groaned under the terrible burden imposed upon them by the conquerors, to have laughed. Then, when his fellow-citizens rose up against him in indignation, he replied, “I laugh not from joy to see your bondage; but I laugh at your tears, now too late, now in vain; for had you in proper time fought as men, now you would not be weeping as women.”
Behold, O sinners, as in a picture, your tears and God’s laughter: you bewailing your misery, and God laughing at your tears: you sobbing through eternity under the burden of the Devil’s rule, and God laughing at your sobs: you lamenting in the agony of eternal fire, and God laughing at your lamentations: and all because when as Christians you might have fought the good fight, now, when too late, you break forth into tears which are vain, and into lamentations which are fruitless.
Surely this is a very terrible, yet striking sermon,
one sure to tell on rude and uncultivated minds, from
the vigour of the moral application, and the richness of
the imagery.
There are some very remarkable passages in the next sermon, which is on the subject of the merit of good works consisting in the inward disposition, and not in the magnitude of the outward act.
De Barzia relates the story of the anointing of David. He pictures Samuel before the sons of Jesse admiring the stalwart form of Eliab, and the stature of Aminadab, and thinking that one of these must be the destined king. Yet no—it is none of these. The word of God bids him anoint David, the youngest, the feeblest, the
