Discourses on Various Occasions

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Appendix

On the marble monument erected in the Unitarian Church, in Savannah, by the bereaved flock, to the memory of their lamented pastor, is the following inscription, written by the author of the preceding Discourse.

IN MEMORY OF

REV. WILLIAM VINCENT THACHER,

PASTOR OF THIS CHURCH.

A MODEST AND HUMBLE CHRISTIAN.

THE PRINCIPLES AND PRECEPTS OF HIS MASTER,

WHICH HE INCULCATED FROM THE PULPIT,

HE EZEBfPLIFIED IN HIS OWN CHARACTER,

AND ILLUSTRATED BT A CONSISTENT LIFE.

OF GENTLE MANNERS AND WARM AFFECTIONS,

HE WON MANY SOULS TO CHRIST

BY HIS MILD AND PATHETIC ELOQUENCE.

THOSE WHO MIGHT HAVE RESISTED A BOLDER APPEAL,

YIELDED TO HIS CALM AND QUIET TEACHING,

ACKNOWLEDGING THE POWER OF SINCERE PIETY,

AND THE CHARM OF SIMPLE GOODNESS.

HE was BORN IN BOSTON, APRIL 15, 1815, AND DIED ON HIS PASSAGE FROM SAVANNAH TO NEW YORK,

An extract from the Discourse delivered in the Church on Church Green, the Sunday after the news of Mr. Thacher's death reached Boston, fills a column in the . Christian Register for August 10, 1839, vol. xviii. page 134. Its length forbids its insertion here.

n\

CHARLES HAYWARD, JR.

Extract from a Discourse delivered in the Church on Church Green, November 11, 1838, the Sunday afler his decease.

" Our young friend was possessed of uncommon intellectual powers, which were very early developed and ripened. This was always admitted by those who had the best opportunities of observing and testing his capacities and gifts — I mean his classmates and fellow-students at the University. The production of a regular drama, at the age of nineteen, which successfully passed the ordeal of public criticism, is no ordinary proof of the precocity and maturity of his genius ; whilst his Life of Sebastian Cabot, which appeared in the ninth volume of Mr. Sparks's American Biography, would be thought highly creditable to any young man among us.

'* On leaving College, a year since, with distinguished honors, having passed unscathed through that fiery trial of principle and character, and having been selected by his classmates as their Orator, he entered upon the study of the Law. But he found, after a while, that this study was not congenial to his views and feelings, that he could not get interested in it, that he could not pursue it conscientiously. His mind was revolving higher themes — his heart was bent on a holier service; and accoidingly, at the close of the academic year, he returned, with a glad and happy spirit, to his earlier choice ; and entering the Divinity School at Cambridge, devoted himself, with his whole soul, to a preparation for the Christian ministry.

** Though his decease, at such an early age, and with such bright prospects before him, may appear to us untimely and mysterious, yet it was evidently his own feeling, more than once expressed, that * it was best to die young ;' and a short time before he died, he told one whom he dearly loved, that when he was gone she must not mourn for him. As is not unfrequently the case, he seems to have had a mysterious presentiment, that he was not to stay here long ; and this impression may, perhaps, have given new stimulus to his efforts, and kindled up within him that earnest and fervent desire to be useful during the brief space that he was to remain. He thus ' fulfilled a long time in a short time.' An inward zeal seemed to consume him, and the spirit wore away the body, as the sword-blade cuts the scabbard. He lived not to himself; he died not to himself."

J

CHRISTIANITY DESIGNED AND ADAPTED TO BE A UNIVERSAL REU6I0N.

DELIVERED AT THE ORDINATION or TMS

REV. JAMES W. THOMPSON,

* AS PASTOR OF THE

SOUTH CONGREGATIONAL SOCIETY,

IN NATICK,

BY ALEXANDER YpUNG,

MINISTKB OF THE CHUBCH ON CHURCH GREEK, BOSTON.

PUBLISHED BT REQUEST.

BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY GRAY AND BOWBN.

DISCOURSE.

John Vm. 13.

I AM THE LIGHT OF THE WOULD.

Were an intelligent citizen of one of the most re-- fined nations of antiquity permitted to revisit the earth at the present day, and observe the changes which had taken place since his time, there is nodi* ing, I think, that would more forcibly arrest his attention, than the influence which the christian reli* gion has exerted on the character and condition of mankind. For example, were that great and good man, Socrates, at this moment among us, instituting a comparison between the present state of things in &e world, and that which subsisted in his own age, I doubt not it would be his spontaneous and hearty confession, that he not^ witnessed, in no inconsidera* ble measure, that intellectual and moral advance* ment of his species, which was formerly the dearest hope of his heart, and die anticipation of which was the greatest solace of his sufferings and the only reward of his labours. He would acknowledge that the human race had gone forward in a path that might be tracked by its exceeding brightness ; that there was much more of wisdom, of virtue, and of enjoyment in the world ; that the nations had become more civilized ; that the mass of the people were more enlightened and moral ; and that a more correct estimate of the nature and sources of happiness had diffused itself through society. He would admit that his own city, the queenly Athens, the seat of arts and arms, with all its wealth, and philosophy, and refinement, might well be termed barbarous, when contrasted with those communities of modem times, that enjoy the comforts of social life, act from the suggestions of good sense and moral principle, and are at all times animated by the desire of improvement

He would naturally be led to inquire what were the causes of this great progress in society ; and I believe, that after a deliberate survey of the several agents that might be supposed to have produced this effect, he would come to the conclusion, that the spirit, the principles, and the institutions of Christianity had had by far the greatest share in the work. He would remember that in ancient times, they had many things which they presiuned would conduce to the well-being ^of man. They had an ingenious religion and a subtile philosophy. They had a literature and arts, which were the glory of their age, and have been the admiration of all succeeding times. They had wise men and great men innumerable. They had dominion, and territory, and fame. They had every thing but those peculiar blessings which have been conferred upon the world by Christianity and the christian sabbath.

The christian sabbath ! That is an institution so novel, so peculiar, so dissonant from all his former experience, that it attracts the particular notice of our Athenian visiter. For six successive days, he sees all around him activity and busy life ; in the streets, the moving multitude ; in the fields, the joyful occupations of the husbandman ; industry in the workshop, enterprise on the public walks, and thrift at home. The morning of the seventh day arrives, and the scene is changed. The din of labour has ceased ; the workshop is closed ; the fields are vacant ; the public places are deserted ; the streets are a solitude. He listens, but his ear can catch no sound. He fears that some terrible judgment has fallen upon the devoted city, and that the inmates of its dwellings are lifeless. But soon this mysterious and melancholy silence is broken; a strange sound strikes upon his ear. It is the sound of the sabbath bell. At the signal, he observes the inhabitants issuing from their homes. He goes forth himself, and is borne along by the swarming multitude. He remarks an entire change in the appearance of the population. The very countenances, in which, but the day before, he had read the deep traces of anxiety and toil, are now tranquil and composed. The habiliments of industry, too, are laid aside, and a simple and decent habit distinguishes the day of rest from the day of labour. The mixed multitude enters what seems to him a place of public resort. He thinks, doubtless, it is the school of some eminent philosopher, who there proposes to teach men wisdom. He has a curiosity to hear the system which he teaches, that he may compare it with those prevalent in his own times ; and he ac^ cordingly enters.

He finds gathered there persons of all ages, ranks, and conditions, engaged with solemn demeanour in what he supposes to be a religious service. He lis* tens to the address of the officiating priest, and he confesses that he has at last heard what he had long sought, yet sought in vain, among the discordant and bewildering systems of ancient theology. He hears the welcome declaration, that a Saviour * hath abol* ished death, and brought life and immortality to light ; that the hour is coming in which all that are in the grave shall hear his voice, and shall come forth.' Christ crucified might, indeed, appear foolishness to his conceited countrymen assembled in the Areopagus. They might mock when Paul preached to them of the resurrection of the dead. But to the enlarged and enlightened mind of Socrates, it would present itself as a most reasonable and acceptable doctrine. To him, who had himself died a martyr in the cause of truth and virtue, a crucified and a risen Saviour would appear *the power of God and the wisdom of God.' — ^When reflecting, at the close of the day, on all that he had seen and heard, he would testify that this stated season of rest and worship was a most useful and blessed institution. He would acknowledge that the sacrifices and ceremonies of his national religion, were but as the shadows of that spiritual worship in which he sees the highest and the humblest in this christian land, unitedly engaged. He would admit that all the gor^ geous processions and splendid festivals of which antiquity could boast, were but poor pageants when contrasted with the simple repose and silence of the sabbath.

To the thoughtful and discerning mind of the wise man of Athens, there is one characteristic of the christian dispensation, that would present itself with peculiar force ; and that is, its design and adaptation to be a universal reUgion. The sublime truth, announced in those words of our Saviour, ^ I am the light of the world,' is one of the most striking features of his religion. Unlike all other teachers who had preceded him, his declared purpose was to enlighten the whole world. The lawgivers, who, before his time, had devised codes and estabUshed rules of civil poUty, had legislated solely for their own nations. The framers of religious systems had formed and adapted them to the character and circumstances of a particular people. The reformers, who at various times had risen up among men, had confined their plans of revolution and improvement to some designated community. And the philosophers imparted their instnictions within so . limited a range, and to so small a body of select disciples, that it seems as if they puiposed to conceal them fix>m all but the initiated, and were unwilling that their tenets should be known beyond the precincts of their own schools. In the long lapse of ages, the world had seen a Moses, a Numa, and a Zoroaster, men of singular wisdom and virtue, labouring with untiring perseverance to effect the moral and religious reformation of their countrjrmen. There had been many and worthy examples of disinterested benevolence, and of a pure and devoted love of country. Politicians, and patriots, and benefactors of nations, had appeared in every age and in every region of the globe.

Jesus Christ appeared upon earth, and at the very outset, by the mere annimciation of his purpose, a purpose at once so sublime and comprehensive, raised himself far above all the reformers, philosophers, and sages that had ever lived. His large and generous soul surveyed and comprehended in its wide grasp, all the capacities, interests, wants and woes of the whole human race. He sent a keen and searching glance over the earth, and he beheld a world lying in wickedness and misery. As a patriot, he wept at the impending desolation of his country. As a philanthropist, he mourned over the moral desolation and wretchedness of man. He would not, therefore, suffer himself to be trammelled and impeded in his career of benevolence and reform by the mere accidents of time and place. He does not come forth, and, with the narrow views of other reformers, proclaim, * I am the light of the iage — I am the hght of my nation — I am the light of Judea and Galilee.' But, at the first annunciation of his design, he rises at once to the original and grand conception of a universal religion ; a religion which should comprehend in its wide embrace the numerous and scattered tribes of the great human family ; a religion which should be promul-^ gated in every language and in every climate ; and accordingly he utters the sublime and solemn declaration of the text, ^ I am the light of the world/ — of the world in all its diversified regions, and in all successive ages.

This idea of a universal religion, a religion which should supersede the countless systems of polytheism and false religion, that prevailed and flourished on the earth, you will admit, my hearers, was a vast and stupendous one. Putting entirely out of view the question of the truth and divine origin of this religion, it must be admitted, even by the skeptic, that the mere conception of a scheme so novel and grand, is indicative of superiour intellectual light and power, and entitles him who disclosed it, to profound admiration. And need I ask how much his admiration would be increased, when he learns that this original conception was first avowed by an obscure and unlettered individual, in a secluded region, and in the midst of an ignorant and narrow-minded people. Let him cast a glance up^ on the map of the ancient world, and he will observe, bordering on the eastern extremity of the great in* land sea, a smsdl and narrow strip of land, inhabited by a separate and singular people ; a people cut off from all intercourse with the rest of the worid by the peculiarities of their civil and religious polity^ by a distinctive language and by national prejudke ; a people regarded by all other nations with av^^on and contempt, on account of their alleged exclu* sireness and ' hatred of the human race,' and con^ sequently debarred from all the li^t that mi^ possibly be derived from tlie learning and philosophy of their more intelligent neighbours* Now let the unbeliever consider, that it was from die bosom of a people so secluded, so illiterate, and fully persuaded of the perfection of their own retigious £iidi and ritual, tl^t there proceeded a Teacher and Reformer, who had formed views and projected a scheme for the spiritual and moral renovation of our race, which had escaped the researches of all preceding times, and &r transcended Ih^ wisdom of the world. An tmeducated peasant, a diespised Galilean, promulgated a plan for the reformation and advancement of mankind, that 1^ never once entered the nund of any of the boasted sages and philosophers of the most liberal, and cultivated age.-^an the infidel maintain, can he beiieve, that there was nothing extraordinary, nothing ujiaccountable, nothing supernatural in all this 1 Which