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Z 64 . Sabbath Musings .
half a century bis penitential tears , it is with somewhat of the same reverence that the youthful Hebrew' convert must have felt when he overtook the Teacher reposing himself in the clefted rock from the noonday heats , or watching the thunder cloud as it descended upon the valleys ;—The feeling is not to be derided in the one case more than in the other , since it is only misplaced and not factitious or absurd . The error relates to the
object , and not to the emotions with which it is contemplated . If I believed , like the priest-ridden flock below , that : their saint was as lofty in soul as Paul ,. and as pure as John , I would come in the calmness of reason to worship where he had worshiped , and meditate where he had reposed . As it is , the difference between them and myself is , that the same emotion flows in another direction , and that I discern a kindred sanctity where they look not for it *
The place was not ill-chosen by the holy man if the circumstances could but fcave been adapted to that highest worship—the service of the life . All the natural objects around breathe praise ; and the chorus might have been complete if . the mighty voice of the affections had not been dumb . The ceaseless dash of the waterfall on a wintry day like this , the bleating of the flocks in spring , and the shepherd ' s call coming up from beside the fold ,
the flapping of wings when the eagle darts into the summer sky , and the anthems of the autumn winds , these are alL praise ; but they are no more than inarticulate melodies till the concords of human spirits are joined to them , converting them into the native . language of angels . The lamps of this temple are also many and beautiful ; the icicles that glitter in the cave ' s mouth ; the . rainbow that comes and goes as the sunbeams touch the spray and vanish $ the mists of the valley that roll beneath the silver moon , and the tinted clouds that sail around her—these in their turn light up this
temple , ; but they are shifting , flickering , expiring flames ; -and there is yet wanting the altar of the human heart on which alone a fire is kindled from above to shine in the faces of all true worshipers for ever . Where this flame , the glow of human love , is burning , there is the temple of Christian worship , be it only beside the humblest village hearth : where it has not been kindled , there is no sanctuary ; and the loftiest amphitheatre of mountains , lighted up by the ever-burning stars , is no more the dwelling-place of Jehovah than the temple of Solomon before it was filled with the glory of the Presence . The devotee who retired hither to extinguish his human affections was therefore like that son of Aaron ( if such there
were ) who took up his abode in the courts of Jehovah when their doom was sealed , vainly trusting that the " Let us go hence" had not been said ; for ever building himself an abode among the crumbling ruins ; forever collecting on , the altar the ashes which the bleak winds must for ever disperse . How impious such unbidden service ! How mournful such fruitless toil . ! ' i Yea ! Love is worship , authorized and approved ; and various as the de-
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Nov. 2, 1831, page 764, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2603/page/40/
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