II. SAM. 12, 23.
I ſhall go to Him, but he ſhall not return unto Me.

DAVID, who in the general courſe and tenor of his life, had by his piety and virtue recommended himſelf to the favour and acceptance of the Almighty, was by the in⯑dulgence of an unlawful paſſion betray'd into the commiſſion of a crime which moſt deſervedly call'd down upon him the divine diſpleaſure. God notwithſtanding, who in the midſt of his wrath remembered mercy, was graciouſly pleaſed on his ſincere repentance to ſpare the life of the royal ſinner, and for reaſons beſt known to his ſupreme wiſdom to puniſh him in the death of his child.

THE Lord, ſays the prophet Samuel, ſtrake the child that Uriah's wife bare unto David, and it was very ſick. David therefore beſought God for the child, and David faſted, and went in, [4] and lay all night upon the earth, neither would he eat bread. And it came to paſs on the ſeventh day that the child dy'd.

THEN David aroſe from the earth, and anoint⯑ed himſelf, and came into the houſe of the Lord, and they ſet bread before him and he did eat.

AND when his ſervants ſeem'd ſurpris'd at this change of behaviour, he ſaid unto them, while the child was yet alive, I faſted and wept: for I ſaid, who can tell whether God will be gracious unto me, that the child may live?

BUT now he is dead, wherefore ſhould I faſt? Can I bring him back again?

I ſhall go to him, but he ſhall not return unto me.

WHEN the afflicted parent began to reflect, that to indulge his ſorrows for the loſs of his beloved child would only be fruitleſs and unavailing, and that his grief inſtead of removing, could on⯑ly increaſe the calamity, he ſubmitted himſelf in all humility to the divine diſpenſation; he conſi⯑der'd that his ſighs could not recall, nor his tears reſtore, what he lamented; and that it was therefore his duty to reſign his will, and acknow⯑ledge a ſuperior one. To reſume that poſt which [5] he had forſaken, to perform that part which the creator had allotted to him, and thoſe ſocial of⯑fices to which he was appointed; he comforts himſelf with the conviction that a time wou'd come when they ſhould meet again, when God ſhould call him to another ſtate, and that in the mean time he had ſomething to do in this. I ſhall go to him, ſays he, but he ſhall not return unto me.

THE conduct and behaviour of David on this occaſion, may, when we are involved in the like calamity demand our praiſe, and merit our imitation.

A decent ſorrow for the loſs of our departed friends, as it is the natural production of a feel⯑ing heart, is not only pardonable, but meritorious, if kept within the bounds of prudence, and war⯑ranted by the dictates of religion and virtue. But if we ſuffer it to interfere with our duty, to clog the wheels of life, and prevent the diſcharge of thoſe offices which we were ſent into this world to perform, it then becometh highly culpable.

IN a world where we are liable to ſo many temptations, ſorrow is indeed but too often ne⯑ceſſary to call off our attachment to it, to remind us of our ſtate and condition here, to wean our [6] affections from things below, and fix them on that better and more durable ſtate, where only true joys are to be found.

OF all thoſe uſeful monitors of mankind which from age to age have enlighten'd an ignorant, or refin'd a corrupt world, ſo profitable an in⯑ſtructor hath never yet been found as Death. This great and univerſal teacher aboundeth every day in the wiſeſt leſſons of morality, he ſpeaks in a language to be underſtood by all, appeals in the moſt pathetic manner to our ſenſes, and ſtrikes deep into our hearts; but his admonitions are always more effectual, when he appeareth clothed as it were in his bloody garment, and affrights us with more than ordinary terrors, when he cometh as the ſcripture ſaith, like an armed man, when on a ſudden he invades the palaces of health, or throws down the gaudy ſtructures of youth and beauty.

WHEN the wither'd and ſapleſs oak, which perhaps had ſtood for ages, yields at laſt to the hand of time, loſes it's verdure and decays, or is hewed down, and thrown into the fire, it cauſeth neither wonder nor regret: but when the young and flouriſhing plant, with all it's bloſſoms full and fair upon it, is on a ſudden blaſted by lightning, [7] or torn up by ſtorm and tempeſt, then indeed we behold it with an eye of pity and aſtoniſhment. And thus alſo when wearied nature ſinks as it were to reſt, we are not diſturb'd at her repoſe; when the old and decrepid ſink into the grave, we nei⯑ther murmur nor repine; when the ſick and weak, whoſe lives are burthenſome and uneaſy to others, are releaſed by the interpoſing hand of death from a ſcene of perpetual miſery; when the poor, the oppreſſed, and the captive are ſet free from toil and ſlavery; when the wicked are prevented from multiplying their crimes, and filling up the meaſure of their iniquity, then it is that we call death a bleſ⯑ſing, and ſubmit with readineſs to the determinati⯑ons of providence, and the decrees of the Almighty.

BUT when the order of nature is as it were reverſed, when youth, health and vigour are in a moment changed into ſickneſs, deformity and decay; when death by a ſudden and unexpected ſtroke cuts off the hopes of promiſed pleaſures, and puts an end at once to the faireſt proſpects of riſing virtue; this alarms the inſenſible, and ſtag⯑gers the reſolute; terrifies the wicked, dejects and diſpirits even the beſt of men.

THUS ſudden and thus dreadful, attended with circumſtances too affecting to relate, was the ſtroke which as it were in a moment ſo lately [8] away from us that worthy and eſteemed youth who ſo lately filled this place.

THE ſudden diſappearance of any object which hath been conſtantly before our eyes is always attended with ſome degree of anxiety, but when that object was the relation whom we loved, the friend whom we valued, the man whom we eſteemed, the pain muſt then be very ſharp, the ſorrow muſt be exquiſite.

THERE is a time in human life, after which connections cannot be formed with delight, or relyed on with confidence, and when conſe⯑quently the remembrance of paſt pleaſures can only ſerve to embitter preſent happineſs.

YOU were not (and happy is it for you that you were not) like myſelf, very cloſely and very intimately connected with him. The loſs of a real friend whom we have tried and known, with whom we have been bred up from our earlieſt years, the partaker of all our joys, and the partner of all our griefs, is perhaps one of the moſt acute and painful of all human calamities; it is a loſs indeed which becometh every day and every hour more diſtreſsful; it is a wound cut as it were into the tree of life, and as the bark extends, and we advance in years, it groweth deeper and more viſible.

[9] PERMIT me then to pay the tribute of friend⯑ſhip to his beloved memory. Permit me to call to your remembrance how faithfully, how chear⯑fully, and how ſucceſsfully he laboured in your ſervice; how nobly he fought the cauſe of his Maſter and Redeemer; how ſtrenuouſly he recom⯑mended his example, and how pathetically he enforced his precepts: his diſcourſes were always intelligible to the meaneſt, and at the ſame time not beneath the attention of the higheſt capaci⯑ties. He preached the goſpel of Chriſt in the ſame ſpirit of meekneſs and humility which in⯑ſpired the firſt illuſtrious teachers of it, without the oſtentatious parade of ſuperior learning, or the faſhionable pretence to ſuperior godlineſs, ſo frequently of late years to be met with amongſt us. He had piety enough to render his whole conduct through life, juſt, uniform, and irre⯑proachable; and he who has more will only run into ſuperſtition, bigotry and enthuſiaſm. He had learning ſufficient to improve and adorn his underſtanding without miſguiding his judgment, or overwhelming his natural capacities. His ſtile was animated, but not turgid; his action juſt and lively, but not affected, or theatrical. He touch'd the paſſions of his hearers, but never inflamed them; and whilſt he appealed to their reaſon by argument, he never puzzled and confounded it by ſophiſtry and deluſion.

[10] IT is indeed extraordinary, (and it is a circum⯑ſtance which I am certain you have too much gratitude to forget) that conſidering ^‡the laborious employment in which he was conſtantly engag⯑ed, he could find time ſo well and ſo punctually to perform his duty here. But his induſtry was equal to his capacities, and whatever he had a mind to do, he was ſure to perform. Had he lived in an age when merit in his profeſſion could have been any recommendation to him, his ſta⯑tion in the church had been as diſtinguiſhed as his abilities: and he that deſerved the higheſt honours, would doubtleſs have poſſeſſed them.

HE filled this place indeed with ſo much credit to himſelf, and gave ſo much ſatisfaction to all who heard him, as to leave no eaſy taſk to thoſe who ſhall ſucceed him. Had it been my lot, I ſhould have embraced it with fear and diffidence, but endeavoured to execute it with diligence and fidelity. I ſhould have conſidered it as a kind of legacy bequeathed by my beloved friend, as an office committed to me by him, and conſe⯑quently ſhould have had one additional obligation to the conſcientious diſcharge of it. But ſince it is otherwiſe determined; you will, I hope, for⯑give my taking this opportunity of doing juſ⯑tice [11] to one of the deareſt, and one of the beſt of men. The laſt time he ever performed the ſacred function, and appeared in the pulpit, was to ſupply my place in a neighbouring pariſh; it may be no improper return therefore, that the laſt time I may perhaps appear in this, I ſhould take occaſion to remember him.

BUT let us turn our eyes from what he ſaid to what he did: from the precepts which he deli⯑vered to the far more inſtructive page of his ge⯑neral conduct and behaviour.

HIS life indeed was like his preaching, and his actions reſembled his diſcourſe; all pure, chaſte, eaſy and unaffected: his modeſty by endeavour⯑ing to hide, but ſerved the more to diſcover his merit: he never affected ſuperiority on account of that knowledge which he had, or pretended to that which he had not: his converſation was affa⯑ble and courteous, without the leaſt taint of ſervi⯑lity or diſſimulation: his chearfulneſs never devi⯑ated into licentiouſneſs, nor did his ſincerity betray him into ill-manners; and in his gayer hours he had all the ſprightlineſs and vivacity of wit, with⯑out that ſpleen, rancour and ill-nature which ſo frequently accompany it.

TO the fire and ſpirit of youth, he join'd the prudence and diſcretion of age. From a noble⯑neſs [12] of ſoul, which few have equalled, he rather choſe to ſtoop to an employment in life, to which he was infinitely ſuperior, and which his conſti⯑tution was indeed unequal to, than to wound his conſcience, or ſacrifice his integrity by the mean compliances of a looſe and degenerate age; by a ſervile dependance which he deſpiſed, or a mean diſſimulation which he abhorr'd.

HE was, to ſay the truth, what one of our nobleſt poets call, "the nobleſt work of God, "an honeſt and an upright man." If he had a fault, it was a fault which only the beſt of na⯑tures are ſubject to, too delicate a feeling for the ſufferings of others, and too intenſe a ſenſibility of his own. He permitted ſorrows for evils which he could not cure, to ſink too deep into his heart; and it hath been queſtioned, whether his exceſſive grief for the death of another, did not in a great meaſure haſten and contribute to his own. Thus were even his tenderneſs and piety pernicious to him; and that virtue incurred a pu⯑niſhment, which doubtleſs had merited a reward.

To ſum up his character then as briefly as poſſible; when heard, he was admired; when ſeen, eſteemed; when known, beloved. As a preacher attended to, and as a man reſpected; in the ſtricteſt ſenſe of the words, a chriſtian, a ſon, a brother, a companion, and a friend.

[13] BUT alas! the pious chriſtian, the excellent preacher, the affectionate ſon, the loving brother, the amiable companion, and the ſincere friend are now no more.

SINCE ſuch he was, ſhall we lament, or ſhall we envy his condition? Parents muſt weep, friends will complain, mankind in general may regret the loſs, but ſurely this conſolation ſtill remains with all; that the ſorrows which we feel, he doth not partake of; and that he whom we bewail is moſt aſſuredly happy, though we can not be ſo.

IN regard to thoſe who muſt moſt deeply feel his loſs, thoſe pious, good and afflicted parents who regret him, they will I doubt not ſubmit to the divine will. They will reflect, that as no man whilſt he lives can be pronounced truly hap⯑py, ſo neither can we affirm any man truly good or virtuous whilſt he lives, becauſe there is al⯑ways a poſſibility of falling both into miſery and vice.

HAD they left him behind therefore, they muſt have left him to be toſſed in the ocean of life, where the boiſterous and unruly paſſions might have overwhelmed all his virtues, and ſunk him into the abyſs of ſin and ſorrow; they will re⯑flect with pleaſure therefore, that Death hath as [14] it were ſet the ſeal upon his character, and put it out of the power of a vicious world to corrupt, or of a deceitful world to betray him. They will reflect alſo what he was taken from, and what they may reaſonably hope he is tranſported to; taken from a fluctuating ſcene of guilt and miſery, to a permanent and certain ſtate of ever⯑laſting happineſs; to a place where his virtues could be no longer ſubject to change, diminu⯑tion, or decay. If they reflect that he was ſnatched away from them in the meridian of his age, they will reflect alſo, that he was prepared for it by a life of innocence and goodneſs; that the ſooner he deſerved happineſs, the ſooner he obtained it; that his death therefore was graci⯑ouſly ordained by the Almighty, that ſuch early virtues might be recompenſed by as early a reward.

IF they reflect with ſorrow, as they doubtleſs will, that he ſhall never return to them, they will reflect alſo, and ſurely with the utmoſt plea⯑ſure and ſatisfaction, that it will not be long be⯑fore they ſhall go to him; that he only haſtened his journey to the other world, that he might be ready to receive them there; that he is employed in heaven as he lov'd to be on earth, in acts of duty towards them, and is even now perhaps pre⯑paring [15] for them the ſeats of uninterrupted happineſs deſigned for them by their bountiful creator in the regions of bliſs and immortality.

THAT we ſhall once again ſee our departed friends in another ſtate is very agreeable to our hopes, by no means diſſonant to reaſon, nor, as I know of, contradicted by revelation or ſcripture. It is a joy highly rational, and therefore well adapted to a rational being; it is a joy purely ſpi⯑ritual, and therefore not unworthy of a ſpiritual being.

LET us remember then for our conſolation, that, if he cannot return to us, we may go to him.

SCENES of this melancholy nature muſt of courſe, if duly attended to, reform and purify the mind, they are deſign'd by the Almighty for our warning and for our inſtruction.

PERMIT them then, I beſeech you, to have their due effect upon us.

AN example ſo terrible, an inſtance ſo alarm⯑ing of the inſtability of all that is human, muſt ſurely be more than ſufficient to repreſs the pride of the inſolent, and to check the hopes of the ambitious; to ſtop the profligate in his career of pleaſure, and to poiſon the feaſt of the volup⯑tuous.

[16] SINCE neither that youth which promiſeth life, nor that health which ſupports, could here con⯑tinue it; ſince neither the temperance which lays claim to years, nor the virtue which deſerves, could procure them for him, who ſhall be proud of his ſtrength, or who ſhall glory in his own perfections? Who ſhall promiſe to themſelves length of days, when they remember him who had not run out half his courſe? The old can⯑not be ſo preſumptuous as to hope it, the young have no right nor authority to expect it.

HEAR this then, as the Prophet ſays, thou that dwelleſt careleſly, thou that art given to pleaſures, thou that ſayeſt in thine heart, I am, and none elſe beſides me. I ſhall not ſit as a wi⯑dow, neither ſhall I know the loſs of children. But theſe two things ſhall come unto thee in a moment, in one day the loſs of children and widowhood they ſhall come upon thee.

WHAT manner of men therefore, my brethren, as the apoſtle ſays, ought we to be in all conver⯑ſation and godlineſs.

YOU once liſten'd with attention to him as a preacher; his life alſo was a moſt inſtructive ſer⯑mon, let his death be ſo likewiſe; let it teach us to ſet immediately about the neceſſary work of repentance, to prepare for the great and im⯑portant [17] day which is to call us off from this tranſitory ſcene, and fix us in a better and more durable one.

IF we would go to him whom we lament, we muſt tread in the ſame paths of honour and virtue: we muſt follow his ſteps if we would meet with his reward: we muſt live the life, if we would die the death of the righteous; if (like him) we would, whilſt upon earth be eſ⯑teem'd and lov'd, and when remov'd from it, praiſed and lamented, let us be careful ſo to run as to obtain; that after we have paſſed through the waves of this ſtormy and tempeſtuous world we may join him in the harbour of reſt and felicity, and after all our ſorrows here, be tranſ⯑ported to the regions of joy and happineſs, where we hope and believe he is rewarded, and is now ſatiating his thirſt in thoſe rivers of bliſs which flow at God's right hand for ever⯑more.