel, you will find yourself off the coach-box, and

mischief will befall the company. It is a great acquisition to be able at a

public meeting, when you have heard the speeches of your brethren, and

believe that they have been too frivolous, or it may be, on the other hand,

too dull, without any allusions to them, quietly to counteract the mischief,

and lead the assembly into a more profitable line of thought. This gift may

be of the utmost importance in the church-meeting, where business may

arise which it would be difficult to foresee. All the troublers of Israel are

not yet dead. Achan was stoned, and his wife, and his children, but others

of his family must have escaped, for the race has certainly been


perpetuated, and needs to be dealt with discreetly and vigorously. In some

churches certain noisy men will rise and speak, and when they have done

so, it is of great importance that the pastor should readily and convincingly

reply, lest bad impressions should remain. A pastor who goes to the

church-meeting in the spirit of his Master, feeling sure that in reliance upon

the Holy Spirit he is quite able to answer any untoward spirit, sits at ease,

keeps his temper, rises in esteem on each occasion, and secures a quiet

church; but the unready brother is flurried, probably gets into a passion,

commits himself, and inherits a world of sorrow. Besides this, a man may

be called upon to preach at a moment’s notice, through the non-arrival of

the expected minister, or his sudden sickness; at a public meeting one may

feel stirred to speak where silence had been resolved upon; and at any form

of religious exercise emergencies may arise which will render impromptu

speech as precious as the gold of Ophir.

The gift is valuable — how is it to be obtained? The question leads us to

remark that some men will never obtain it. There must be a natural

adaptedness for extemporaneous speech; even as for the poetic art: a poet

is born, not made. “Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker,

but cannot produce it.” All the rules of rhetoric, and all the artifices of

oratory cannot make a man eloquent, it is a gift from heaven, and where it

is withheld it cannot be obtained. This “gift of utterance,” as we call it, is

born with some people, inherited probably from the mother’s side. F26 To

others the gift is denied; their conformation of jaw, and yet more their

conformation of brain, never will allow of their becoming fluent and ready

speakers. They may, perhaps, make moderate stutterers and slow deliverers

of sober truth, but they can never be impromptu orators; unless they should

rival Methuselah in age, and then perhaps on the Darwinian theory, which

educes an Archbishop of Canterbury from an oyster, they might develop

into speakers. If there be not a natural gift of oratory a brother may attain

to a respectable post in other departments, but he is not likely to shine as a

bright particular star in extemporary speech.

If a man would speak without any present study, he must usually study

much. This is a paradox perhaps, but its explanation lies upon the surface.

If I am a miller, and I have a sack brought to my door, and am asked to fill

that sack with good fine flour within the next five minutes, the only way in

which I can do it, is by keeping the flour-bin of my mill always full, so that

I can at once open the mouth of the sack, fill it, and deliver it. I do not

happen to be grinding at that time, and so far the delivery is extemporary;


but I have been grinding before, and so have the flour to serve out to the

customer. So, brethren, you must have been grinding, or you will not have

the flour. You will not be able to extemporize good thinking unless you

have been in the habit of thinking and feeding your mind with abundant and

nourishing food. Work hard at every available moment. Store your minds

very richly, and then, like merchants with crowded warehouses, you will

have goods ready for your customers, and having arranged your good

things upon the shelves of your mind, you will be able to hand them down

at any time without the laborious process of going to market, sorting,

folding, and preparing. I do not believe that any man can be successful in

continuously maintaining the gift of extemporaneous speech, except by

ordinarily using far more labor than is usual with those who write and

commit their discourses to memory. Take it as a rule without exception,

that to be able to overflow spontaneously you must be full.

The collection of a fund of ideas and expressions is exceedingly helpful.

There is a wealth and a poverty in each of these respects. He who has

much information, well arranged, and thoroughly understood, with which

he is intimately familiar, will be able like some prince of fabulous wealth to

scatter gold right and left among the crowd. To you, gentlemen, an

intimate acquaintance with the Word of God, with the inward spiritual life,

with the great problems of time and eternity will be indispensable. Out of

the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Accustom yourselves to

heavenly meditations, search the Scriptures, delight yourselves in the law

of the Lord, and you need not fear to speak of things which you have

tasted and handled of the good word of God. Men may well be slow of

speech in discussing themes beyond the range of their experience; but you,

warmed with love towards the King, and enjoying fellowship with him, will

find your hearts inditing a good matter, and your tongues will be as the

pens of ready writers. Get at the roots of spiritual truths by an experimental

acquaintance with them, so shall you with readiness expound them to

others. Ignorance of theology is no rare thing in our pulpits, and the

wonder is not that so few men are extempore speakers, but that so many

are, when theologians are so scarce. We shall never have great preachers

till we have great divines. You cannot build a man-of-war out of a currant

bush, nor can great soul-moving preachers be formed out of superficial

students. If you would be fluent, that is to say flowing, be filled with all

knowledge, and especially with the knowledge of Christ Jesus your Lord.

But we remarked that a fund of expressions would be also of much help to


the extempore speaker; and, truly, second only to a store of ideas is a rich

vocabulary. Beauties of language, elegancies of speech, and above all

forcible sentences are to be selected, remembered, and imitated. You are

not to carry that gold pencil-case with you, and jot down every polysyllabic

word which you meet with in your reading, so as to put it in your next

sermon, but you are to know what words mean, to be able to estimate the

power of a synonym, to judge the rhythm of a sentence, and to weigh the

force of an expletive. You must be masters of words, they must be your

genii, your angels, your thunderbolts, or your drops of honey. Mere wordgatherers

are hoarders of oyster shells, bean husks, and apple-parings; but

to a man who has wide information and deep thought, words are baskets of

silver in which to serve up his apples of gold. See to it that you have a

good team of words to draw the wagon of your thoughts.

I think, too, that a man who would speak well, extemporaneously, must be

careful to select a topic which he understands. This is the main point. Ever

since I have been in London, in order to get into the habit of speaking

extemporaneously, I have never studied or prepared anything for the

Monday evening prayer-meeting. I have all along selected that occasion as

the opportunity for off-hand exhortation; but you will observe that I do not

on such occasions select difficult expository topics, or abstruse themes, but

restrict myself to simple, homely talk, about the elements of our faith,

When standing up on such occasions, one’s mind makes a review, and

inquires, “What subject has already taken up my thought during the day?

What have I met with in my reading during the past week? What is most

laid upon my heart at this hour? What is suggested by the hymns or the

prayers?” It is of no use to rise before an assembly, and hope to be inspired

upon subjects of which you know nothing; if you are so unwise, the result

will be that as you know nothing you will probably say it, and the people

will not be edified. But I do not see why a man cannot speak

extemporaneously upon a subject which he fully understands. Any

tradesman, well versed in his line of business, could explain it to you

without needing to retire for meditation; and surely we ought to be equally

as familiar with the first principles of our holy faith; we ought not to feel at

a loss when called upon to, speak upon topics which constitute the daily

bread of our souls. I do not see what benefit is gained in such a case, by the

mere manual labor of writing before speaking; because in so doing, a man

would write extemporaneously, and extemporaneous writing is likely to be

even feebler than extemporaneous speech. The gain of the writing lies in


the opportunity of careful revision; but as able writers are able to express

their thoughts correctly at the first, so also may able speakers. The thought

of a man who finds himself upon his legs, dilating upon a theme with which

he is familiar, may be very far from being his first thought; it may be the

cream of his meditations warmed by the glow of his heart. He, having

studied the subject well before, though not at that moment, may deliver

himself most powerfully; whereas another man, sitting down to write, may

only be penning his first ideas, which may be vague and vapid. Do not

attempt to be impromptu then, unless you have well studied the theme —

this paradox is a counsel of prudence. I remember to have been tried rather

sharply upon one occasion, and had I not been versed in impromptu

address, I know not how it would have sped with me. I was expected to

preach in a certain chapel, and there was a crowded congregation, but I

was not in time, being delayed by some blockade upon the railroad; so

another minister went on with the service, and when I reached the place, all

breathless with running, he was already preaching a sermon. Seeing me

appear at the front door and pass up the aisle, he stopped and said, “There

he is,” and looking at me, he added, “I’ll make way for you; come up and

finish the sermon.” I asked him what was the text and how far he had gone

with it. He told me what the text, was, and said he had just passed through

the first head; without hesitation I took up the discourse at that point and

finished the sermon, and I should be ashamed of any man here who could

not have done the same, the circumstances being such as to make the task

a remarkably easy one. In the first place the minister was my grandfather,

and, in the second place, the text was — “By grace are ye saved, through

faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.” He must have been a

more foolish animal than that which Balaam rode, if, at such a juncture, he

had not found a tongue. “By grace are ye saved,” had been spoken of as

indicating the source of salvation; who could not follow by describing the

next clause — “through faith,” as the channel? One did not need to study

much to show that salvation is received by us through faith. Yet, on that

occasion, I had a further trial; for when I had proceeded a little, and was

warming to my work, a hand patted my back approvingly, and a voice

said,, “That’s right — that’s right; tell them that again, for fear they should

forget it.” Thereupon I repeated the truth, and a little further on, when I

was becoming rather deeply experimental I was gently pulled by my coattail,

and the old gentleman stood up in front and said, “Now, my grandson

can tell you this as a theory, but I am here to bear witness to it as a matter

of practical experience: I am older than he is, and I must give you my


testimony as an old man.” Then after having given us his personal

experience, he said, “There, now, my grandson can preach the gospel a

great deal better than I can, but he cannot preach a better gospel, can he?”

Well, gentlemen, I can easily imagine that if I had not possessed some little

power of extemporaneous speech upon that occasion, I might have been

somewhat ruffled; but as it was, it came as naturally as if it had been prearranged.

The acquisition of another language affords a fine drilling for the practice

of extempore speech. Brought into connection with the roots of words,

and the rules of speech, and being compelled to note the differentia of the

two languages, a man grows by degrees to be much at home with parts of

speech, moods, tenses, and inflections; like a workman he becomes familiar

with his tools, and handles them as every day companions. I know of no

better exercise than to translate with as much rapidity as possible a portion

of Virgil or Tacitus, and then with deliberation to amend one’s mistakes.

Persons who know no better, think all time thrown away which, is spent

upon the classics, but if it were only for the usefulness of such studies to

the sacred orator, they ought to be retained in all our collegiate institutions.

Who does not see that the perpetual comparison of the terms and idioms of

two languages must aid facility of expression? Who does not see moreover

that by this exercise the mind becomes able to appreciate refinements and

subtleties of meaning, and so acquires the power of distinguishing between

things that differ — a power essential to an expositor of the Word of God,

and an extempore declarer of his truth. Learn, gentlemen, to put together,

and unscrew all the machinery of language, mark every cog, and wheel,

and bolt, and rod, and you will feel the more free to drive the engine, even

at an express speed should emergencies demand it.

Every man who wishes to acquire this art must practice it. It was by slow

degrees, as Burke says, that Charles Fox became the most brilliant and

powerful debater that ever lived. He attributed his success to the resolution

which he formed when very young, of speaking well or ill, at least once

every night. “During five whole sessions” he used to say, “I spoke every

night but one, and I regret only that I did not speak on that night too.” At

first he may do so with no other auditory than the chairs and books of his

study, imitating the example of a gentleman who, upon applying for

admission to this college, assured me that he had for two years, practiced

himself in extempore preaching in his own room. Students living together

might be of great mutual assistance by alternately acting the part of


audience and speaker, with a little friendly criticism at the close of each

attempt. Conversation, too, may be of essential service, if it be a matter of

principle to make it solid and edifying. Thought is to be linked with speech,

that is the problem; and it may assist a man in its solution, if he endeavors

in his private musings to think aloud. So has this become habitual to me

that I find it very helpful to be able, in private devotion, to pray with my

voice; reading aloud is more beneficial to me than the silent process; and

when I am mentally working out a sermon, it is a relief to me to speak to

myself as the thoughts flow forth. Of course this only masters half the

difficulty, and you must practice in public, in order to overcome the

trepidation occasioned by the sight of an audience; but half way is a great

part of a journey. Good impromptu speech is just the utterance of a

practiced thinker — a man of information, meditating on his legs, and

allowing his thoughts to march through his mouth into the open air. Think

aloud as much as you can when you are alone, and you will soon be on the

high road to success in this matter. The discussion and debates in the classroom

are of vital importance as a further step, and I would urge the more

retiring brethren to take a part in them. The practice of calling upon you to

speak upon a topic drawn at random from a bowl out of a wide selection

has been introduced among you, and we must more frequently resort to it.

What I condemned as a part of religious worship, we may freely use as a

scholastic exercise among ourselves. It is calculated to try a man’s

readiness and self-command, and those who fail in it are probably as much

benefited as those who succeed, for self-knowledge may be as useful to

one as practice to another. If the discovery that you are as yet a bungler in

oratory should drive you to severer study and more resolute endeavors, it

may be the true path to ultimate eminence.

In addition to the practice commended, I must urge upon you the necessity

of being cool and confident. As Sydney Smith says, “A great deal of talent

is lost to the world for want of a little courage.” This is not to be easily

acquired by the young speaker. Cannot you young speakers sympathize

with Blondin, the rope walker? Do you not sometimes feel when you are

preaching as though you were walking on a rope high in the air, and do

you not tremble and wonder whether you will reach the other end in

safety? Sometimes when yon have been flourishing that beautiful balancing

pole, and watching the metaphorical spangles which flash poetry upon your

audience, have you not been half regretful that you ever exposed yourself

to such risks of sudden descent, or, to drop the figure, have you not


wondered whether you would be able to conclude the sentence, or find a

verb for the nominative, or an accusative for the verb? Everything depends

upon your being cool and unflurried. Forebodings of failure, and fear of

man, will ruin you. Go on, trusting in God, and all will be well. If you have

made a blunder in grammar, and you are half inclined to go back to correct

it, you will soon make another, and your hesitation will involve you as in a

net. Let me whisper — for it is meant for your ear alone — it is always a

bad thing to go back. If you make a verbal blunder go on, and do not

notice it. My father gave me a very good rule when I was learning to write,

which I think of equal utility in learning to speak. He used to say, “When

you are writing, if you make a mistake by misspelling a word, or by writing

a wrong word, do not cross it out and make a mess of it, but see how you

can in the readiest way alter what you were going to say so as to bring in

what you have written, and leave no trace of mistake? So in speaking, if

the sentence will not finish in the best way, conclude it in another. It is of

very little use to go back to amend, for you thus call attention to the flaw

which perhaps few had noticed, and you draw off the mind from your

subject to your language, which is the last thing which the preacher should

do. If, however, your lapsus linguae should be noticed, all persons of

sense will forgive a young beginner, and they will rather admire you than

otherwise for attaching small importance to such slips, and pressing on

with your whole heart towards your main design. A novice at public

speaking is like a rider unused to horseback; if his horse stumbles he fears

he will be down and throw him over his head, or if it be a little fresh, he

feels assured that it will run away; and the eye of a friend, or the remark of

a little boy, will make him as wretched as if he were lashed to the back of

the great red dragon. But when a man is well used to mount he knows no

dangers, and he meets with none, because his courage prevents them.

When a speaker feels, “I am master of the situation,” he usually is so. His

confidence averts the disasters which trembling would be certain to create.

My brethren, if the Lord has indeed ordained you to the ministry, you have

the best reasons for being bold and calm, for whom have you to fear? You

have to deliver your Lord’s errand as he enables you, and if this be done,

you are responsible to no one but your heavenly Master, who is no harsh

judge. You do not enter the pulpit to shine as an orator, or to gratify the

predilections of your audience; you are the messenger of heaven and not

the servant of men. F27 Remember the words of the Lord to Jeremiah, and

be afraid to be afraid. “Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and

speak unto them all that I command thee: be not dismayed at their faces,


lest I confound thee before them.” Jeremiah 1:17. Trust in the Holy Spirit’s

present help, and the fear of man which bringeth a snare will depart from

you. When you are able to feel at home in the pulpit, and can look round

and speak to the people as a brother talking to brethren, then you will be

able to extemporize, but not till then. Bashfulness and timidity which are so

beautiful in our younger brethren, will be succeeded by that true modesty

which forgets self, and is not careful as to its own reputation so long as

Christ is preached in the most forcible manner at command.

In order to the holy and useful exercise of extemporal speech, the Christian

minister must cultivate a childlike reliance upon the immediate assistance

of the Holy Spirit. “I believe in the Holy Ghost,” says the Creed. It is to be

feared that many do not make this a real article of belief. To go up and

down all the week wasting time, and then to cast ourselves upon the

Spirit’s aid, is wicked presumption, an attempt to make the Lord minister

to our sloth and self-indulgence; but in an emergency the case is widely

different. When a man finds himself unavoidably called upon to speak

without any preparation, then he may with fullest confidence cast himself

upon the Spirit of God. The divine mind beyond a doubt comes into

contact with the human intellect, lifts it out of its weakness and distraction,

makes it soaring and strong, and enables it both to understand and to

express divine truth in a manner far beyond its unaided powers. Such

interpositions, like miracles, are not meant to supersede our efforts or

slacken our diligence, but are the Lord’s assistance which we may count

upon at an emergency. His Spirit will be ever with us, but especially under

severe stress of service. Earnestly as I advise you not to try purely

impromptu speaking more than you are obliged to do, till you have become

somewhat matured in your ministry, I yet exhort you to speak in that

manner whenever compelled to do so, believing that in the selfsame hour it

shall be given you what you shall speak.

If you are happy enough to acquire the power of extemporary speech, pray

recollect that you may very readily lose it. I have been struck with this in

my own experience, and I refer to that because it is the best evidence that I

can give you. If for two successive Sundays I make my notes a little longer

and fuller than usual, I find on the third occasion that I require them longer

still; and I also observe that if on occasions I lean a little more to my

recollection of my thoughts, and am not so extemporaneous as I have been

accustomed to be, there is a direct craving and even an increased necessity

for pre-composition. If a man begins to walk with a stick merely for a


whim, he will soon come to require a stick; if you indulge your eyes with

spectacles they will speedily demand them as a permanent appendage; and

if you were to walk with crutches for a month, at the end of the time they

would be almost necessary to your movements, although naturally your

limbs might be as sound and healthy as any man’s. Ill uses create an ill

nature. You must continually practice extemporizing, and if to gain suitable

opportunities you should frequently speak the word in cottages, in the

school-rooms of our hamlets, or to two or three by the wayside, your

profiting shall be known unto all men.

It may save you much surprise and grief if you are forewarned, that there

will be great variations in your power of utterance. Today your tongue may

be the pen of a ready writer, tomorrow your thoughts and words may be

alike frost-bound. Living things are sensitive, and are affected by a variety

of forces; only the merely mechanical can be reckoned upon with absolute

certainty. Think it not strange if you should frequently feel yourself to have

failed, nor wonder if it should turn out that at such times you have best

succeeded. You must not expect to become sufficient as of yourself, no

habit or exercise can render you independent of divine assistance; and if

you have preached well forty-nine times when called upon without notice,

this is no excuse for self-confidence on the fiftieth occasion, for if the Lord

should leave you you will be at a dead stand. Your variable moods of

fluency and difficulty, will by God’s grace tend to keep you humbly

looking up to the strong for strength.

Above all things beware of letting your tongue outrun your brains. Guard

against a feeble fluency, a garrulous prosiness, a facility of saying nothing.

What a pleasure it is to hear of a brother breaking down who presumed

upon his powers to keep on when he really had nothing to say! May such a

consummation come to all who err in that direction. My brethren, it is a

hideous gift to posses, to be able to say nothing at extreme length.

Elongated nonsense, paraphrastic platitude, wire-drawn commonplace, or

sacred rodomontade, are common enough, and are the scandal and shame

of extemporizing. Even when sentiments of no value are beautifully

expressed, and neatly worded, what is the use of them? Out of nothing

comes nothing. Extemporary speech without study is a cloud without rain,

a well without water, a fatal gift, injurious equally to its possessor and his

flock. Men have applied to me whom I have denied admission to this

College, because being utterly destitute both of education and of a sense of

their own ignorance, their boundless conceit and enormous volubility made


them dangerous subjects for training. Some have even reminded me of the

serpent in the Apocalypse, which cast out of his mouth water as a flood so

plenteously that the woman was likely to have been carried away with it.

Wound up like clocks, they keep on, and on, and on, till they run down,

and blessed is he who has least acquaintance with them. The sermons of

such preachers are like Snug the joiner’s part when he acted the lion. “You

may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.” Better to lose, or rather

never to possess, the gift of ready utterance, than to degrade ourselves into

mere noise makers, the living representations of Paul’s sounding brass and

tinkling cymbal.

I might have said much more if I had extended the subject to what is

usually called extempore preaching, that is to say, the preparation of the

sermon so far as thoughts go, and leaving the words to be found during

delivery; but this is quite another matter, and although looked upon as a

great attainment by some, it is, as I believe, an indispensable requisite for

the pulpit, and by no means a mere luxury of talent; but of this we will

speak on another occasion,




AS it is recorded that David, in the heat of battle, waxed faint, so may it be

written of all the servants of the Lord. Fits of depression come over the

most of us. Usually cheerful as we may be, we must at intervals be cast

down. The strong are not always vigorous, the wise not always ready, the

brave not always courageous, and the joyous not always happy. There may

be here and there men of iron, to whom wear and tear work no perceptible

detriment, but surely the rust frets even these; and as for ordinary men, the

Lord knows, and makes them to know, that they are but dust. Knowing by

most painful experience what deep depression of spirit means, being visited

therewith at seasons by no means few or far between, I thought it might be

consolatory to some of my brethren if I gave my thoughts thereon, that

younger men might not fancy that some strange thing had happened to

them when they became for a season possessed by melancholy; and that

sadder men might know that one upon whom the sun has shone right

joyously did not always walk in the light.

It is not necessary by quotations from the biographies of eminent ministers

to prove that seasons of fearful prostration have fallen to the lot of most, if

not all of them. The life of Luther might suffice to give a thousand

instances, and he was by no means of the weaker sort. His great spirit was

often in the seventh heaven of exultation, and as frequently on the borders

of despair. His very death bed was not free from tempests, and he sobbed

himself into his last sleep like a great wearied child. Instead of multiplying

cases, let us dwell upon the reasons why these things are permitted; why it

is that the children of light sometimes walk in the thick darkness; why the

heralds of the daybreak find themselves at times in tenfold night.

Is it not first that they are men? Being men, they are compassed with

infirmity, and heirs of sorrow. Well said the wise man in the Apocrypha, f28

“Great travail is created for all men, and a heavy yoke on the sons of

Adam, from the day that they go out of their mother’s womb unto that day

that they return to the mother of all things — namely, their thoughts and

fear of their hearts, and their imagination of things that they wail for, and


the day of death. From him that sitteth in the glorious throne, to him that

sitteth beneath in the earth and ashes; from him that is clothed in blue silk,

and weareth a crown, to him that is clothed in simple linen — wrath, envy,

trouble, and unquietness, and fear of death and rigor, and such things come

to both man and beast, but sevenfold to the ungodly.” Grace guards us

from much of this, but because we have not more of grace we still suffer

even from ills preventable. Even under the economy of redemption it is

most clear that we are to endure infirmities, otherwise there were no need

of the promised Spirit to help us in them. It is of need be that we are

sometimes in heaviness. Good men are promised tribulation in this world,

and ministers may expect a larger share than others, that they may learn

sympathy with the Lord’s suffering people, and so may be fitting shepherds

of an ailing flock. Disembodied spirits might have been sent to proclaim the

word, but they could not have entered into the feelings of those who, being

in this body, do groan, being burdened; angels might have been ordained

evangelists, but their celestial attributes would have disqualified them from

having compassion on the ignorant; men of marble might have been

fashioned, but their impassive natures would have been a sarcasm upon our

feebleness, and a mockery of our wants. Men, and men subject to human

passions, the all-wise God has chosen to be his vessels of grace; hence

these tears, hence these perplexities and castings down.

Moreover, most of us are in some way or other unsound physically. Here

and there we meet with an old man who could not remember that ever he

was laid aside for a day; but the great mass of us labor under some form or

other of infirmity, either in body or mind. Certain bodily maladies,

especially those connected with the digestive organs, the liver, and the

spleen, are the fruitful fountains of despondency; and, let a man strive as he

may against their influence, there will be hours and circumstances in which

they will for awhile overcome him. As to mental maladies, is any man

altogether sane? Are we not all a little off the balance? Some minds appear

to have a gloomy tinge essential to their very individuality; of them it may

be said, “Melancholy marked them for her own;” fine minds withal, and

ruled by noblest principles, but yet most prone to forget the silver lining,

and to remember only the cloud. Such men may sing with the old poet f29


“Our hearts are broke, our harps unstringed be,

Our only music’s sighs and groans,

Our songs are to the tune of lachrymae,

We’re fretted all to skin and bones.”

These infirmities may be no detriment to a man’s career of special

usefulness; they may even have been imposed upon him by divine wisdom

as necessary qualifications for his peculiar course of service. Some plants

owe their medicinal qualities to the marsh in which they grow; others to the

shades in which alone they flourish. There are precious fruits put forth by

the moon as well as by the sun. Boats need ballast as well as sail; a drag on

the carriage-wheel is no hindrance when the road runs downhill. Pain has,

probably, in some cases developed genius; hunting out the soul which

otherwise might have slept like a lion in its den. Had it not been for the

broken wing, some might have lost themselves in the clouds, some even of

those choice doves who now bear the olive-branch in their mouths and

show the way to the ark. But where in body and mind there are

predisposing causes to lowness of spirit, it is no marvel if in dark moments

the heart succumbs to them; the wonder in many cases is — and if inner

lives could be written, men would see it so — how some ministers keep at

their work at all, and still wear a smile upon their countenances. Grace has

its triumphs still, and patience has its martyrs; martyrs none the less to he

honored because the flames kindle about their spirits rather than their

bodies, and their burning is unseen of human eyes. The ministries of

Jeremiahs are as acceptable as those of Isaiahs, and even the sullen Jonah is

a true prophet of the Lord, as Nineveh felt full well. Despise not the lame,

for it is written that they take the prey; but honor those who, being faint,

are yet pursuing. The tender-eyed Leah was more fruitful than the beautiful

Rachel, and the griefs of Hannah were more divine than the boastings of

Peninnah. “Blessed are they that mourn,” said the Man of Sorrows, and let

none account them otherwise when their tears are salted with grace. We

have the treasure of the gospel in earthen vessels, and if there be a flaw in

the vessel here and there, let none wonder.

Our work, when earnestly undertaken, lays us open to attacks in the

direction of depression. Who can bear the weight of souls without

sometimes sinking to the dust? Passionate longings after men’s conversion,

if not fully satisfied (and when are they?), consume the soul with anxiety

and disappointment. To see the hopeful turn aside, the godly grow cold,

professors abusing their privileges, and sinners waxing more bold in sin —


are not these sights enough to crush us to the earth? The kingdom comes

not as we would, the reverend name is not hallowed as we desire, and for

this we must weep. How can we be otherwise than sorrowful, while men

believe not our report, and the divine arm is not revealed? All mental work

tends to weary and to depress, for much study is a weariness of the flesh;

but ours is more than mental work — it is heart work, the labor of our

inmost soul. How often, on Lord’s-day evenings, do we feel as if life were

completely washed out of us! After pouring out our souls over our

congregations, we feel like empty earthen pitchers which a child might

break. Probably, if we were more like Paul, and watched for souls at a

nobler rate, we should know more of what it is to be eaten up by the zeal

of the Lord’s house. It is our duty and our privilege to exhaust our lives for

Jesus. We are not to be living specimens of men in fine preservation, but

living sacrifices, whose lot is to be consumed; we are to spend and to be

spent, not to lay ourselves up in lavender, and nurse our flesh. Such soultravail

as that of a faithful minister will bring on occasional seasons of

exhaustion, when heart and flesh will fail. Moses’ hands grew heavy in

intercession, and Paul cried out, “Who is sufficient for these things?” Even

John the Baptist is thought to have had his fainting fits, and the apostles

were once amazed, and were sore afraid.

Our position in the church will also conduce to this. A minister fully

equipped for his work, will usually be a spirit by himself, above, beyond,

and apart from others. The most loving of his people cannot enter into his

peculiar thoughts, cares, and temptations. In the ranks, men walk shoulder

to shoulder, with many comrades, but as the officer rises in rank, men of

his standing are fewer in number. There are many soldiers, few captains,

fewer colonels, but only one commander-in-chief. So, in our churches, the

man whom the Lord raises as a leader becomes, in the same degree in

which he is a superior man, a solitary man. The mountain-tops stand

solemnly apart, and talk only with God as he visits their terrible solitudes.

Men of God who rise above their fellows into nearer communion with

heavenly things, in their weaker moments feel the lack of human sympathy.

Like their Lord in Gethsemane, they look in vain for comfort to the

disciples sleeping around them; they are shocked at the apathy of their little

band of brethren, and return to their secret agony with all the heavier

burden pressing upon them, because they have found their dearest

companions slumbering. No one knows, but he who has endured it, the

solitude of a soul which has outstripped its fellows in zeal for the Lord of


hosts: it dares not reveal itself, lest men count it mad; it cannot conceal

itself, for a fire burns within its bones: only before the Lord does it find

rest. Our Lord’s sending out his disciples by two and two manifested that

he knew what was in men; but for such a man as Paul, it seems to me that

no helpmeet was found; Barnabas, or Silas, or Luke, were hills too low to

hold high converse with such a Himalayan summit as the apostle of the

Gentiles. This loneliness, which if I mistake not is felt by many of my

brethren, is a fertile source of depression; and our ministers’ fraternal

meeting, and the cultivation of holy intercourse with kindred minds will

with God’s blessing, help us greatly to escape the snare.

There can be little doubt that sedentary habits have a tendency to create

despondency in some constitutions. Burton, in his “Anatomy of

Melancholy,” has a chapter upon this cause of sadness; and, quoting from

one of the myriad authors whom he lays under contribution, he says —

“Students are negligent of their bodies. Other men look to their tools; a

painter will wash his pencils; a smith will look to his hammer, anvil, forge;

a husbandman will mend his plough-irons, and grind his hatchet if it be dull;

a falconer or huntsman will have an especial care of his hawks, hounds,

horses, dogs, etc.; a musician will string and unstring his lute; only scholars

neglect that instrument (their brain and spirits I mean) which they daily use.

Well saith Lucan, ‘See thou twist not the rope so hard that it break.’” To

sit long in one posture, poring over a book, or driving a quill, is in itself a

taxing of nature; but add to this a badly-ventilated chamber, a body which

has long been without muscular exercise, and a heart burdened with many

cares, and we have all the elements for preparing a seething cauldron of

despair, especially in the dim months of fog —

“When a blanket wraps the day,

When the rotten woodland drips,

And the leaf is stamped in clay.”

Let a man be naturally as blithe as a bird, he will hardly be able to bear up

year after year against such a suicidal process; he will make his study a

prison and his books the warders of a gaol, while nature lies outside his

window calling him to health and beckoning him to joy. He who forgets the

humming of the bees among the heather, the cooing of the wood-pigeons

in the forest, the song of birds in the woods, the rippling of rills among the

rushes, and the sighing of the wind among the pines, needs not wonder if

his heart forgets to sing and his soul grows heavy. A day’s breathing of

fresh air upon the hills, or a few hours’ ramble in the beech woods’


umbrageous calm, would sweep the cobwebs out of the brain of scores of

our toiling ministers who are now but half alive. A mouthful of sea air, or a

stiff walk in the wind’s face, would not give grace to the soul, but it would

yield oxygen to the body, which is next best.

“Heaviest the heart is in a heavy air,

Ev’ry wind that rises blows away despair.”

The ferns and the rabbits, the streams and the trouts, the fir trees and the

squirrels, the primroses and the violets, the farm-yard, the new-mown hay,

and the fragrant hops — these are the best medicine for hypochondriacs,

the surest tonics for the declining, the best refreshments for the weary. For

lack of opportunity, or inclination, these great remedies are neglected, and

the student becomes a self-immolated victim.

The times most favorable to fits of depression, so far as I have

experienced, may be summed up in a brief catalogue. First among them I

must mention the hour of great success. When at last a long-cherished

desire is fulfilled, when God has been glorified greatly by our means, and a

great triumph achieved, then we are apt to faint. It might be imagined that

amid special favors our soul would soar to heights of ecstasy, and rejoice

with joy unspeakable, but it is generally the reverse. The; Lord seldom

exposes his warriors to the perils of exultation over victory; he knows that

few of them can endure such a test, and therefore dashes their cup with

bitterness. See Elias after the fire has fallen from heaven, after Baal’s

priests have been slaughtered and the rain has deluged the barren land! For

him no notes of self-complacent music, no strutting like a conqueror in

robes of triumph; he flees from Jezebel, and feeling the revulsion of his

intense excitement, he prays that he may die. He who must never see death,

yearns after the rest of the grave, even as Caesar, the world’s monarch, in

his moments of pain cried like a sick girl. Poor human nature cannot bear

such strains as heavenly triumphs bring to it; there must come a reaction.

Excess of joy or excitement must be paid for by subsequent depressions.

While the trial lasts, the strength is equal to the emergency; but when it is

over, natural weakness claims the right to show itself. Secretly sustained,

Jacob can wrestle all night, but he must limp in the morning when the

contest is over, lest he boast himself beyond measure. Paul may be caught

up to the third heaven, and hear unspeakable things, but a thorn in the

flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet him, must be the inevitable sequel.

Men cannot bear unalloyed happiness; even good men are not yet fit to


have “their brows with laurel and with myrtle bound,” without enduring

secret humiliation to keep them in their proper place. Whirled from off our

feet by a revival, carried aloft by popularity, exalted by success in soulwinning,

we should be as the chaff which the wind driveth away, were it

not that the gracious discipline of mercy breaks the ships of our vainglory

with a strong east wind, and casts us shipwrecked, naked and forlorn, upon

the Rock of Ages.

Before any great achievement, some measure of the same depression is

very usual. Surveying the difficulties before us, our hearts sink within us.

The sons of Anak stalk before us, and we are as grasshoppers in our own

sight in their presence. The cities of Canaan are walled up to heaven, and

who are we that we should hope to capture them? We are ready to cast

down our weapons and take to our heels. Nineveh is a great city, and we

would flee unto Tarshish sooner than encounter its noisy crowds. Already

we look for a ship which may bear us quietly away from the terrible scene,

and only a dread of tempest restrains our recreant footsteps. Such was my

experience when I first became a pastor in London. My success appalled

me; and the thought of the career which it seemed to open up, so far from

elating me, cast me into the lowest depth, out of which I uttered my

miserere and found no room for a gloria in excelsis. Who was I that I

should continue to lead so great a multitude? I would betake me to my

village obscurity, or emigrate to America, and find a solitary nest in the

backwoods, where I might be sufficient for the things which would be

demanded of me. It was just then that the curtain was rising upon my lifework,

and I dreaded what it might reveal. I hope I was not faithless, but I

was timorous and filled with a sense of my own unfitness. I dreaded the

work which a gracious providence had prepared for me. I felt myself a

mere child, and trembled as I heard the voice which said, “Arise, and thresh

the mountains, and make them as chaff.” This depression comes over me

whenever the Lord is preparing a larger blessing for my ministry; the cloud

is black before it breaks, and overshadows before it yields its deluge of

mercy. Depression has now become to me as a prophet in rough clothing, a

John the Baptist, heralding the nearer coming of my Lord’s richer benison.

So have far better men found it. The scouring of the vessel has fitted it for

the Master’s use. Immersion in suffering has preceded the baptism of the

Holy Ghost. Fasting gives an appetite for the banquet. The Lord is revealed

in the backside of the desert, while his servant keepeth the sheep and waits

in solitary awe. The wilderness is the way to Canaan. The low valley leads


to the towering mountain. Defeat prepares for victory. The raven is sent

forth before the dove. The darkest hour of the night precedes the daydawn.

The mariners go down to the depths, but the next wave makes them

mount to the heaven: their soul is melted because of trouble before he

bringeth them to their desired haven.

In the midst of a long stretch of unbroken labor, the same affliction may

be looked for. The bow cannot be always bent without fear of breaking.

Repose is as needful to the mind as sleep to the body. Our Sabbaths are

our days of toil, and if we do not rest upon some other day we shall break

down. Even the earth must lie fallow and have her Sabbaths, and so must

we. Hence the wisdom and compassion of our Lord, when he said to his

disciples, “Let us go into the desert and rest awhile.” What! when the

people are fainting? When the multitudes are like sheep upon the

mountains without a shepherd? Does Jesus talk of rest? When Scribes and

Pharisees, like grievous wolves, are rending the flock, does he take his

followers on an excursion into a quiet resting place? Does some red-hot

zealot denounce such atrocious forgetfulness of present and pressing

demands? Let him rave in his folly. The Master knows better than to

exhaust his servants and quench the light of Israel. Rest time is not waste

time. It is economy to gather fresh strength. Look at the mower in the

summer’s day, with so much to cut down ere the sun sets. He pauses in his

labor — is he a sluggard? He looks for his stone, and begins to draw it up

and down his scythe, with “rink-a-tink — rink-a-tink — rink-a-tink.” Is

that idle music — is he wasting precious moments? How much he might

have mown while he has been ringing out those notes on his scythe! But he

is sharpening his tool, and he will do far more when once again he gives his

strength to those long sweeps which lay the grass prostrate in rows before

him. Even thus a little pause prepares the mind for greater service in the

good cause. Fishermen must mend their nets, and we must every now and

then repair our mental waste and set our machinery in order for future

service. To tug the oar from day to day, like a galley-slave who knows no

holidays, suits not mortal men. Mill-streams go on and on for ever, but we

must have our pauses and our intervals. Who can help being out of breath

when the race is continued without intermission? Even beasts of burden

must be turned out to grass occasionally; the very sea pauses at ebb and

flood; earth keeps the Sabbath of the wintry months; and man, even when

exalted to be God’s ambassador, must rest or faint; must trim his lamp or

let it burn low; must recruit his vigor or grow prematurely old. It is


wisdom to take occasional furlough. In the long run, we shall do more by

sometimes doing less. On, on, on for ever, without recreation, may suit

spirits emancipated from this “heavy clay,” but while we are in this

tabernacle, we must every now and then cry halt and serve the Lord by

holy inaction and consecrated leisure. Let no tender conscience doubt the

lawfulness of going out of harness for awhile, but learn from the experience

of others the necessity and duty of taking timely rest.

One crushing stroke has sometimes laid the minister very low. The brother

most relied upon becomes a traitor. Judas lifts up his heel against the man

who trusted him, and the preacher’s heart for the moment fails him. We are

all too apt to look to an arm of flesh, and from that propensity many of our

sorrows arise. Equally overwhelming is the blow when an honored and

beloved member yields to temptation, and disgraces the holy name with

which he was named. Anything is better than this. This makes the preacher

long for a lodge in some vast wilderness, where he may hide his head for

ever, and hear no more the blasphemous jeers of the ungodly. Ten years of

toil do not take so much life out of us as we lose in a few hours by

Ahithophel the traitor, or Demas the apostate. Strife, also, and division,

and slander, and foolish censures, have often laid holy men prostrate, and

made them go “as with a sword in their bones.” Hard words wound some

delicate minds very keenly. Many of the best of ministers, from the very

spirituality of their character, are exceedingly sensitive — too sensitive for

such a world as this. “A kick that scarce would move a horse would kill a

sound divine.” By experience the soul is hardened to the rough blows

which are inevitable in our warfare; but at first these things utterly stagger

us, and send us to our homes wrapped in a horror of great darkness. The

trials of a true minister are not few, and such as are caused by ungrateful

professors are harder to bear than the coarsest attacks of avowed enemies.

Let no man who looks for ease of mind and seeks the quietude of life enter

the ministry; if he does so he will flee from it in disgust.

To the lot of few does it fall to pass through such a horror of great

darkness as that which fell upon me after the deplorable accident at the

Surrey Music Hall. I was pressed beyond measure and out of bounds with

an enormous weight of misery. The tumult, the panic, the deaths, were day

and night before me, and made life a burden. Then I sang in my sorrow —


“The tumult of my thoughts

Doth but increase my woe,

My spirit languisheth, my heart

Is desolate and low.”

From that dream of horror I was awakened in a moment by the gracious

application to my soul of the text, “Him hath God the Father exalted.” The

fact that Jesus is still great, let his servants suffer as they may, piloted me

back to calm reason and peace. Should so terrible a calamity overtake any

of my brethren, let them both patiently hope and quietly wait for the

salvation of God.

When troubles multiply, and discouragements follow each other in long

succession, like Job’s messengers, then, too, amid the perturbation of soul

occasioned by evil tidings, despondency despoils the heart of all its peace.

Constant dropping wears away stones, and the bravest minds feel the fret

of repeated afflictions. If a scanty cupboard is rendered a severer trial by

the sickness of a wife or the loss of a child, and if ungenerous remarks of

hearers are followed by the opposition of deacons and the coolness of

members, then, like Jacob, we are apt to cry, “All these things are against

me.” When David returned to Ziklag and found the city burned, goods

stolen, wives carried off, and his troops ready to stone him, we read, “he

encouraged himself in his God;” and well was it for him that he could do

so, for he would then have fainted if he had not believed to see the

goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Accumulated distresses

increase each other’s weight; they play into each other’s hands, and, like

bands of robbers, ruthlessly destroy our comfort. Wave upon wave is

severe work for the strongest swimmer. The place where two seas meet

strains the most seaworthy keel. If there were a regulated pause between

the buffetings of adversity, the spirit would stand prepared; but when they

come suddenly and heavily, like the battering of great hailstones, the

pilgrim may well be amazed. The last ounce breaks the camel’s back, and

when that last ounce is laid upon us, what wonder if we for awhile are

ready to give up the ghost!

This evil will also come upon us, we know not why, and then it is all the

more difficult to drive it away. Causeless depression is not to be reasoned

with, nor can David’s harp charm it away by sweet discoursings. As well

fight with the mist as with this shapeless, undefinable, yet, all-beclouding

hopelessness. One affords himself no pity when in this case, because it

seems so unreasonable, and even sinful to be troubled without manifest


cause; and yet troubled the man is, even in the very depths of his spirit. If

those who laugh at such melancholy did but feel the grief of it for one

hour, their laughter would be sobered into compassion. Resolution might,

perhaps, shake it off, but where are we to find the resolution, when the

whole man is unstrung? The physician and the divine may unite their skill in

such cases, and both find their hands full, and more than full. The iron bolt

which so mysteriously fastens the door of hope and holds our spirits in

gloomy prison, needs a heavenly hand to push it back; and when that hand

is seen we cry with the apostle, “Blessed be God, even the Father of our

Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who

comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them

which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are

comforted of God.” 2 Corinthians 1:3, 4. It is the God of all consolation

who can —

“With sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse our poor bosoms of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart.”

Simon sinks till Jesus takes him by the hand. The devil within rends and

tears the poor child till the word of authority commands him to come out

of him. When we are ridden with horrible fears, and weighed down with an

intolerable incubus, we need but the Sun of Righteousness to rise, and the

evils generated of our darkness are driven away; but nothing short of this

will chase away the nightmare of the soul. Timothy Rogers, the author of a

treatise on Melancholy, and Simon Browne, the writer of some remarkably

sweet hymns, proved in their own cases how unavailing is the help of man

if the Lord withdraw the light from the soul.

If it be inquired why the Valley of the Shadow of Death must so often be

traversed by the servants of King Jesus, the answer is not far to find. All

this is promotive of the Lord’s mode of working, which is summed up in

these words — “Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the

Lord.” Instruments shall be used, but their intrinsic weakness shall be

clearly manifested; there shall be no division of the glory, no diminishing

the honor due to the Great Worker. The man shall be emptied of self, and

then filled with the Holy Ghost. In his own apprehension he shall be like a

sere leaf driven of the tempest, and then shall be strengthened into a brazen

wall against the enemies of truth. To hide pride from the worker is the

great difficulty. Uninterrupted success and unfading joy in it would be

more than our weak heads could bear. Our wine must needs be mixed with


water, lest it turn our brains. My witness is, that those Who are honored of

their Lord in public, have usually to endure a secret chastening, or to carry

a peculiar cross, lest by any means they exalt themselves, and fall into the

snare of the devil. How constantly the Lord calls Ezekiel “Son of man”!

Amid his soarings into the superlative splendors, just when with eye

undimmed he is strengthened to gaze into the excellent glory, the word

“Son of man” falls on his ears, sobering the heart which else might have

been intoxicated with the honor conferred upon it. Such humbling but

salutary messages our depressions whisper in our ears; they tell us in a

manner not to be mistaken that we are but men, frail, feeble, apt to faint.

By all the castings down of his servants God is glorified, for they are led to

magnify him when again he sets them on their feet, and even while

prostrate in the dust their faith yields him praise. They speak all the more

sweetly of his faithfulness, and are the more firmly established in his love.

Such mature men as some elderly preachers are, could scarcely have been

produced if they had not been emptied from vessel to vessel, and made to

see their own emptiness and the vanity of all things round about them.

Glory be to God for the furnace, the hammer, and the file. Heaven shall be

all the fuller of bliss because we have been filled with anguish here below,

and earth shall be better tilled because of our training in the school of


The lesson of wisdom is, be not dismayed by soul-trouble. Count it no

strange thing, but a part of ordinary ministerial experience. Should the

power of depression be more than ordinary, think not that all is over with

your usefulness. Cast not away your confidence, for it hath great

recompense of reward. Even if the enemy’s foot be on your neck, expect to

rise and overthrow him. Cast the burden of the present, along with the sin

of the past and the fear of the future, upon the Lord, who forsaketh not his

saints. Live by the day — ay, by the hour. Put no trust in frames and

feelings. Care more for a grain of faith than a ton of excitement. Trust in

God alone, and lean not on the reeds of human help. Be not surprised when

friends fail you: it is a failing world. Never count upon immutability in man:

inconstancy you may reckon upon without fear of disappointment. The

disciples of Jesus forsook him; be not amazed if your adherents wander

away to other teachers: as they were not your all when with you, all is not

gone from you with their departure. Serve God with all your might while

the candle is burning, and then when it goes out for a season, you will have

the less to regret. Be content to be nothing, for that is what you are. When


your own emptiness is painfully forced upon your consciousness, chide

yourself that you ever dreamed of being full, except in the Lord. Set small

store by present rewards; be grateful for earnests by the way, but look for

the recompensing joy hereafter. Continue, with double earnestness to serve

your Lord when no visible result is before you. Any simpleton can follow

the narrow path in the light: faith’s rare wisdom enables us to march on in

the dark with infallible accuracy, since she places her hand in that of her

Great Guide. Between this and heaven there may be rougher weather yet,

but it is all provided for by our covenant Head. In nothing let us be turned

aside from the path which the divine call has urged us to pursue. Come fair

or come foul, the pulpit is our watch-tower, and the ministry our warfare;

be it ours, when we cannot see the face of our God, to trust UNDER THE





OUR subject is to be the minister’s common conversation when he mingles

with men in general, and is supposed to be quite at his ease. How shall he

order his speech among his fellow-men? First and foremost, let me say, let

him give himself no ministerial airs, but avoid everything which is stilted,

official, fussy, and pretentious. “The Son of Man” is a noble title; it was

given to Ezekiel, and to a greater than he: let not the ambassador of heaven

be other than a son of man. In fact, let him remember that the more simple

and unaffected he is, the more closely will he resemble that child-man, the

holy child Jesus. There is such a thing as trying to be too much a minister,

and becoming too little a man; though the more of a true man you are, the

more truly will you be what a servant of the Lord should be. Schoolmasters

and ministers have generally an appearance peculiarly their own; in the

wrong sense, they “are not as other men are.” They are too often speckled

birds, looking as if they were not at home among the other inhabitants of

the country; but awkward and peculiar. When I have seen a flamingo

gravely stalking along, an owl blinking in the shade, or a stork demurely

lost in thought, I have been irresistibly led to remember some of my

dignified brethren of the teaching and preaching fraternity, who are so

marvellously proper at all times that they are just a shade amusing. Their

very respectable, stilted, dignified, important, self-restrained manner is

easily acquired; but is it worth acquiring?

Theodore Hook once stepped up to a gentleman who was parading the

street with great pomposity, and said to him, “Sir, are you not a person of

great importance?” and one has felt half inclined to do the same with

certain brethren of the cloth. I know brethren who, from head to foot, in

garb, tone, manner, necktie, mid boots, are so utterly parsonic that no

particle of manhood is visible. One young sprig of divinity must needs go

through the streets in a gown, and another of the High Church order has

recorded it in the newspapers with much complacency that he traversed

Switzerland and Italy, wearing in all places his biretta; few boys would

have been so proud of a fool’s cap. None of us are likely to go as far as


that in our apparel; but we may do the like by our mannerism. Some men

appear to have a white cravat twisted round their souls, their manhood is

throttled with that starched rag. Certain brethren maintain an air of

superiority which they think impressive, but which is simply offensive, and

eminently opposed to their pretensions as followers of the lowly Jesus. The

proud Duke of Somerset intimated his commands to his servants by signs,

not condescending to speak to such base beings; his children never sat

down in his presence, and when he slept in the afternoon one of his

daughters stood on each side of him during his august slumbers. When

proud Somersets get into the ministry, they affect dignity in other ways

almost equally absurd. “Stand by, I am holier than thou,” is written across

their foreheads.

A well-known minister was once rebuked by a sublime brother for his

indulgence in a certain luxury, and the expense was made a great argument.

“Well, well,” he replied, “there may be something in that; but remember, I

do not spend half so much upon my weakness as you do in starch.” That is

the article I am deprecating, that dreadful ministerial starch. If you have

indulged in it, I Would earnestly advise you to “go and wash in Jordan

seven times,” and get it out of you, every particle of it. I am persuaded that

one reason why our working-men so universally keep clear of ministers is

because they abhor their artificial and unmanly ways. If they saw us, in the

pulpit and out of it, acting like real men, and speaking naturally, like honest

men, they would come around us. Baxter’s remark still holds good: “The

want of a familiar tone and expression is a great fault in most of our

deliveries, and that which we should be very careful to amend.” The vice of

the ministry is that ministers will parsonificate the gospel. We must have

humanity along with our divinity if we would win the masses. Everybody

can see through affectations, and people are not likely to be taken in by

them. Fling away your stilts, brethren, and walk on your feet; doff your

ecclesiasticism, and array yourselves in truth.

Still, a minister, wherever he is, is a minister, and should recollect that he

is on duty. A policeman or a soldier may be off duty, but minister never is.

Even in our recreations we should still pursue the great object of our lives;

for we are called to be diligent “in season and out of season.” There is no

position in which we may be placed but the Lord may come with the

question, “What doest thou here, Elijah?” and we ought to be able at once

to answer, “I have something to do for thee even here, and I am trying to

do it.” The bow, of course, must be at times unstrung, or else it will lose its


elasticity; but there is no need to cut the string. I am speaking at this time

of the minister in times of relaxation; and I say that even then he should

conduct himself as the ambassador of God, and seize opportunities of

doing good: this will not mar his rest, but sanctify it. A minister should be

like a certain chamber which I saw at Beaulieu, in the New Forest, in which

a cobweb is never seen. It is a large lumber-room and is never swept; yet

no spider ever defiles it with the emblems of neglect. It is roofed with

chestnut, and for some reason, I know not what, spiders will not come near

that wood by the year together. The same thing was mentioned to me in

the corridors of Winchester School: I was told, “No spiders ever come

here.” Our minds should be equally clear of idle habits.

On our public rests for porters in the City of London you may read the

words, “Rest, but do not loiter;” and they contain advice worthy of our

attention. I do not call the dolce far niente laziness; there is a sweet doing

of nothing which is just the finest medicine in the world for a jaded mind.

When the mind gets fatigued and out of order, to rest it is no more idleness

than sleep is idleness; and no man is called lazy for sleeping the proper

time. It is far better to be industriously asleep than lazily awake. Be ready

to do good even in your resting times and in your leisure hours; and so be

really a minister, and there will be no need for you to proclaim that you are


The Christian minister out of the pulpit should be a sociable man. He is

not sent into the world to be a hermit, or a monk of La Trappe. It is not his

vocation to stand on a pillar all day, above his fellow-men, like that hairbrained

Simon Stylites of olden time. You are not to warble from the top

of a tree, like an invisible nightingale; but to be a man among men, saying

to them, “I also am as you are in all that relates to man.” Salt is of no use

in the box; it must be rubbed into the meat; and our personal influence

must penetrate and season society. Keep aloof from others, and how can

you benefit them? Our Master went to a wedding, and ate bread with

publicans and sinners, and yet was far more pure than those sanctimonious

Pharisees, whose glory was that they were separate from their fellow-men.

Some ministers need to be told that they are of the same species as their

hearers. It is a remarkable fact, but we may as well state it, that bishops,

canons, archdeacons, prebendaries, rural deans, rectors, vicars, and even

archbishops, are only men after all; and God has not railed off a holy corner

of the earth to serve as a chancel for them, to abide therein by themselves.


It would not be amiss if there could be a revival of holy talk in the

churchyard and the meeting-yard. I like to see the big yew-trees outside

our ancient churches with seats all round them. They seem to say: “Sit

down here, neighbor, and talk upon the sermon; here comes the pastor, he

will join us, and we shall have a pleasant, holy chat.” It is not every

preacher we would care to talk with; but there are some whom one would

give a fortune to converse with for an hour. I love a minister whose face

invites me to make him my friend — a man upon whose doorstep you read,

“Salve,” “Welcome;” and feel that there is no need of that Pompeian

warning, “Cave Canem,” “Beware of the dog.” Give me the man around

whom the children come, like flies around a honey-pot: they are first-class

judges of a good man. When Solomon was tried by the Queen of Sheba, as

to his wisdom, the rabbis tell us that she brought some artificial flowers

with her, beautifully made and delicately scented, so as to be facsimiles of

real flowers. She asked Solomon to discover which were artificial and

which were real. The wise man bade his servants open the window, and

when the bees came in they flew at once to the natural flowers, and cared

nothing for the artificial. So you will find that children have their instincts,

and discover very speedily who is their friend, and depend upon it the

children’s friend is one who will be worth knowing. Have a good word to

say to each and every member of the family — the big boys, and the young

ladies, and the little girls, and everybody. No one knows what a smile and a

hearty sentence may do. A man who is to do much with men must love

them, and feel at home with them. An individual who has no geniality

about him had better be an undertaker, and bury the dead, for he will never

succeed in influencing the living. I have met somewhere with the

observation that to be a popular preacher one must have bowels. I fear that

the observation was meant as a mild criticism upon the bulk to which

certain brethren have attained: but there is truth in it. A man must have a

great heart if he would have a great congregation. His heart should be as

capacious as those noble harbors along our coast, which contain sea-room

for a fleet. When a man has a large, loving heart, men go to him as ships to

a haven, and feel at peace when they have anchored under the lee of his

friendship. Such a man is hearty in private as well as in public; his blood is

not cold and fishy, but he is warm as your own fireside. No pride and

selfishness chill you when you approach him; he has his doors all open to

receive you, and you are at home with him at once. Such men I would

persuade you to be, every one of you.


The Christian minister should also be very cheerful. I don’t believe in

going about like certain monks whom I saw in Rome, who salute each

other in sepulchral tones, and convey the pleasant information, “Brother,

we must die;” to which lively salutation each lively brother of the order

replies, “Yes, brother, we must die.” I was glad to be assured upon such

good authority that all these lazy fellows are about to die; upon the whole,

it is about the best thing they can do; but till that event occurs, they might

use some more comfortable form of salutation.

No doubt there are some people who will be impressed by the very solemn

appearance of ministers. I have heard of one who felt convinced that there

must be something in the Roman Catholic religion, from the extremely

starved and pinched appearance of a certain ecclesiastic. “Look,” said he,

“how the man is worn to a skeleton by his daily fastings and nightly vigils!

How he must mortify his flesh!” Now, the probabilities are that the

emaciated priest was laboring under some internal disease, which he would

have been heartily glad to be rid of, and it was not conquest of appetite,

but failure in digestion, which had so reduced him; or, possibly a troubled

conscience, which made him fret himself down to the light weights.

Certainly, I have never met with a text which mentions prominence of bone

as an evidence of grace. If so, “The Living Skeleton” should have been

exhibited, not merely as a natural curiosity, but as the standard of virtue.

Some of the biggest rogues in the world have been as mortified in

appearance as if they had lived on locusts and wild honey. It is a very

vulgar error to suppose that a melancholy countenance is the index of a

gracious heart. I commend cheerfulness to all who would win souls; not

levity and frothiness, but a genial, happy spirit. There are more flies caught

with honey than with vinegar, and there will be more souls led to heaven by

a man who wears heaven in his face than by one who bears Tartarus in his


Young ministers, and, indeed, all others, when they are in company, should

take care not to engross all the conversation. They are quite qualified to

do so, no doubt; I mean from their capacity to instruct, and readiness of

utterance; but they must remember that people do not care to be

perpetually instructed; they like to take a turn in the conversation

themselves. Nothing pleases some people so much as to let them talk, and

it may be for their good to let them be pleased. I spent an hour one evening

with a person who did me the honor to say that he found me a very

charming companion, and most instructive in conversation, yet I do not


hesitate to confess that I said, scarcely anything at all, but allowed him to

have the talk to himself. By exercising patience I gained his good opinion,

and an opportunity to address him on other occasions. A man has no more

right at table to talk all than to eat all. We are not to think ourselves Sir

Oracle, before whom no dog must open his mouth. No; let all the company

contribute of their stores, and they will think all the better of the godly

words with which you try to season the discourse.

There are some companies into which you will go, especially when you are

first settled, where everybody will be awed by the majesty of your

presence, and people will be invited because the new minister is to be

there. Such a position reminds me of the choicest statuary in the Vatican. A

little room is screened off, a curtain is drawn, and lo! before you stands the

great Apollo! If it be your trying lot to be the Apollo of the little party, put

an end to the nonsense. If I were the Apollo, I should like to step right off

the pedestal and shake hands all round, and you had better do the same; for

sooner or later the fuss they make about you will come to an end, and the

wisest course is to end it yourself. Hero-worship is a kind of idolatry, and

must not be encouraged. Heroes do well when they, like the apostles at

Lystra, are horrified at the honors done to them, and run in among the

people crying, “Sirs, why do ye these things? We also are men of like

passions with you.” Ministers will not have to do it long; for their foolish

admirers are very apt to turn round upon them, and if they do not stone

them nearly to death, they will go as far as they dare in unkindness and


While I say, “Do not talk all, and assume an importance which is mere

imposture;” still, do not be a dummy. People will form their estimate of

you and your ministry by what they see of you in private as well as by your

public deliverances. Many young men have ruined themselves in the pulpit

by being indiscreet in the parlor, and have lost all hope of doing good by

their stupidity or frivolity in company. Don’t be an inanimate log. At

Antwerp Fair, among many curiosities advertised by huge paintings and big

drums, I observed a booth containing “a great wonder” to be seen for a

penny a head; it was a petrified man. I did not expend the amount required

for admission, for I had seen so many petrified men for nothing, both in

and out of the pulpit — lifeless, careless, destitute of common sense, and

altogether inert though occupied with the weightiest business which man

could undertake.


Try to turn the conversation to profitable use. Be sociable and cheerful and

all that, but labor to accomplish something. Why should you sow the wind,

or plough a rock? Consider yourself, after all, as being very much

responsible for the conversation which goes on where you are; for such is

the esteem in which you will usually be held, that you will be the helmsman

of the conversation. Therefore, steer it into a good channel. Do this

without roughness or force. Keep the points of the line in good order, and

the train will run on to your rails without a jerk. Be ready to seize

opportunities adroitly, and lead on imperceptibly in the desired track. If

your heart is in it and your wits are awake, this will be easy enough,

especially if you breathe a prayer for guidance.

I shall never forget the manner in which a thirsty individual once begged of

me upon Clapham Common. I saw him with a very large truck, in which he

was carrying an extremely small parcel, and I wondered why he had not

put the parcel into his pocket, and left the machine at home. I said, “It

looks odd to see, so large a truck for such a small load.” He stopped, and

looking me seriously in the face, he said, “Yes, sir, it is a very odd thing;

but, do you know, I have fact; with an odder thing than that this very day.

I’ve been about, working and sweating all this ‘ere blessed day, and till

now I haven’t met a single gentleman that looked as if he’d give me a pint

of beer, till I saw you.” I considered that turn of the conversation very

neatly managed, and we, with a far better subject upon our minds, ought to

be equally able to introduce the topic upon which our heart is set. There

was an ease in the man’s manner which I envied, for I did not find it quite

so simple a matter to introduce my own topic to his notice; yet if I had

been thinking as much about how I could do him good as he had upon how

to obtain a drink, I feel sure I should have succeeded in reaching my point.

If by any means we may save some, we must, like our Lord, talk at table to

good purpose — yes, and on the margin of the well, and by the road, and

on the sea-shore, and in the house, and in the field. To be a holy talker for

Jesus might be almost as fruitful an office as to be a faithful preacher. Aim

at excellence in both exercises, and if the Holy Spirit’s aid be called in, you

will attain your desire.

Here, perhaps, I may insert a canon, which nevertheless I believe to be

quite needless, in reference to each one of the honorable brethren whom I

am now addressing. Do not frequent rich men’s tables to gain their

countenance, and never make yourself a sort of general hanger-on at teaparties

and entertainments. Who are you that you should be dancing


attendance upon this wealthy man and the other, when the Lord’s poor, his

sick people and his wandering sheep require you? To sacrifice the study to

the parlor is criminal. To be a tout for your church, and waylay people at

their homes to draw them to fill your pews, is a degradation to which no

man should submit. To see ministers of different sects fluttering round a

wealthy man, like vultures round a dead camel, is sickening. Deliciously

sarcastic was that famous letter “from an old and beloved minister to his

dear son” upon his entrance into the ministry, the following extract from

which hits our present point. It is said to have been copied from the

Smellfungus Gazette, but I suspect our friend Paxton Hood knows all

about its authorship: — “Keep also a watchful eye on all likely persons,

especially wealthy or influential, who may come to your town; call upon

them, and attempt to win them over by the devotions of the drawing-room

to your cause. Thus you may most efficiently serve the Masters interests.

People need looking after, and the result of a long experience goes to

confirm my convictions. long cherished, that the power of the pulpit is

trifling compared with the power of the parlor. We must imitate and

sanctify, by the word of God and prayer, the exercises of the Jesuits. They

succeeded not by the pulpit so much as by the parlor. In the parlor you can

whisper — you can meet people on all their little personal private ideas.

The pulpit is a very unpleasant place; of course it is the great power of

God, and so on, but it is the parlor that tells, and a minister has not the

same chance of success if he be a good preacher as if he is a perfect

gentleman; nor in cultivated society has any man a legitimate prospect of

success if he is not, whatever he may be, a gentleman. I have always

admired Lord Shaftesbury’s character of St. Paul in his ‘Characteristics’ —

that he was a fine gentleman. And I would say to you, be a gentleman. Not

that I need to say so, but am persuaded that only in this way can we hope

for the conversion of our growing, wealthy middle classes. We must show

that our religion is the religion of good sense and good taste; that we

disapprove of strong excitements and strong stimulants; and oh, my dear

boy, if you would be useful, often in your closet make it a matter of earnest

prayer that you may be proper. If I were asked what is your first duty, be

proper; and your second, be proper; and your third, be proper.” Those

who remember a class of preachers who flourished fifty years ago will see

the keenness of the satire in this extract. The evil is greatly mitigated now;

in fact, I fear we may be drifting into another extreme.


In all probability, sensible conversation will sometimes drift into

controversy, and here many a good man runs upon a snag. The sensible

minister will be particularly gentle in argument. He, above all men, should

not make the mistake of fancying that there is force in temper, and power

in speaking angrily. A heathen who stood in a crowd in Calcutta, listening

to a missionary disputing with a Brahmin, said he knew which was right

though he did not understand the language — he knew that he was in the

wrong who lost his temper first. For the most part, that is a very accurate

way of judging. Try to avoid debating with people. State your opinion and

let them state theirs. If you see that a stick is crooked, and you want

people to see how crooked it is, lay a straight rod down beside it; that will

be quite enough. But if you are drawn into controversy, use very hard

arguments and very soft words. Frequently you cannot convince a man by

tugging at his reason, but you can persuade him by winning his affections.

The other day I had the misery to need a pair of new boots, and though I

bade the fellow make them as large as canoes, I had to labor fearfully to

get them on. With a pair of boot-hooks I toiled like the men on board the

vessel with Jonah, but all in vain. Just then my friend put in my way a little

French chalk, and the work was done in a moment. Wonderfully coaxing

was that French chalk. Gentlemen, always carry a little French chalk with

you into society, a neat packet of Christian persuasiveness, and you will

soon discover the virtues of it.

And lastly, with all his amiability, the minister should be firm for his

princip1es, and bold to avow and defend them in all companies. When a

fair opportunity occurs, or he has managed to create one, let him not be

slow to make use of it. Strong in his principles, earnest in his tone, and

affectionate in heart, let him speak out like a man and thank God for the

privilege. There need be no reticence — there should be none. The

maddest romances of Spiritualists, the wildest dreams of Utopian

reformers, the silliest chit-chat of the town, and the vainest nonsense of the

frivolous world, demand a hearing and get it. And shall not Christ be

heard? Shall his message of love remain untold, for fear we should be

charged with intrusion or accused of cant? Is religion to be tabooed — the

best and noblest of all themes forbidden? If this be the rule of any society,

we will not comply with it. If we cannot break it down, we will leave the

society to itself, as men desert a house smitten with leprosy. We cannot

consent to be gagged. There is no reason why we should be. We will go to


no place where we cannot take our Master with us. While others take

liberty to sin, we shall not renounce our liberty to rebuke and warn them.

Wisely used, our common conversation may be a potent means for good.

Trains of thought may be started by a single sentence which may lead to

the conversion of persons whom our sermons have never reached. The

method of button-holing people, or bringing the truth before them

individually, has been greatly successful: this is another subject, and can

hardly come under the head of Common Conversation; but we will close by

saying that it is to be hoped that we shall never, in our ordinary talk, any

more than in the pulpit, be looked upon as nice sort of persons, whose

business it is to make things agreeable all round, and who never by any

possibility cause uneasiness to any one, however ungodly their lives may

be. Such persons go in and out among the families of their hearers, and

make merry with them, when they ought to be mourning over them. They

sit down at their tables and feast at their ease, when they ought to be

warning them to flee from the wrath to come. They are like that American

alarm I have heard of, which was warranted not to wake you if you did not

wish it to do so.

Be it ours to sow, not only on the honest and good soil, but on the rock

and on the highway, and at the last great day to reap a glad harvest. May

the bread which we cast upon the waters in odd times and strange

occasions be found again after many days.




WHAT are those ministers to do who have a slender apparatus? By a

slender apparatus I mean that they have few books, and little or no means

wherewith to purchase more. This is a state of things which ought not to

exist in any case; the churches ought to take care that it should be rendered

impossible. Up to the highest measure of their ability they should furnish

their minister, not only with the food which is needful to sustain the life of

his body, but with mental nutriment, so that his soul may not be starved. A

good library should be looked upon as an indispensable part of church

furniture; and the deacons, whose business it is “to serve tables,” will be

wise if, without neglecting the table of the Lord, or of the poor, and

without diminishing the supplies of the minister’s dinner-table, they give an

eye to his study-table, and keep it supplied with new works and standard

books in fair abundance. It would be money well laid out, and would be

productive far beyond expectation. Instead of waxing eloquent upon the

declining power of the pulpit, leading men in the church should use the

legitimate means for improving its power, by supplying the preacher with

food for thought. Put the whip into the manger is my advice to all


Some years ago I tried to induce our churches to have ministers’ libraries

as a matter of course, and some few thoughtful people saw the value of the

suggestion, and commenced carrying it out. With much pleasure I have

seen here and there the shelves provided, and a few volumes placed upon

them. I earnestly wish that such a beginning had been made everywhere;

but, alas! I fear that a long succession of starveling ministers will alone

arouse the miserly to the conviction that parsimony with a minister is false

economy. Those churches which cannot afford a liberal stipend should

make some amends by founding a library as a permanent part of their

establishment; and, by making additions to it from year to year, it would

soon become very valuable. My venerable grandfather’s manse had in it a

collection of very valuable ancient Puritanic volumes, which had descended

from minister to minister: well do I remember certain ponderous tomes,


whose chief interest to me lay in their curious initial letters, adorned with

pelicans, griffins, little boys at play, or patriarchs at work. It may be

objected that the books would be lost through change of users, but I would

run the risk of that; and trustees, with a little care over the catalogue, could

keep the libraries as securely as they keep the pews and pulpit.

If this scheme be not adopted, let another and simpler one be tried; let all

the subscribers towards the preacher’s support add ten per cent or more to

their subscriptions, expressly to provide food for the minister’s brain. They

would get back what they gave in the improved sermons they would hear.

If some little annual income could be secured to poor ministers, to be

sacredly spent in books, it would be a God-send to them, and an

incalculable blessing to the community. Sensible persons do not expect a

garden to yield them herbs from year to year unless they enrich the soil;

they do not expect a locomotive to work without fuel, or even an ox or an

ass to labor without, food; let them, therefore, give over expecting to

receive instructive sermons from men who are shut out of the storehouse

of knowledge by their inability to purchase books.

But the subject is, what are men to do who have no stores, who have no

church library, and no allowance made them to provide books? Let us

remark at once that, if these men succeed, greater honor is due to them

than to those who have large appliances.

Quintin Matsys is said to have had all his tools except his hammer and file

taken from him by his fellow workmen, and to have produced his famous

well-cover without them; so much the more honor to him! Great credit is

due to those workers for God who have done great things without helpful

tools. Their labor would have been greatly lightened if they had possessed

them; but what they have done is the more wonderful. At the present

International Exhibition at Kensington, Mr. Buckmaster’s School of

Cookery is mainly admired because he produces such savory dishes from

unpromising material; from a handful of bones and a little macaroni he

serves up royal dainties. If he had all the materials employed in French

cookery, and used them all, every person would say, “Well, anybody could

do that;” but when he shows you scraps of meat and bones, and tells you

that he bought them at the butcher’s for a few pence, and that he can make

out of them a dinner for a family of five or six, all the good wives open

their eyes, and wonder how on earth it can be done; and when he passes

round his dish, and they taste how delicious it is, they are full of


admiration. Work away, then, poor brother, for you may yet succeed in

doing great things in your ministry, and your welcome of “Well done, good

and faithful servant,” will be all the more emphatic because you labored

under serious difficulties.

If a man can purchase but very few books, my first advice to him would be,

let him purchase the very best. If he cannot spend much, let him spend

well. The best will always be the cheapest. Leave mere dilutions and

attenuations to those who can afford such luxuries. Do not buy milk and

water, but get condensed milk, and put what water you like to it yourself.

This age is full of word-spinners — professional book-makers, who

hammer a grain of matter so thin that it will cover a five-acre sheet of

paper; these men have their uses, as gold-beaters have, but they are of no

use to you. Farmers on our coast used to cart wagon-loads of sea-weed,

and put them upon their land; the heaviest part was the water: now they

dry the weeds, and save a world of labor and expense, Don’t buy thin soup;

purchase the essence of meat. Get much in little. Prefer books which

abound in what James Hamilton used to call “Bibline,” or the essence of

books. You require accurate, condensed, reliable, standard books, and

should make sure that you get them. In preparing his “Horae Biblicae

Quotidianae,” which is an admirable comment upon the Bible, Dr.

Chalmers used only the “Concordance,” the “Pictorial Bible,” “Poole’s

Synopsis,” “Matthew Henry’s Commentary,” and “Robinson’s Researches

in Palestine.” “These are the books I use,” said he to a friend; “all that is

Biblical is there; I have to do with nothing besides in my Biblical study.”

This shows that those who have unlimited stores at their command, yet find

a few standard books sufficient. If Dr. Chalmers were now alive, he would

probably take Thomson’s “Land and the Book,” instead of “Robinson’s

Researches,” and give up the “Pictorial Bible” for Kitto’s “Daily Bible

Illustrations;” at least I should recommend the alteration to most men. This

is clear evidence that some most eminent preachers have found that they

could do better with few books than with many when studying the

Scriptures, and this, I take it, is our main business.

Forego, then, without regret, the many books which, like poor Hodge’s

razors, of famous memory, “are made to sell,” and do sell those who buy

them, as well as themselves. Matthew Henry’s Commentary having been

mentioned, I venture to say that no better investment can be made, by any

minister, than that peerless exposition. Get it, if you sell your coat to buy



The next rule I shall lay down is, master those books you have. Read them

thoroughly. Bathe in them until they saturate you. Read and re-read them,

masticate them, and digest them. Let them go into your very self. Peruse a

good book several times, and make notes and analyses of it. A student will

find that his mental constitution is more affected by one book thoroughly

mastered than by twenty books which he has merely skimmed, lapping at

them, as the classic proverb puts it; “As the dogs drink of Nilus.” Little

learning and much pride come of hasty reading. Books maybe piled on the

brain till it cannot work. Some men are disabled from thinking by their

putting meditation away for the sake of much reading. They gorge

themselves with book-matter, and become mentally dyspeptic.

Books on the brain cause disease. Get the book into the brain, and you will

grow. In D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature” there is an invective of

Lucian upon those men who boast of possessing large libraries, which they

either never read or never profit by. He begins by comparing such a person

to a pilot who has never learned the art of navigation, or a cripple who

wears embroidered slippers but cannot stand upright in them. Then he

exclaims, “Why do you buy so many books? You have no hair, and you

purchase a comb; you are blind, and you must need buy a fine mirror; you

are deaf, and you will have the best musical instrument!” — a very well

deserved rebuke to those who think that the possession of books will

secure them learning. A measure of that temptation happens to us all; for

do we not feel wiser after we have spent an hour or two in a bookseller’s

shop? A man might as well think himself richer for having inspected the

vaults of the Bank of England. In reading books let your motto be, “Much,

not many.” Think as well as read, and keep the thinking always

proportionate to the reading, and your small library will not be a great


There is very much sound sense in the remark of a writer in the Quarterly

Review many years back. “Give us the one dear book, cheaply picked from

the stall by the price of the dinner, thumbed and dog-eared, cracked in the

back and broken in the corner, noted on the fly-leaf and scrawled on the

margin, sullied and scorched, torn and worn, smoothed in the pocket and

grimed on the hearth, damped by the grass and dusted among the cinders,

over which you have dreamed in the grove and dozed before the embers,

but read again, again, and again, from cover to cover. It is by this one

book, and its three or four single successors, that more real cultivation has


been imparted than by all the myriads which bear down the mile-long,

bulging, bending shelves of the Bodleian.”

But if you feel you must have more books, I recommend to you a little

judicious borrowing. You will most likely have some friends who have

books, and who will be kind enough to let you use them for a time; and I

specially advise you, in order to borrow again, to return whatsoever is lent,

promptly, and in good condition. I hope there is not so much need that I

should say much about returning books, as there would have been a few

months ago, for I have lately met with a statement by a clergyman, which

has very much raised my opinion of human nature; for he declares that he

has a personal acquaintance with three gentlemen who have actually

returned borrowed umbrellas! I am sorry to say that he moves in a more

favored circle than I do, for I have personal acquaintance with several

young men who have borrowed books and never returned them. The other

day, a certain minister, who had lent me five books, which I have used for

two years or more, wrote to me a note to request the return of three of

them. To his surprise, he had them back by the next “Parcels’ Delivery,”

and two others which he had forgotten. I had carefully kept a list of books

borrowed, and, therefore, could make a complete return to the owner. I am

sure he did not expect their prompt arrival, for he wrote me a letter of

mingled astonishment and gratitude, and when I visit his study again, I feel

sure I shall be welcome to another loan. You know the rhyme which has

been written in many a man’s book —

If thou art borrowed by a friend,

Right welcome shall he be

To read, to study, not to lend,

But to return to me.

Not that imparted knowledge doth

Diminish learning’s store,

But books I find when once they’re lent,

Return to me no more.”

Sir Walter Scott used to say that his friends might be very indifferent

accountants, but he was sure they were good “bookkeepers.” Some have

even had to go the length of the scholar who, when asked to lend a book,

sent word by the servant that he would not let the book go out of his

chamber, but that the gentleman who sought the loan might come and sit

there and read as long as he liked. The rejoinder was unexpected but

complete, when, his fire being slow to burn, he sent to the same person to


borrow a pair of bellows, and received for answer that the owner would

not lend the bellows out of his own chamber, but the gentleman might

come and blow there as long as he liked. Judicious borrowing may furnish

you with much reading, but remember the man’s ax-head in the Scriptures,

and be careful of what you borrow. “The wicked borroweth and payeth not


In case the famine of books should be sore in the land, there is one book

which you all have, and that is your Bible; and a minister with his Bible is

like David with his sling and stone, fully equipped for the fray. No man

may say that he has no well to draw from while the Scriptures are within

reach. In the Bible we have a perfect library, and he who studies it

thoroughly will be a better scholar than if he had devoured the Alexandrian

Library entire. To understand the Bible should be our ambition; we should

be familiar with it, as familiar as the housewife with her needle, the

merchant with his ledger, the mariner with his ship. We ought to know its

general run, the contents of each book, the details of its histories, its

doctrines, its precepts, and everything about it. Erasmus, speaking of

Jerome, asks, “Who but he ever learned by heart the whole Scripture? or

imbibed, or meditated on it as lie did?” It is said of Witsius, a learned

Dutchman, author of the famous work on! “The Covenants,” that he also

was able, not merely to repeat every word of Scripture in the original

tongues, but to give the context, and the criticisms of the best authors; and

I have heard of an old minister in Lancashire, that he was “a walking

Concordance,” and could either give you chapter and verse for any passage

quoted, or vice versa, could correctly give the words when the place was

mentioned. That may have been a feat of memory, but the study needful to

it must have been highly profitable. I do not say that you must aspire to

that; but if you could, it would be well worth the gaining. It was one of the

fortes of that singular genius, William Huntington (whom I will not now

either condemn or commend), that in preaching he incessantly quoted

Ho1y Scripture, and was accustomed, whenever he did so, to give the

chapter and the verse; and in order to show his independence of the printed

book, it was his uncomely habit to remove the Bible from the front of the


A man who has learned not merely the letter of the Bible, but its inner

spirit, will be no mean man, whatever deficiencies he may labor under. You

know the old proverb, “Cave ab homine unius libri” — Beware of the

man of one book. He is a terrible antagonist. A man who has his Bible at


his fingers’ ends and in his heart’s core is a champion in our Israel; you

cannot compete with him: you may have an armory of weapons, but his

Scriptural knowledge will overcome you; for it is a sword like that of

Goliath, of which David said, “There is none like it.” The gracious William

Romaine, I believe, in the latter part of his life, put away all his books and

read nothing at all but his Bible. He was a scholarly man, yet he was

monopolized by the one Book, and was made mighty by it. If we are driven

to do the same by necessity, let us recollect that some have done it by

choice, and let us not bemoan our lot, for the Scriptures will be sweeter

than honey to our taste, and will make us “wiser than the ancients.” We

shall never be short of holy matter if we are continually studying the

inspired volume; nay, it is not only matter that we shall find there, but

illustration too; for the Bible is its own best illustrator. If you want

anecdote, simile, allegory, or parable, turn to the sacred page. Scriptural

truth never looks more lovely than when she is adorned with jewels from

her own treasury. I have lately been reading the Books of the Kings and the

Chronicles, and I have become enamored of them; they are as full of divine

instruction as the Psalms or Prophets, if read with opened eyes. I think it

was Ambrose who used to say, “I adore the infinity of Scripture.” I hear

that same voice which sounded in the ears of Augustine, concerning the

Book of God, “Tolle, lege” — “Take, read.” It may be you will dwell in

retirement in some village, where you will find no one to converse with

who is above your own level, and where you will meet with very few

books worth your reading; then read and meditate in the law of the Lord

both day and night, and you shall be “as a tree planted by the rivers of

water.” Make the Bible the man of your right hand, the companion of

every hour, and you will have little reason to lament your slender

equipment in inferior things.

I would earnestly impress upon you the truth, that a man who is short of

apparatus can make up for it by much thought. Thinking is better than

possessing books. Thinking is an exercise of the soul which both develops

its powers and educates them. A little girl was once asked whether she

knew what her soul was, and, to the surprise of all, she said, “Sir, my soul

is my think.” If this be correct, some persons have very little soul. Without

thinking, reading cannot benefit the mind, but it may delude the man into

the idea that he is growing wise. Books are a sort of idol to some men. As

the image with the Roman Catholic is intended to make him think of

Christ, and in effect keeps him from Christ, so books are intended to make


men think, but are often a hindrance to thought. When George Fox took a

sharp knife and cut out for himself a pair of leather breeches, and, having

done with the fashions of society, hid himself in a hollow tree, to think by

the month together, he was growing into a man of thought before whom

men of books speedily beat a retreat. What a flutter he made, not only

among the Poperies, and Prelacies, and Presbyteries of his day, but also

among the well-read proprieties of Dissent. He swept no end of cobwebs

out of the sky, and gave the bookworms a hard time of it. Thought is the

backbone of study, and if more ministers would think, what a blessing it

would be! Only, we want men who will think about the revealed truth of

God, and not dreamers who evolve religions out of their own

consciousness. Now-a-days we are pestered with a set of fellows who must

needs stand on their heads and think with their feet. Romancing is their

notion of meditation. Instead of considering revealed truth, they excogitate

a mess of their own, in which error, and nonsense, and conceit appear in

about equal parts; and they call this broth “modern thought.” We want men

who will try to think straight, and yet think deep, because they think God’s

thoughts. Far be it from me to urge you to imitate the boastful thinkers of

this age, who empty their meeting-houses, and then glory that they preach

to the cultivated and intellectual. It is miserable cant. Earnest thought upon

the things which are assuredly believed among us is quite another matter,

and to that I urge you. Personally I owe much to many hours, and even

days, spent alone, under an old oak-tree, by the river Medway. Happening

to be somewhat indisposed at the time when I was leaving school, I was

allowed considerable leisure, and, armed with an excellent fishing-rod, I

caught a few small fishes, and enjoyed many day-dreams, intermingled with

searchings of heart, and much ruminating of knowledge acquired. If boys

would think, it would be well to give them less class work and more

opportunity for thought. All cram and no digestion makes flesh destitute of

muscle, and this is even more deplorable mentally than physically. If your

people are not numerous enough to supply you with a library, they will

make fewer demands on your time, and, in having time for meditation, you

will be even better off than your brethren with many books and little space

for quiet contemplation.

Without books a man may learn much by keeping his eyes open. Current

history, incidents which transpire under his own nose, events recorded in

the newspaper, matters of common talk — he may learn from them all. The

difference between eyes and no eyes is wonderful. If you have no books to


try your eyes, keep them open wherever you go, and you will find

something worth looking at. Can you not learn from nature? Every flower

is waiting to teach you. “Consider the lilies,” and learn from the roses. Not

only may you go to the ant, but every living thing offers itself for your

instruction. There is a voice in every gale, and a lesson in every grain of

dust it bears. Sermons glisten in the morning on every blade of grass, and

homilies fly by you as the sere leaves fall from the trees. A forest is a

library, a cornfield is a volume of philosophy, the rock is a history, and the

river at its base a poem. Go, thou who hast thine eyes opened, and find

lessons of wisdom everywhere, in heaven above, in the earth beneath, and

in the waters under the earth. Books are poor things compared with these.

Moreover, however scant your libraries, you can study yourself. This is a

mysterious volume, the major part of which you have not read. If any man

thinks that he knows himself thoroughly, he deceives himself; for the most

difficult book you will ever read is your own heart. I said to a doubter the

other day, who seemed to be wandering in a maze, “Well, really I cannot

understand you; but I am not vexed, for I never could understand myself;”

and I certainly meant what I said. Watch the twists and turns and

singularities of your own mind, and the strangeness of your own

experience; the depravity of your heart, and the work of divine grace; your

tendency to sin, and your capacity for holiness; how akin you are to a devil,

and yet how allied to God himself! Note how wisely you can act when

taught of God, and how foolishly you behave when left to yourself. You

will find the study of your heart to be of immense importance to you as a

watcher over the souls of others. A man’s own experience should be to him

the laboratory in which he tests the medicines which he prescribes for

others. Even your own faults and failures will instruct you if you bring

them to the Lord. Absolutely sinless men would be unable to sympathize

with imperfect men and women. Study the Lord’s dealings with your own

souls, and you will know more of his ways with others.

Read other men; they are as instructive as books. Suppose there should

come up to one of our great hospitals a young student so poor that he

could not purchase surgical books; it would certainly be a great detriment

to him; but if he had the run of the hospital, if he saw operations

performed, and watched cases from day to day, I should not wonder but

what he might turn out as skillful a surgeon as his more favored

companions. His observation would show him what books alone could not;

and as he stood by to see the removal of a limb, the binding up of a wound,


or the tying up of an artery, he might, at any rate, pick up enough practical

surgery to be of immense service to him. Now, much that a minister needs

to know he must learn by actual observation. All wise pastors have walked

the hospitals spiritually, and dealt with inquirers, hypocrites, backsliders,

the despairing, and the presumptuous. A man who has had a sound

practical experience in the things of God himself, and watched the hearts of

his fellows, other things being equal, will be a far more useful man than he

who knows only what he has read. It is a great pity for a man to be a

college Jack-a-dandy, who comes out of the class-room as out of a bandbox,

into a world he has never seen before, to deal with men he has never

observed, and handle facts with which he has never come into personal

contact. “Not a novice,” says the apostle; and it is possible to be a novice

and yet a very accomplished scholar, a classic, a mathematician, and a

theoretical theologian. We should have practical familiarity with men’s

souls; and if we have much of it, the fewness of our books will be a light

affliction. “But,” says an inquiring brother, “how can you read a man?” I

have heard of a gentleman of whom it was said that you could never stop

five minutes under an archway with him but what he would teach you

something. That was a wise man; but he would be a wiser man still who

would never stop five minutes under an archway without learning

somewhat from other people. Wise men can learn as much from a fool as

from a philosopher. A fool is a splendid book to read from, because every

leaf is open before you; there is a dash of the comic in the style, which

entices you to read on, and if you gather nothing else, you are warned not

to publish your own folly.

Learn from experienced saints. What deep things some of them can teach

to us younger men! What instances God’s poor people can narrate of the

Lord’s providential appearances for them; how they glory in his upholding

grace and his faithfulness to his covenant! What fresh light they often shed

upon the promises, revealing meanings hidden from the carnally wise, but

made clear to simple hearts! Know you not that many of the promises are

written with invisible ink, and must be held to the fire of affliction before

the letters will show themselves? Tried spirits are grand instructors for


As for the inquirer, how much is to be gathered from him! I have seen very

much of my own stupidity while in conversation with seeking souls. I have

been baffled by a poor lad while trying to bring him to the Savior; I thought

I had him fast, but he has eluded me again and again with perverse


ingenuity of unbelief. Sometimes inquirers who are really anxious surprise

me with their singular skill in battling against hope; their arguments are

endless and their difficulties countless. They put us to a non plus again and

again. The grace of God at last enables us to bring them to the light, but

not until we have seen our own inefficiency. In the strange perversities of

unbelief, the singular constructions and misconstructions which the

desponding put upon their feelings and upon scriptural statements, you will

often find a world of instruction. I would sooner give a young man an hour

with inquirers and the mentally depressed than a week in the best of our

classes, so far as practical training for the pastorate is concerned.

Once more, be much at death-beds; they are illuminated books. There shall

you read the very poetry of our religion, and learn the secrets thereof.

What splendid gems are washed up by the waves of Jordan! What fair

flowers grow on its banks! The everlasting fountains in the glory-land

throw their spray aloft, and the dew-drops fall on this side the narrow

stream! I have heard humble men and women, in their departing hours, talk

as though they were inspired, uttering strange words, aglow with supernal

glory. These they learned from no lips beneath the moon; they must have

heard them while sitting in the suburbs of the New Jerusalem. God

whispers them in their ears amid their pain and weakness; and then they tell

us a little of what the Spirit has revealed. I will part with all my books, if I

may see the Lord’s Elijahs mount their chariots of fire.

Is not this enough upon our subject? If you desire more, it is time I

remember the sage saying, that it is better to send away an audience

longing than loathing, and, therefore, Adieu!




Ft1 Bishop Reynolds.

Ft2 Biographica1 Recollections of the Rev. Robert Hall, A.M. By J. M.

Morris, 1833.

ft3 We should hesitate to speak precisely in this manner. The gifts must be

somewhat apparent before the desire should be encouraged. Still in the

main we agree with Mr. Newton.

ft4 Memoir and Remains of the Rev. Robert Murray M’Cheyne, page 61.

This is one of the best and most profitable volumes ever published.

Every minister should read it often.

ft5 Joseph Alleine: His Companions and Times. By CHAS. STANFORD. An

admirable biography.

Ft6 The life of the Rev. David Brainerd, Missionary to the Indians. By

JONATHAN EDWARDS, A.M., President of the College of New Jersey.

London, 1818.

Ft7 A Memoir of the Rev. Henry Martyn, B.D., Chaplain to the Hon. East

India Company. By Rev. JOHN SARGENT, M.A., Rector of Lavington.


Ft8 Flecknoe.

ft9 “Denique sine monitore, quia de pectore oramus.” Tertulliani Apologet

c. 30.

Ft10 “<GREEK>“ Justin Martyr, Apol. I, c. 68. p. 270. Ed. Otto.

ft11 A Discourse concerning Liturgies and their Imposition. Vol. 15.

OWENS Works, Goold’s Edition.

ft12 It is but fair to admit, and we do so with pleasure, that of late years this

fault has grown more and more rare.

ft13 “A moment’s reflection upon the eternal consequences that may issue

from the preaching of a single sermon in the name of the great Author

and Finisher of faith, should be sufficient to effectually rebuke the

haphazard carelessness and the reckless self-conceit with which texts

are sometimes taken and treated, and to impress every true minister of

the gospel with the duty of choosing his texts in such a frame of mind


as may harmonize with the divine guidance as often as he may perform

that important task.” — DANIEL P. KIDDER. “A Treatise on Homiletics,

designed to Illustrate the True Theory and Practice of Preaching the


ft14 “I was led into a profitable strain of meditation, on our good

Shepherd’s care of his flock, by seeing some lambs exposed to the cold,

and a poor sheep perishing for want of care.” — ANDREW FULLERS


ft15 “Allegorical preaching debases the taste, and fetters the understanding

both of preacher and hearers.” — ADAM CLARK.

Wesley’s rule is better: “Be sparing in allegorizing or spiritualizing.”

Ft16 What, for instance, but mere fastidiousness or worse, could make M.

Athanase Coquerel write such criticisms as these: “For us Christians

the universal and supreme priesthood of the Son is not at all

commended by likening it to the pontificate of Melchisedek; and our

pilgrimage towards the heavenly country under the leadership of Jesus

very little resembles that of Israel towards the promised land under that

of Joshua, notwithstanding the identity of the names.”!!!…..

“A great number of texts lend themselves with a marvelous facility to

this interpretation, which is not one. ‘Lord, save us, we perish!’ cried

the apostles, when the tempest upon the lake of Galilee threatened to

engulf their barque. ‘Wilt thou be made whole?’ said Christ to the

paralytic of Bethesda. We feel how easy it is to allegorize these words.

They have been so a thousand times; and perhaps no preacher,

especially in a day of poverty of studied texts, of matured plans, refuses

himself permission to employ this resource, so much the more seducing

as it is extremely easy. I composed a long sermon upon the invitation of

Moses to his father-in-law, Hobab, or Jethro. Numbers 10:20. ‘We are

journeying unto the place of which the Lord said, I will give it you;

come thou with us,’ The division was already made, by commencing

with an historical exordium. This place, it is heaven. The Lord alone

gives it us for our country. The true believer says to each of his

brethren, ‘Come with us.’ .... And I have still to forgive myself for

having written and learned by heart thirty pages in quarto upon this


If M. Coquerel were responsible for no greater fault than this, he would

be a far better divine than he is at present.


ft17 Might not this be accurately applied to hearers filled with such


ft18 South is not always decent, and had he been a Dissenter he would have

been howled down for vulgarity. His genius is indisputable, but he

might have washed his mouth.

ft19 Men destitute of fancy and humor will deny this, even as the eagles

might dispute the lawfulness of hawking for flies, yet as swallows are

created for this last purpose, even so to some men the exercise of a

godly imagination is a main design of their constitution

ft20 SAMUEL MATHER still remains a standard authority in this lore. We

commend his work to the student.

Ft21 “Take care of anything awkward or affected, either in your gesture,

phrase, or pronunciation.” — JOHN WESLEY.

Ft22 A popular Treatise on the “Causes and Prevention of Diseases,” by

SAMUEL FENWICK, M.D., Volume I. “Diseases of the Throat and

Lungs.” JOHN CHURCHHILL, New Burlington Street.

ft23 When Johnson was asked whether Burke resembled Tullius Cicero, “No

Sir,” was the reply, “he resembles Edmund Burke.”

ft24 A young preacher, desirous of improving his style, wrote to Jacob

Gruber for advice. He had contracted the habit of prolonging his

words, especially when under excitement. The old gentleman sent him

the following laconic reply. “Dear — ah! brother — ah! — When — ah

you — ah go — ah to — ah preach — ah, take — ah care — ah you

— ah do not — ah say — ah ah — ah! — Yours — ah, JACOB — AH


ft25 Mr. Wealey thought it needful to say, “Sing no hymns of your own

composing.” The habit of giving out rhymes of their own concoction

was rife among the divines of his day: it is to be hoped it is now utterly


ft26 “There are men organized to speak well, as there are birds organized to

sing well, bees to make honey, and beavers to build.” — M. BAUTAIN.

ft27 “At first my chief solicitude used to be what I should find to say? I hope

it is now rather that I may not speak in vain. For the Lord hath not sent

me here to acquire the character of a ready speaker, but to win souls to

Christ and to edify his people, Often when I begin I am at a loss how I

shall proceed, but one thing insensibly offers after another, and in


general the best and most useful parts of my sermon occur de novo,

while I am preaching.” — JOHN NEWTON. Letters to a Student in


ft28 Ecclesiaticus 40:1, 2, 3, 4, 5-8.

Ft29 Thomas Washbourne.


Many thanks to


Prof. Dr. Benno A. Zuiddam