"He has such a strong sense of his past folly, that he acknowledges he has forfeited the rights of his birth. He asks not the privilege of a son, but the protection of a servant. His whole speech discovers the genuineness of his sorrow, and the deepness of his contrition; far from endeavoring to cover or palliate his transgressions, he confesses them in the most open and affecting manner. The expression of his resolution of amendment is the only thing which seems here to be wanting; but this very circumstance gives us a new occasion to observe the wonderful propriety and inimitable beauty of our Savior's discourses. The prodigal had been engaged in such scenes of wickedness that the reflection upon them quite overwhelmed him. He scarcely dares promise upon his own treacherous heart."

“And he said, a certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the hulks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. And, when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many hired servants of my fathers have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise, and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

And he arose, and came to his father, but when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.’ But the father said to his servants, bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat and be merry. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.”

The company to which our Savior addressed his discourse at this time, consisted of men who had very different characters, and who to outward appearance, were very unlike in their manners. The publicans who were the collectors of the taxes imposed by the Romans, and who were extremely disagreeable to the Jews both on account of their office and their behavior in the execution of it, with many others equally notorious for their vices, made up one class of his hearers. The other class consisted of the Scribes and Pharisees, whose pretences to purity and sanctity were very high, who treated those who

"a sense of sin seriously entertained, is a natural source of humility; for when we consider our corruptions and vices, we cannot esteem ourselves, but are ashamed and abashed on account of them."

differed from them with the most supercilious contempt, assuming an exclusive privilege of being accounted holy; while at the same time their hearts were altogether vitiated and corrupted.

The parables recorded in this chapter are admirably calculated for instructing the former of those classes in the extent of the divine mercy, and thus engaging them to fly to its protection, and for reproving the uncharitableness and self-sufficiency of the latter. In the two first parables, that of the lost sheep and that of the loft piece of silver, we may discern the address of our Savior as a teacher. The strongest reasons for hope are explicitly conveyed to the publicans and sinners: but the rebuke to the Scribes and Pharisees is oblique and concealed. Thus the attention of one part of his audience is roused, and their affections gained: and by the force of truth, delivered in the moil engaging manner, the murmurings of the Pharisees on account of our Savior's keeping company with sinners, are made gradually to subside. In the third parable, which begins at the 11th verse, in a narration the most simple and natural, all those circumstances are united, which, while they enlighten the understanding, are at the same time proper for touching the heart. We here discover this divine teacher showing, with equal clearness, his enlarged mind, his compassionate heart, his awful authority, and his nervous eloquence. I have confined myself at present to that part of this parable, which chiefly presents to us the misery of vice, the disposition of a true penitent, and the mercy of God. The decorum and propriety with which our Savior conduits his allegories, and their excellence, not only as sources of moral instruction, but, as patterns of just and fine writing, are very remarkable. Instead of darkening a plain passage by a tedious and critical commentary, I choose in the present cafe to justify the remark I have now made by the few following observations.

It is the younger of the two sons who is impatient of his father's restraint, and asks for a portion of his goods. His youth and his inexperience plead some excuse for his levity, his impatience, and the rashness of his request. The haste with which this young man, as is observed in the 13th verse, collected all he had, in order to fulfill his designs, is extremely agreeable to the fire and impetuosity of youth, and to the violence of eager and ungratified passions. There is also a circumstance taken notice of in the same verse, which interests the reader in his favor, and prepares us in some measure to expect his recovery: it is that “he took his journey into a far country.” By this it is hinted that, though bent upon vice and resolved to indulge himself in it, yet he was not lost to shame, nor to the force of every other virtuous principle. The eye of a father would have proved too severe a check upon him, and his authority too great a hindrance to his unlawful pursuits. Beyond the reach of that eye which would have inspired him with reverence, he therefore resolves to live, and the interposition of that authority which his nature would not have suffered him to have contemned, he determines by his distance to render impracticable.

The intention of our Savior's discourse discovers the propriety of his relating briefly the manner in which this young man squandered his fortune. It was not his design to render him too much an object of detestation. He therefore does not paint his vices in those strong colors, in which we know from other descriptions that he was so able to draw them. It is sufficient at present to de-note them by the name of “riotous living.” It is natural to imagine, that extravagance will be the parent of want: but it is also natural to suppose, that influenced by some timely warning, one may be brought to reflect and to recover himself before he is plunged in the very depth of misery. This supposition the history in the present case for a little seems to favor, and the intimating all at once the extremity of the wretched, forlorn, and despicable condition of this thoughtless youth, more strongly excites the feeling of surprise and sympathy, from the mixture of which we receive those emotions or sorrow, which the human mind approves of, and upon the whole delights in. “He joined himself to a citizen of that country,” but alas! “He was sent into the fields to feed swine, and he would have been glad to have filled his belly with the hulks which the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him.” These expressions convey to everyone the idea of a mean and servile employment, and extreme indigence. But they impressed a Jew still more strongly. These animals whose flesh the Jews were not allowed to eat, and whose carcasses they were prohibited to touch, this young man, who once had so different prospects, was now obliged to attend as a keeper, and even envied them the food which they devoured. On account of his wretchedness he is forced to give up the rights of his birth, the prerogative of his former station; and want conquers that antipathy which his education, his prejudices, and his religion had so deeply riveted in his nature.

But affliction produces in him sober thoughts. In the 17th verse we are told that ‘he came to himself.” Vice and immorality is one species, and perhaps the worst species of madness. And therefore in ancient languages, wisdom and virtue are often considered as signifying the same thing; so in like manner are vice and folly, or madness. I think in this there is great propriety. For madness, according to the general acceptation, means such an extravagant deviation from the ordinary apprehensions and actions of men, as discovers either the want, or total derangement of some of the principal faculties which men daily exercise in common life. Now vice is the same deviation from the established constitution of nature, and the same violation of its laws as madness is of the ordinary practice of mankind.

Everything in this parable is animated. No tedious descriptions, nor tiresome relations. The whole is transacted, not narrated. The speech with which the prodigal resolves to accost his father, paints in the most expressive language, the wretchedness of his state, and the penitence and humility of his heart.

In the 20th verse we read, that “when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.” Does not every circumstance display the character of the tender parent? The eye which age and affliction had rendered dim, notwithstanding the squalid and miserable appearance of the traveler, at a distance recognizes his own son. Affection warms the father's blood, gives suppleness to his joints, and speed to his feet. The interruption which the father makes in the 22nd verse to the premeditated discourse of his son, relieves from the languor of a repetition, and discovers in a moving manner, the strong affection, and overflowing sympathy of the father's heart. In the charge given to the servants, and the reasons by which it is enforced, are strongly marked the generosity of the father's disposition, the naked and miserable condition of the prodigal, the unfeigned joy at his return, and the gracious manner in which he was received.

Upon the whole, this parable appears to me one of the most simple, natural and animated pieces of composition. But its excellence in these respects constitutes the least part of its merit. What may be termed the body of the discourse, the language and the incidents are elegant and striking; and the soul, the sentiments, and the moral instruction which it conveys are so just and important, that they entirely correspond. Let us now consider it in this latter light.

I need not inform any person, that the father is intended to represent to us the Almighty, who is the universal parent of Heaven and earth, who opens his hand and liberally satisfies the wants of his creatures: or that in the younger son, is figured the character of a sinner, who, regardless of the ties of duty and gratitude, forsakes the laws of God, and follows the corrupt devices of his own heart. All this is extremely obvious: and yet scarcely anything more is necessary for making us fully comprehend the moral instructions that are justly founded on this parable; for we are not to search for the moral of every circumstance. Such disquisitions are generally harmless, and may sometimes be useful; but they rather tend to withdraw our attention from the chief end of parables. The most proper way of treating them seems to be, to observe and enforce the general purposes for which they were spoken: and to point out these, does not require much acuteness or penetration. They are for the most part extremely evident. For instance, does not everyone see, that the portion of the parable now under confederation is principally calculated for the purposes I formerly hinted at, to represent to us, 1st, the fatal consequences of rashness, folly, and vice; 2ndly, the disposition and temper of a true penitent: and lastly, the mercy of God, and his readiness to receive every returning sinner. Keeping these three objects in our view, I shall again review the history of this prodigal son, and apply what may be said as we go along.

Uneasy under the restraint which a father's presence imposed, this young man is anxious to leave his own country, and to fulfill all the desires of his heart. Having obtained from an indulgent parent a share of his estate, he immediately undertakes his journey. At this instant let us contemplate him, young, healthy, inexperienced, elevated with the present, fearless of the future, his eye indicating the raptures of his heart; his soul prognosticates the highest joy, and he thinks himself the happiest of mortals. What scenes of pleasure does he revolve in his mind! And he longs for nothing but the day in which he shall gratify all his wishes But why should he fear the presence of a father? Why fly from the sight of a man, whom he knows to be the object of reverence; his heart even now sometimes misgives him, and virtue offers her sacred admonitions. But the flattery and

"His whole speech discovers the genuineness of his sorrow, and the deepness of his contrition; far from endeavoring to cover or palliate his transgressions, he confesses them in the most open and affecting manner."

intoxication of vice push him on, and regardless of every wise and sober reflection, he hastens to his ruin. His money becomes the mean of his destruction. His appetites grow every day more irregular and rapacious, and he purchases every object that can gratify them. The light of reason sometimes rises in his soul. He extinguishes it by plunging into vice. Many a time has conscience offered to be his monitor: by the most infamous debauchery he checks her admonitions, till for a season, she has relinquished her office. Why should I recount all the dishonest deeds, the impure thoughts, and the unworthy pleasures of a man, who follows the corrupt inclinations of his heart, and is deserted by God? A companion of profligates, tyrannized over by his lusts, avoided by every good man, he must soon feel the misery, which, though contrary to his intention, he has so directly and assiduously earned. So it happened to this prodigal. “He wafted substance, and he began to be in want.” How great and how fatal was this change! Accustomed to eat before he was hungry, to drink before he was thirsty, never to suffer the call of any appetite to remain unanswered, how wretched does he now feel himself, deprived not only of the superfluities, but of the very necessaries of life! Where are now the companions of his better days, the partakers of his riotous and unholy pleasures! Where is the friend in whom he trusted, the mistress with whom he squandered or the servants that were obedient to his call? They are fled; the blast of winter is come; and those insects that were only wanton in the sunshine of summer, are forever vanished. The extremity to which he is reduced, obliges him to submit to the meanest and most despicable employment.

Observe him now, and remark the alteration which sin has produced. What hopes and expectations did his look betoken when he left his father's house? What joy did it express, when he was rioting in wantonness? Behold now, what dejection, and what despair! The nicest art was employed in preparing garments to set off his youth and beauty to advantage: behold now, rags scarcely protect him from the cold; the beggar and he wear the same attire. The beggar, who was never in a better state, receives with gratitude every morsel, and tastes it with pleasure: to this youth, the remembrance of the past, embitters the present. Removed from a paradise to a wilderness, from a false paradise to a real wilderness, the sharpest arrow of affliction pierces his breast, and the tears he sheds discover a heart overwhelmed with the bitterest grief. I almost forget his sins, and I have compassion on him in his sufferings. But we have not seen the half of them. His outward misery strikes the eye; but it is only the shadow of his inward anguish. How shall I paint for you the remorse that preys upon his heart, and the agitations that distract his soul? Fortune, thy attacks are severe, but the attacks of guilt are intolerable. Bodily infirmity may be born, “but a wounded spirit, who can bear? When the arrows of the Almighty stick fast in a man, then indeed is he troubled, and bowed down mightily. He is feeble and sore broken: he roareth by reason of the disquitness of his heart. His heart panteth, and his strength faileth him.” In what a different light does the prodigal now view his immorality, his debauchery, his impietv? A thousand thoughts present themselves: but every one is more excruciating than another. All his vices pass in review before him. They are like the ghosts of the murdered, and they seem to entreat that the vengeance of Heaven may overtake him. Is this picture too much heightened? I really believe it is not: and could we look with impartial eyes at the havoc which sin makes in a human soul, I am persuaded we should confess the justness of this portrait. We enter into a lazar house, and we see our fellow creatures oppressed with some inveterate and unremitting distemper, or smitten with one universal sore. Nature shrinks at the sight. Oh! for the eye of angels properly to discern the diseases of the soul, to perceive the blackness of guilt, the horror of an awakened conscience! Then every sight that is now sickening would become almost pleasing in comparison of the loathsomeness of these. Vice repeated and persevered in, is the only object which makes angels relinquish the charge of mortals, and fly from their society as we fly from the place infected with the plague.

But there is no room left for repentance, no place for pardon? To all the evils of sin is that last and most intolerable one to be added, the despair of a recovery? No, my brethren, it is not. This history discovers to us the disposition of a true penitent; and our Savior, who relates this history, presents this disposition at the throne of God and irresistibly pleads for its acceptance.

The evil of sin lies in the soul. Before it is removed therefore the soul must undergo some alteration. It is vain to imagine, that true penitence consists in external observances or costly offerings. If you could sacrifice “thousands of rams,” and make an oblation of “ten thousand rivers of oil:” if you should give “your first born for your transgressions; the fruit of your body for the sin of your soul” (Mic 6:7), still you might be a stranger to that temper which gained the prodigal so welcome a reception. When one receives a wound, we do not apply bandages and ointments to his garments, but to the part affected. The diseases of the soul in like manner are not cured by extrinsic and foreign applications, but by something that is inward and

"When one receives a wound, we do not apply bandages and ointments to his garments, but to the part affected. The diseases of the soul in like manner are not cured by extrinsic and foreign applications, but by something that is inward and congenial. Now repentance is that medicine"

congenial. Now repentance is that medicine which, by the blessing of God, and the operations of his Spirit, cures the soul of sin; and it consists in a serious sense of our transgressions, a deep humility on account of them, a sincere contrition of heart, accompanied with an ingenuous confession, and an unshaken resolution of amendment.

All these particulars are either expressed or implied in the temper of the returning prodigal. “I will say to my father; Father I have sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.” He has such a strong sense of his past folly, that he acknowledges he has forfeited the rights of his birth. He asks not the privilege of a son, but the protection of a servant. His whole speech discovers the genuineness of his sorrow, and the deepness of his contrition; far from endeavoring to cover or palliate his transgressions, he confesses them in the most open and affecting manner. The expression of his resolution of amendment is the only thing which seems here to be wanting; but this very circumstance gives us a new occasion to observe the wonderful propriety and inimitable beauty of our Savior's discourses. The prodigal had been engaged in such scenes of wickedness that the reflection upon them quite overwhelmed him. He scarcely dares promise upon his own treacherous heart. And having so far and so causelessly offended, he blushes to declare his resolution of amendment. He leaves it to his look, his manner; the whole spirit of his discourse, to speak the secret but firm purpose of his soul. Is not this a conduct at once the most engaging, becoming and noble? And does not the representation of it discover to us one of those delicate strokes of description which distinguish a matter?

I might expatiate upon each of the particulars implied in repentance, show their connection, and explain how one of these naturally leads to another, in the order I have mentioned them. Without a sense of sin, it is plain, we cannot feel the first emotions of penitence. But a sense of sin seriously entertained, is a natural source of humility; for when we consider our corruptions and vices, we cannot esteem ourselves, but are ashamed and abashed on account of them. In this slate, our heart, formed to discern and aspire after what is excellent, is affected with a feeling of its own defects. Overwhelmed with grief, we find no ease but in an honest confession; and from this very act we are formed to derive some consolation. Resolution of

"the disposition now described is the only acceptable sacrifice to God, and indispensably necessary to Christians."

amendment is the natural consequence of these previous steps; and indeed the only course which remains for us to take. Your time will not permit me to insist more fully upon these particulars. Let me only produce a few texts of scripture, to show that the disposition now described is the only acceptable sacrifice to God, and indispensably necessary to Christians. It was a prevailing error among the Israelites, that God would be pleased with a variety of oblations: their prophets are careful to correct this error, and to lead them to just sentiments upon this subject. “Hear, O my people, and I will speak; O Israel, and I will testify against thee, I am God, even thy God. I will not reprove thee for thy sacrifices or thy burnt offerings to have been continually before me. I will take no bullock out of thy house, nor he-goat out of thy folds. For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of the mountains, and the wild beasts of the field are mine. If were hungry, I would not tell thee; for the world is mine, and the fullness thereof. Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?” Psal. 1: 7-14. To the same purpose, David in another place says, “Thou desirest not sacrifice, else I would give it. Thou delightest not in burnt offering;” and immediately after declares, agreeably to our doctrine, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou will not despise,” Psal. 51:16-17. “He that confesseth his sins, and forsaketh them,” saith the wise man, “the same shall find mercy; but he that covereth his sins, shall not prosper,” Prov, 28:13. And in the New Testament, destruction is denounced against all who do not repent. “Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish,” Luke 13: 3. In the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican, the latter, who was ashamed on account of his sins, who stood at a distance, and beat upon his bread, and said, “God be merciful to me a sinner: went down to his house justified, rather than the other.”

But in the third place: In this parable is represented to us the mercy of God, and his readiness to receive every returning sinner. This is the perfection of the divine nature, in which, as offending creatures, we are principally interested. By his goodness he is the object of the love and veneration of angels. From its emanations they receive their felicity, and, dwelling at the fountain of joy, they know no sorrow. But goodness itself, strict impartial goodness, is the object of terror to a weak imperfect creature like man, conscious of his sins, and repeated offences. Goodness engages the being that is possessed of it, to be beneficent, to bestow the means of happiness, but not to restore them if they have been misapplied and squandered. When I survey the justice of the Divinity, I tremble in his presence; and were I ignorant of every other moral perfection of his nature, I should pray to be reduced to nothing. When I view his goodness, I admire and adore it; but I envy the angels who never fell, and who are the objects of its complacence. But when I fee him clothed in his mercy, I glory in my lot as a man, and raise my eyes to immortality. Now it is this attribute which is represented to us in this parable. When the prodigal had wasted all, when he was ruined and undone, and was obliged to return to that father whom he had disregarded and dishonored; we read, “while he was yet a great way off, he had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” Does not this teach us that, “like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth” every repenting sinner (Psa 103:13). Even under the severity of the old dispensation, the Omnipotent had declared himself “the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering and slow to anger, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin,” (Exo 34:6-7). “With him,” it was at that period declared, “there was mercy that he might be feared, and plenteous redemption; and he remembered the frame” of mortals, “that they were but dust,” (Psa 103:14). But still clearer declarations of the mercy and placibility of God are afforded to us under the new dispensation, in which Christ himself is the lawgiver. The Heavenly voice at his birth proclaimed, “Peace on earth, and good will to men:” as if all that had been yet known, was only to be compared to some scattered rays which preceded the rising of the sun. One great part of our Savior's employment, during the whole of his ministry, was to display the Divinity in his mildest aspect, and by this means, to “heal the broken in heart, and bind up the wounded in spirit,” (Luk 4:18). And finally, this Savior, by an unspotted obedience, and a meritorious death, made “mercy and truth to meet together, righteousness and peace to kiss each other,” (Psa 85:10).

Having now considered the fatal consequences of vice, the disposition of a true penitent, and the exuberant mercy of God; let us in a few sentences apply what has been said.

Is vice the direct road to misery and ruin? Does not daily experience convince us that it is? While the common accidents of life slay their thousands, this evil alone killeth her ten thousands. Let this teach us to consider it as our greatest enemy. If there were a general reformation in a country, I could scarcely number

"The Almighty shows the value he has for a human soul, by preferring its renewal to every other sacrifice. There is a strange propensity in corrupt man, to endeavor to please God in some different manner; but this is the only way that is acceptable."

up the train of diseases, misfortunes, and afflictions which would disappear at once by its means: for trace our calamities to the source, and it will be found that vice is the chief one. “Let the wicked man forsake his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts,” (Isa 55:7), and let all who are not yet initiated in sin beware of it, “for verily it bringeth a snare to his soul,” (Pro 22:25).

Secondly, since the disposition of a true penitent is so pleasing in the sight of God, what reason has everyone of us to endeavor to obtain it! The Almighty shows the value he has for a human soul, by preferring its renewal to every other sacrifice. There is a strange propensity in corrupt man, to endeavor to please God in some different manner; but this is the only way that is acceptable. “To what purpose is the multitude of your Sabbaths, your new moons, and your oblations? Wash ye, make ye clean, put away the evil of your doings, cease to do evil, learn to do well,” (Isa 1:11-17). What occasion we all have for this, let our lives and our manners testify. Does that piety, integrity or purity prevail among us, which become the Gospel? Is that love to God, and regard to his laws which the Gospel enjoins, the ruling principle of our lives? Would to God it were! After all, there should remain sufficient defeats to lament. But as it is otherwise, how deep ought our humiliation to be! Let us acknowledge our transgressions, and be diligent to search out the plague of our own hearts, and “turn unto God, who will have mercy ; and unto our God, who will abundantly pardon,” (Isa 55:7).

Lastly, this mercy of God, which is displayed in the scriptures, ought to be the object of our praise and adoration. We are enabled to view God, and yet we are not consumed. “Bless the Lord, then, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name; bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits; who forgiveth all thine iniquities. He will not always chide, neither will he keep his anger forever: he hath not dealt with us after our sins, nor rewarded us according to our iniquities; for as the Heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him: as far as the east is from the west, so far hath be removed our trangressions from us. Bless the Lord, O my soul,” (Psa 103).

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