The Young Man Disappointing or Realising the Hopes of His Parents

“And Lamech lived an hundred eighty and two years, and begat a son: And he called his name Noah, saying, This same shall comfort us concerning our work and toil of our hands.” Genesis, v. 28-9.

“And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!” 2 Samuel xviii. 33.

When Lamech, one of the few antediluvians mentioned in this chapter, selected a name for his son, he determined to call him Noah, which signifies “rest;” for he said, this same shall comfort us concerning our labor. The history of Lamech is involved in deep and impenetrable obscurity, which no criticism or conjecture can remove or illumine. You are not to confound the Lamech here spoken of with the one mentioned in the preceding chapter. That was a descendant of Cain; this of Seth. Still one should suppose that in the selection of the name of his son, he was guided by a reference to some circumstances of disquiet and discomfort connected with his own life, of which no mention is made in the sacred Scriptures. Whether this selection of the name o f his son was the result of a prophetic inspiration.

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or merely of parental solicitude and hope, we cannot tell The event, however, justified the selection. The life of Noah answered to his name. “With his early history the Author of revelation has left us almost entirely unacquainted. All that is said of him before he is introduced to us as the preserver of the seed of a new world’s population, is, that “Noah walked with God, and was perfect in his generation.” In the midst of a corrupted age he dared to be singular, and was not ashamed or afraid to avow his piety amidst the scoffs of the impious. For five centuries his parents lived to witness his holy conduct, and his high calling to be the preacher of righteousness, and the preserver of the human race from utter destruction. What a lengthened period of parental enjoyment.*

A melancholy contrast is presented to all this, in the history of Absalom. His name signifies, “the father’s peace.” Alas, alas, what a contradiction was there between his history and his name. He was evidently his father’s favorite son. We discern and condemn the weakness of David,

* We are not permitted to know all the divine reasons for the extreme longevity of the Patriarchs of the Antediluvian world. It was not merely for peopling the earth more rapidly, but also for preserving uncorrupted, by oral tradition, the original revelation made to our first parents in Paradise. At that time in all probability, alphabetic writing was unknown; and it was therefore important that the transmission of the account of creation; the origin of the human race; the first prophecy concerning the seed of woman; and the divine institution of sacrifices, should pass through as few hands as possible. There may have been other reasons for this extraordinary length of human life before the flood, with which we are not acquainted. This is one of the many things of revelation, which we must take upon its own well-accredited testimony, without making our own experience or observation the standard by which to +ry them, or a reason for rejecting them.

whose partiality was in all probability called forth by an unworthy motive, the extraordinary beauty of Absalom. He gave him a name expressive of his fondest wishes and affections. He watched, with more than ordinary interest and regard, the development of his beautiful form — the increasing attractions of his winning and fascinating manners — the nobleness of his bearing — and the displays of his genius. Even Solomon was at that time little thought of compared with Absalom. In this favorite David’s hopes at one time centred more than in all his other children. But this bright blossom of parental hope soon discovered signs of mildew and of blight, and the sequel exhibits another instance and proof of the effects of injudicious and misdirected partiality. With Absalom’s personal beauty, which perhaps had made him proud, vain, and profligate, was associated a most vicious character, that wrung the father’s heart with anguish. He manifested one enormity after another, till his misconduct rose to its climax in crime, by rebellion and intentional parricide, and led its guilty subject to an untimely end. What a bitter and cruel disappointment of parental hopes was here! The darling, the beautiful Absalom proved a libertine — a murderer — a rebel: which, notwithstanding all his father’s lingering affection and fond precaution, brought him down to the grave in infamy and blood. Instead of his remains reposing in that splendid mausoleum which his vanity had constructed, and by which he ambitiously hoped to send forward his renown through future generations, they were buried under a heap of stones, with no funeral obsequies to do honor to his name and rank, and no inscription to perpetuate his memory. How much does it take to wear out a father’s love and to quench his partiality for a favorite child! No sooner were the

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tidings announced that Absalom was dead, than all his crimes were forgotten, and the poor afflicted father rushed into his chamber, and in one of the most simple and pathetic lamentations which grief ever dictated, or language ever expressed, he uttered these moving words, “0 my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would Grod I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!” With these two cases, as an historical introduction, I enter upon the consideration of my subject:” The Young Man disappointing or realising ike hopes of his Parents.

I shall reverse the order of the texts, and dwell first upon the conduct of him who defeats the expectations which have been indulged by those who were the instruments of his being.

Parental hopes are usually strong. The words of our Lord are according to nature, “A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come; but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more her anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world.” Who but a mother can tell the feelings of that moment when her new-born babe is first laid in her bosom; and who but a father can know the emotions which are excited when he sees for the first time his own image reflected from the countenance of that little unconscious creature, whose infant cry as he takes him in his arms, seems to say in inarticulate language, “My Father!” From that moment parental hopes begin. The child brings them with him into the world. How fondly the parents watch their treasure as he is dandled in a mother’s lap, or sleeps in the cradle. How oft they muse together over his future destinies, saying to each other, ‘’ What manner of child shall this he?” As the babe grows to a child — the child to a youth — the youth to manhood, what expectations are raised, what conjectures are forme i — what prognostications are uttered. The mother hopes her son will be her comfort, and the father his help, and both together their boast. As his faculties develop they see, or think they see — -and the fond illusion can be forgiven them — the marks of genius and the traits of excellence. Freaks of childish passion, instances of waywardness of temper, and not unfrequent acts of disobedience, which to others hold out painful portents, are either unnoticed, or do not disturb the pleasing vision, nor lower the expectations of future excellence, if not of eminence. Hope is predominant in the parent’s heart — all children, he says, have their follies and fiiults, and his not more than others. He sends them to school, where he trusts they will improve their minds and prepare for future life: apprentices them to some trade or profession by which he expects they will do well in the world: he starts them in business, and thus enables them to provide for themselves and a family. How many hours of his private conversation have been spent with his wife over this son of theirs. What pictures have been drawn of his future career. Surely such talents — so cultivated, and with such advantages, must succeed. Under the burdens of life, and the cares and labors which their family brings upon them, they look forward during the infancy of their children, to future years, anticipating the pleasures to arise from the obedience, gratitude, and usefulness of those who they think will be the prop of their old age, and the supporters of each other when they are gone to their rest. Pleasing reflections! Joyful anticipations! And in many cases, vain illusions! How wisely is it ordered that man should not be able to lift up the veil of futurity and foresee the history of himself and of his children. It is enough to know the ills of life as thoj arise, without contemplating them in the distance. “What a misery to have all these hopes end in bitter disappointment, and become like beautiful blossoms cut off by a nipping froet. And what is it that will frustrate the hopes of parents? I speak not now of that disappointment which is occasioned by the dispensations of Providence, in the early death of children. This often comes, but how many are there who, under a bitterer disappointment still, live to wish their children had died in infancy. How many who amidst the sins and follies of the after-years of their children’s lives, have mourned with grief of heart, and exclaimed, “Oh, that my son had died from the womb, and that the cradle had become his coffin, rather than that he should have lived to distress and dishonor me as he has done.”

But what is it that will disappoint parental hopes .-* Uudutifulness and want of affection will do this. Parents have a right granted by nature, confirmed by reason, and enjoined by Scripture, to the obedience, honor, gratitude, and love of their children. They look for their due, and expect everything from their offspring that can thus conduce to their comfort. To receive rudeness instead of respect — disobedience instead of submission — contempt instead of esteem — and cold indifference or manifest dislike, or cruel unkindness, instead of affection and gratitude: how cutting is all this! Well did Solomon say, “A foolish son is a grief to his father, and a bitterness to her that bore him.” “Oh, how often,” do they say together,” has our authority been affronted and our love slighted for a mere trifle. We expected better things, and naturally supposed that so much love as we have lavished upon him would have brought us back some love in return. Is this the reward of all our study and efforts to make him happy and do him good? Oh, who can tell,

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child.”

I believe that a deep filial reverence is often the basis of that higher principle — the fear of God; and that on the contrary, a manifest want of good disposition and good conduct towards parents, must ever be attended with, or lead to, irreligion, and many other criminal states of mind and conduct. Indolence a want of application, and carelessness about genei’al improvement, must, of course, produce the disappointment! now speak of. After the best school has been selected for education, and also a suitable situation for acquiring a knowledge of business; when of course improvement in general knowledge, and especially in the knowledge of secular matters, is naturallly looked for, then to see nothing but indolence, ignorance, and stupidity — money, time, exhortation, all wasted; the youth going forth into the world ill-informed, unskilled in matters of trade, unfit for any situation of importance as a servant, and equally unfit to manage a business as a master! How mortifying, how disappointing, is all this to a father! How distressing to find all bis schemes thwarted; all his anticipations frustrated; and while other young men are making their way in life, to see his son neither able nor willing to do anything for himself! He may not be vicious — but he is idle, which is next to actual crime, and generally leads to it.

Versatility of disposition is another defect of parental hopes, wherever it exists. It was very wise counsel which Solomon gave, where he says, “Meddle not with them that are given to change.” To change, when it is from bad to good, is always right; and it is a part of wisdom to know when and how to change for the better. This is a diflferent thing from being “given to change.” I repeat what I said in the last sermon, that there is nothing against which a young man ought more assiduously to guard than versatility of disposition. There is as much truth as beauty in the proverb, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Reuben’s character should be a beacon to all young men,” Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.’^^ The man who tries many things, without abiding by anything, is absolutely certain to do nothing. A tree may sometimes be better for one removal, but it can never flourish under a frequent transplanting. How annoying is it to a father to find that he has scarcely introduced a son into a good situation ere the youth grows tired of it and leaves it, and comes back again a dead weight upon his father’s hands, till tired out with his perpetual changes, the good man is compelled to throw him upon his own resources, when he generally comes to ruin.*

* There is a very lamentable instance of the disappointment of parental hopes, occasioned by an unsettled and roving disposition, recorded in the memoir of that distinguished theologian, the late Andrew Fuller. His eldest boy was a youth answering to this character. His father obtained for him a situation in London. He at one time thought of the work of the ministry, and was then of course, a moral, and apparently religious young man. His father, however, soon recorded this remark in his diary: •’ Alas, alas, I have seen that in the conduct of my poor boy which has almost broken my heart, whose instability is continually appearing. He must leave London, and what to do with him T know not.” Another situation was procured in his native town, but his restless disposition soon discovered itself, and he enJisted into the army. In a little time, being understood to be an apprentice, he was discharged. Another situation was found for him, but in vain; for he enlisted a second time, then into the marines. His father in compliance with his wishes procured his liberation; and in about 9

Failure in Business, however it occurs, must of necessity prove a very painful disappointment to parental hopes. When a father has started his son in business, and advanced capital for that purpose, and had expected to see him prosmonth he left his new place and his friends. Perceiving there was no hope of his settling to business, his sorrowing parent procured him a situation in a merchant ship; but being on shore one Lord’s day, before he joined the ship, he was laid hold of by the press-gang and was carried to sea. It was soon reported that the poor boy had been guilty of some misdemeanor; had been tried, and sentenced to receive three hundred lashes; that he received them, and immediately expired. Under this trial Mr. F. thus wrote to a friend: “Oh: this is heart’s trouble! In former cases my heart found vent in tears; but now I can seldom weep. A kind of morbid heart-sickness preys upon me from day today. Every object round me reminds me of him! Ah, he was wicked and mine eye was not over him to prevent it, — he was detected, tried, and condemned, and I knew it not — he cried under his agonies; but 1 heard him not; — he expired without an eye to pity or a hand to help him. Oh, Absalom, my son, my son! would I had died for thee, my son!”

The report however was incorrect, yet some time afterwards he deserted, and suffered so severe a punishment as to be totally unfitted for servicje, by the effect it had upon his health. He was again discharged. He in some measure recovered his health, and a situation was about to be provided for him; but he again absconded, entered a second time into the marines, went to sea, and his friends never again saw him. He died off Lisbon after a lingering illness: and there is some reason to hope, confessing and lamenting the error of his ways.

‘’This narrative,” remarks Mr. Fuller’s biographer, “contains many things painful to surviving friends, which they would gladly have buried in oblivion, and which I would never have inserted had they absolutely forbidden me. But the strongroom there seems to be to hope that so affecting an account may be, under the Divine blessing, the means of reclaiming some unhappy youth under similar circumstances, or of deterring others from rending a parent’s heart with anguish, and involving themselves in misery, has induced them to yield to my wish ils not being suppressed.”

per, it must be a source of very great distress to find that ali his efforts to serve him are abortive. Where this is the effect of causes over which even industry and ability could have control; which involve no blame; and which therefore must be resolved into the dispensations of Providence, there is not the aggravation of sorrow which is produced by incapacity, indolence, or extravagance. In the former case a judicious and kind father will comfort his unfortunate son, and cheer him onward, by sympathy and promises of assistance, ])iake other efforts. It is of course a trial, a heavy oiae: but how much heavier when it is the result of misconduct. When this has led to the sad result, how bitter is the cup of parental sorrow! For a father to occupy the dreadful post of observation, darker every hour, as he watches the downward progress of a son negligent of his business, and giving himself up to habits which must end in his ruin! Oh, miserable son, and miserable parent. He who should, and might, have been a flourishing tradesman, becomes a bankrupt, and instead of rising to respectability, sinks to indigence and coatempt. How many fond anticipations are terminated — how many bright visions are dispelled — how many joyous expectations are prostrated by that wreck! And as the hopes of past times are defeated — none for the future can be indulged. Had it been the result of misfortune, the son might have recovered himself; but as the ruin came by misconduct, what ground, for hope is left to the disconsolate father?

Profligate conduct is the bitterest disappointment of all. To see a young man who has perhaps been religiously educated, and brought up in the fear of God, so far forgetting the instructions, the prayers, and example of his father, and the tears and affectionate entreaties of his mother, as “to walk in the counsel of the ungodly — to stand in the way of sinners — and sit in the seat of the scornful:” to see him forming bad associations — neglecting business — indulging his evil propensities — wandering off like the prodigal into the paths of vice and profligacy, the slave of lust and wine — how distressfully disappointing is all this! Oh, unhappy parents! You who have been called to endure this trial, and you only, can tell what this means; and even you can rather know than tell it. “Oh,” says the Christian parent, “is it then come to this — all my solicitude, my prayers, my tears, for my son, ending in his profligacy! All my desires and expectations that he would become a child of Grod, terminated in his being a prodigal! All my hopes of his being a servant of Christ disappointed in my seeing him a slave of Satan! Oh, how carefully have I watched him — how diligently have I instructed him — how earnestly have I prayed for him — how anxiously have I waited for his yielding himself up to God and coming into the fellowship of his church. And are all my prayers and tears as water spilt upon the ground? In all I have done for his conversion and salvation have I been laboring in vain and spending my strength for naught — yea worse than in vain: for every instruction, correction, and reproof, has aggravated his guilt here, and will increase his misery hereafter; so that while as to intention I was acting the most kind and tender part, I was, as to result, only treasuring up for my son wrath against the day of wrath. Alas, alas: Woe is me. 0 my son, my soul’”

How tenfold more dreadful are these reflections if the son has died in his sins; a case by no means uncommon. How painful are the father’s fears that his child has fallen into a state of everlasting ruin. “Oh,” will the afflicted parent say,” how comparatively light would be my sorrows, if while lookmg on his breathless corpse, and mourning tha

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disappointment of my hopes as to the present life, I could by faith look forward to a world of glory, and see the branch of my family which is cut off from earth, transplanted thither and flourishing there. Joy would then mingle with my parental sorrows and praises with my tears. But alas, I have reason to fear that it was cut down that it might be cast into everlasting burnings. On the former supposition I might have comforted myself with the thought of meeting my child again, and of meeting him on terms of infinite advantage, to be no more separated from him. But alas, now I have lost my child, and lost him for ever. Nor is this all. It would be mournful to me to think I should meet him no more; yet as the matter now stands, even that would be some alleviation to my distress — but the immutable decrees of God forbid it. I must meet him at the bar of God, and 0, what a dreadful interview will it be. Must I be a witness against him .? How terrible an office! To bear my testimony for the condemnation of one whom I tenderly loved, of one whose soul I would have died to deliver. Oh, that if no shelter must be allowed him, Grod would hide me in the grave till this tremendous scene of His indignation be overpast; lest the anguish of a parent mingle with the joys of a rising saint, and to me overcast the triumphs of the day.”*

This disappointment may, however, take place where none of the former causes exist — there may be no profligacy — no versatility — no indolence — nor want of cleverness in business; but on the other hand, there is the very opposite of all this. Still there may be, as we have seen in a former sermon, defective amiability — the possession of all other good

♦Doddridge’s” Serrror. on the reflections of a Pious Parent ovex an (Jngodly Son.

things, yet the want of the one best thing — true religion. To a really Christian parent, the want of this in his qhildren is a severe trial — a heavy afliction. This is the chief object of his desires, his prayers, his efforts, and his hopes. Till they are savingly converted to God by his grace, and they are brought to live a life of faith in God — in Christ — in heaven — he is, and must be disappointed. He longed above all things for their salvation, and hoped to see them members of the church of Christ and useful in setting up his kingdom in the world: and in the absence of this, though they should gain wealth, rank, or fame, he is a disappointed father. He cannot but rejoice and be thankful that his sons are not proflio-ates — but as long as they are not true Christians, his chief joy is not fulfilled. He looks upon their success, their respectability, their worldly comfort — with the inward reflection, “Ah, this is all very well, and I am truly thankful for it, but it reaches no farther than the grave; and what I have coveted for them, prayed for, and sought, is, ‘Grlory, honor, immortality, and eternal life.’ I wanted them to be united with me by ties which would last for ever and make us one in heaven as well as upon earth. Notwithstanding their worldly prosperity, then, I am by their want of personal religion a disappointed father.”

This disappointment of parents in regard to their children is aggravated by several circumstances that may be glanced at. Where unusual care has been bestowed upon their education, and it might have been expected that a proportionate degree of excellence would have been the result: — where considerable talents have been possessed, and early indications of genius have exhibited themselves so as to awaken expectations: — where virtue at one time began to bud, and piety to blossom: — where friends

J congratulated the parents, and the parents felicitated themselves on the promising appearances of their children: — whertt, in short, for awhile all seemed to hold out the most auspicious omens, and justify the most favorable conclusions: — oh, in such cases, to have all these hopeful beginnings terminate unhappily, and the anticipations raised upon them disappointed; how bitter, how painful, how overwhelmingly cruel! Think of a parent mourning over the wreck of such hopes, and bewailing such a failure.

Young men, let me plead with you on behalf of your parents. If they are here, and of course many of them are, and hear me with hearts bleeding while I speak, oh, let them be silent witnesses against you; are there not some of you who are thus disappointing every hope which they have formed cuncerning you y Does not the reflection grieve and shame you, and ought it not to overwhelm you Let me appeal to your sense of obligation. Ungrateful youths! Have you no idea of what you owe to them 1 Are these the returns you make them for all their bounty, tenderness, and care, to be a sword in their bowels and to pierce their very hearts? Did they expect such scenes as these when you hung upon your mother’s breast, reposed in her lap, and grasped, in childish fear, her hand to protect you from danger: when you returned their smiles with your own, and cried with your faint accents of endearment, “My father, my mother?” How can you endure the thought y How without embarrassment can you converse with them, and still daily receive unnumbered favors at their hands, when you are behaving in a manner that looks as if the more they love you, the more they must be afflicted and terrified by you: Oh, that you would have compassion upon them! Or if that will not move you; oh, that you would have compassion on yourselves — for your own interest is much more nearly concerned than even theirs.

It is not yet too late, even though till now you have pursued this course of disappointment. There is time to repair the mischief. Repentance and reformation will yet heal the wounds which misconduct has inflicted, and the joy of receiving back the prodigal will almost compenisate for the sufferings occasioned by his wanderings and his errors. Say then, and say it at once, “I will arise and go to my father, and say, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight,’ forgive and receive thy once sinning and ungrateful but now penitent child.” Such a confession, followed up with fruits meet for repentance, will bind up hearts all but irreparably broken, and will transfer you to the class I am next to describe, when I speak —

Secondly. Of the young man realising the hopes of his parents. And it will take very much to do thii. Much, to reward a mother’s pangs in child-birth; her months of anxious care by day, and often sleepless vigilance at night, all which involuntarily prompted her to say “Surely I shall have a rich reward one day for this.” Much, that will be accounted an adequate reward for a father’s incessant toil to provide for his family — his deep concern to select the best school and the most suitable situation of business — his wakeful and ceaseless solicitude for the welfare of his sons. How often when bearing the heat and burden of the day has he wiped away “the sweat of his brow,” and exclaimed with the smile of hope, “Well, my boy will one day reward me for all this. I am now sowing in hope to reap one day in joy!” And there are sons who realise all these expectations. How?

1. By their dutiful cotiduct. “There,” said a father who

J was once an inhabitant of this town, “is a son who never gave his father’s heart a pang.” I knew the son while he lived, till full of years, and Christian experience, and public esteem, he no long time since ascended to glory, and left behind him a name never to be repeated but with esteem. Other sons of the same family had wrung their father’s heart with anguish, but he, by his uniform obedience, general good conduct and amiable character, was nothing but a delight to his parents. How sweet is it to a parent’s heart to see a child so tender of his comfort as to be ever studious to avoid every thing that would for a moment distress, and to do any thing which would yield the smallest pleasure. A parent does expect, has a right to expect all this; and how ineffably sweet is it to his heart, to be able to say, “In all that is dutiful, obedient, reverential, respectful and attentive, my son is all a son should be or can be. He has equalled all the ideas I had formed in my most sanguine moments of filial excellence. My hopes are more than realised.”*

2. High mental culture and attainments will do much to realise parental hopes. The most affectionate and amiable disposition, coupled with the most dutiful conduct, will not answer parental expectation if at the same time there be a

* A beautiful memoir of that most saintly man and eminent clergyman, the late Mr. Bickersteth, has just appeared from the pen of his son-in-law, Mr. Birks, and among the other virtues for which that holy servant of Christ was distinguished, filial reverence sustained a very high place. The ealy history of Mr. Bickersteth exhibits one of the most lovely and striking exhibitions of this excellence, which I have ever met with. One scarcely wonders at the eminence he attained to as a Christian and a minister, when we read of his exquisitely beautiful conduct as a son. I am persuaded that much of the neglect of the fear of God by which so many of the young men of the present day are notorious, may be traced to a defect of filial reverence.

want of application to mental improvement and geit, t’al knowledge, and also a stolid ignorance, a deplorably low and grovelling taste. In this extraordinary age, ev<yj man is expected to fill up his place with credit to himsdf and advantage to others. Society never had stronger c!dims upon young men than it has now. It is a high satisfaction to a parent blessed with a promising son to be able to say, “There is one who has repaid all the expense incurred by his education. While at school, he received the rjiost honorable testimonials for diligence and acquisition. He scarcely ever returned without a prize. He has assiduously improved* himself since then, by reading and thinking, and low that he is entering upon life, be is evidently qualified to take a high standing for respectability and usefulness. He will not be one of the multitude who are ciphers. I certainly feel some glow of heartfelt delight, occasionally rising, unless, well watched, into pride, as I see how he is acquitting himself already, and is noticed by others; and can predict the circle in which he will move, and the sentiments and manner with which he will be regarded.”

Next to this come industry, cleverness and success in business. For even the other two will not be sufficient to satisfy parental desire. A son may be dutiful and intelligent, but if there be not an aptness for trade, a habit of industry, and a preparation for conducting business with success, there must be disappointment. Happy is the father who sees in his son a constantly expanding germ of the diligent and thriving tradesman. With what pleasure does ho mark the indefatigable application — the growing skill — the sharpe’ning sagacity — the increasing tact, of his boy, in reference to business. “Ah,” says he with gratitude, “I see he will make a good tradesman. He will make his way, and if I am not mistaken, will rise in life. He will be somethino.” The youth rises into the man, and having learnt his business or profession, commences it, and displays as a master, tho qualities he learnt and exhibited as an apprentice and a shopman. Success crowns his efforts. He is a thriving tradesman. His father follows him through his successful career with secret delight. He is never afraid to visit his son lest he should find him playing truant from his shop, neglecting his business, with all things in confusion, and ruin looking in at the window. It is always a pleasure to him to go and see the beautiful order, the established system, the well-formed habits, the crowded resort of a well conducted business. How gratifying to hear from himself the report of his continued success — of trade extending — capital accumulating — and property gradually increasing. The father’s solicitude is over; his son is thoroughly established and has attained a degree of prosperity which at one time he could never have looked for. How peaceful and pleasant are the reflections of the parents of such a son in their private intercourse; “We are happy on being released from the pressing and painful anxieties of some families. Our dear son is obviously doing well. We never had much fear of his success; his steadiness and ability forbade this; but what little anxiety we felt is all gone. Prosperity has begun to dawn upon him, and promises to shine more and more. We have have but one anxiety now, and that is that he may settle well in marriage.” This anxiety is natural and wise. It is God’s arrangement and intention that man should marry, for he sees that it is not good for him to be alone. It was not good in Paradise — it is not good now. It is not good for his morals, his comfort, or his prosperity: and all judicious parents have a wise solicitude that their children should in proper time marry, and always marry suitably Indiscreet and unsuitable marriages by children, are a source of unutterable grief to parents. Hence the joy which is felt when others of an opposite nature are contracted.

That anxiety, in the case I am supposing, is soon relieved. The prudence and propriety that have characterised the conduct of this good son in other things, do not forsake him in this. He is cautious and wise: selects a woman who by her sterling excellence, good sense, and amiable qualities, is worthy of him. She is one of whom the wise man saith, “She looketh well to the ways of her household. The heart of her husband doth safely trust her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.” The parents see with delight a prosperous business, a rising family, a happy home,

But still we have not reached the summit of a good man’s wishes, for though all this is very pleasant, and to a worldly man would be quite sufl&cient to realise his uttermost expectation and fulfil his richest hopes, yet it is not so with the Christian. He has learnt that, for himself, religion is the “one thing needful,” without which he neither attains to true happiness on earth, nor answers the great end of existence, nor is meetened for the felicity of heaven: and what he is supremely anxious for on his own account, he desires above all things for his children It would be unnatural and cruel if he did not. If religion be all important to him, it can be no less so to them. Hence whatever else they may gain, if they neglect this he is, as I have already said in the other divisions of the sermon, and I now repeat by way of emphasis, still sad at heart.

But I am now supposing a case in which the Christian parent sees his deepest anxieties relieved, and his fondest hopes realized, in the religious character of his sons. Aware that they are exposed to greater temptations that his dauoh ters, and much more in danger of neglecting religion, he ia proportionably thankful when they become decidedly pious. The first symptoms of a serious attention to the momentous concerns of eternity, awaken the liveliest emotions of delight, not unmixed with solicitude, lest it should be only, as “the morning cloud, or early dew, which passeth away.” He prays more intensely than ever, and watches more anxiously, for decision of character, and shields the bud of hope by his most assiduous care. As the bud expands into the blossom, and the blossom sets in fruit, his hopes and fears alternate, till at lenorth the doubtful case is decided, and his child becomes first a Christian, and then a professor. TVhat a load of parental anxiety is removed! What an accession toparental delight is made! If the youth has been away from home, and the intelligence of his conversion is conveyed by letter, the good man’s heart is too full to hold, and weeping over the welcome tidings, he hastens to his chamber to pour out his gratitude to God, the author of this new rich mercy, a mercy in his esteem far greater than the appointment of his son to a lucrative and honorable situation, or his success in some concern of business. And the gratitude of the father is equalled, if not surpassed, by that of the mother. “What, my son a true Christian! My boy for whom I have suffered so much deep and painful solicitude — who when he left home wrung my heart with agonizing fears, because he was going forth as a lamb among wolves — what — he become a sincerely religious man, a child of God! May I indeed believe the blissful intelligence! A happy woman am I now become, to be the mother of one who shall glorify God and enjoy him for ever.

The religion of this young man proves itself sincere,

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consistent, and active. It preserves him from the snares to which a youth away from home is ever exposed, and affords another illustration of the declaration that “godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of the life that now is, as well of as that which is to come.” He connects himself with the schemes of usefulness which are so numerous in this day of Christian activity, and becomes a blessing to the church and the world. His religion goes with him into his future character, situation, and circumstances, as a husband, a father, a master, and a tradesman. He is seen habitually among the Christian philanthropists of the age, uniting his influence and energies with theirs to bless his species and glorify his God. His assistance is earnestly sought, and willingly granted, to all that is going on for the moral renovation of the world. By his prayers, his example, his property, his intelligence, and his labors, he acts up to the metaphorical description of the righteous, where our Lord says to his disciples, “Ye are the light of the world; ye are the salt of the earth.” His family are brought up in the fear of the Lord, and are likely to be his imitators in all good things, and thus hand forward religion as a heir-loom to his descendants.

What a beautiful scene is this for Christian parents to witness, if indeed, they are still alive to watch the growing piety, prosperity, happiness, and usefulness of this their son. How blissful are the feelings, how delightful the intercourse of the happy couple as they sit and talk of this their beloved and holy child. If he live dt home with them, how uninterruptedly agreeable is their intercourse with him. They have nothing to complain of or to reprove; and he nothing to explain, defend, or excuse. They have common objects common sympathies, and common topics. Their spiritual tastes their highest and most momentous pursuits and pleasures, are alike. How it rejoices them to be the witnesses of his pietj and activity, and to hear the testimonies of others to his respectability, importance, and usefulness. How many congratulations they receive on the character and conduct of this their son. They see old age coming on upon them, but here is the bright star in the evening sky of their life. Here is no disappointment, but on the other hand, the fulfilment of their brightest hopes. Here is the rich reward of all their parental labor and anxieties — the abundant answer of all their prayers.

It may be that these parents are called, according to tho order of nature, to descend first to the tomb. During a lon^ decay, they are cheered and comforted, if their son lwe at home, with his presence, his prayers, and his conversation. If he live away from home, they are refreshed by his letters, and by his occasional visits. His conduct has planted no thorns in their dying pillow, but has softened it till it is rendered even downy. They feel that separation from such a child is, indeed, to nature bitter and painful: but then hia piety assures them they are not parting for ever. As he comforts them by his holy suggestions and devout petitions, they are ofttimes in a strait, like the apostle, desiring to depart to be with Christ, and yet on the other hand, desiring, for the sake of those they are leaving, to remain. No painful but necessary warnings issue from their lips, wringing their hearts with anguish, as they solemnly adjure an ungodly son to forsake his ways. No bitter tears roll down their cheeks as they grasp his hand and entreat him to repent, and thus mitigate the sorrows of death, the only sorrow they know. On the contrary, all are words of consolation, expressions of gratitude, and efi’usions of joy, that

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they shall soon meet again. They are ready to repeat the words of Simeon, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, not only upon myself, hut upon my children also.” Happy, happy parents, and happy son.

But if on the other hand, this son after his father’s own heart should, by an inversion of the order of nature, he called first to descend to the grave, with what different feelings do his pious parents hang over his couch of sickness and watch the progress of decay and the advance of death, from those of parents who have to wait around the death-bed of an ungodly son. True they are disappointed by his early removal from our world. To see such a blossom, yea fruit, of parental hope cut off, and sent to the grave, is indeed a trial — oh, to lose such a son! One so dutiful, so good, so holy, so promising, so useful, to be carried off from them, from the church, from the world; — how mysterious an event — how great a calamity. Yes, but then his deep submission — his strong faith — his joy unspeakable and peace that passeth understanding — his holy converse — his words of consolation to them — how tranquillising all this! No agonizing fears about his spiritual state distress their minds. All is safe for eternity. He dies — but they can trace him to the realms of glory. To lose such a son is of course a severe trial of their faith and patience: but the recollections of his past character and conduct — the soothing influence of his dyincr testimony — the assurance of his heavenly bliss — the anticipations of their final meeting and everlasting association, reconcile them to the stroke, and enable them to feel that after all this disappointment is inconceivably lighter than that of many who are afflicted by the conduct of a living profligate. In one case the affliction brings its own comfort with it — but in the other it is unmixed wormwood and gall. To the language of condolence which they receive from sympathising friends, they are ready to give the answer which the Duke of Ormond did in similar circumstances, “I would rather have my dead son than half the living sons of all Christendom.”

There have been cases where the realisation of parental hopes has come after a season of protracted, anxious, and even agonising fear and disappointment. The exquisitely beautiful parable of the prodigal son, in its close as well as in its beginning, has in a few instances, and perhaps but a few, received its accomplishment in the children of the godly. There have been youths whose erratic career of folly and sin has half-broken a father’s and a mother’s heart, but whose ultimate recovery came just in time to save them from being entirely crushed. I heard of one young man of this description who, though the son o-f religious parents, and therefore the child of many prayers and much instruction, had wandered far, and wide, and long, from the path of piety and morality. Through his dark and winding course he was followed by a father’s prayers and a mother’s tears. Every means which holy and agonising ingenuity could suggest, had been tried to reclaim him, but in vain. To parental remonsti-ance while under his father’s roof he was deaf, and to all letters sent to him in his distant vagrancies he was insensible. As a last means of restoring him, after a long suspension of intercourse, his father, who could ncjfc forget his truant and wicked son, nor alienate his heart altogether from him, called together in the vestry of the chapel where, if I mistake not, he labored as a minister, a few friends to pray for his penitence and restoration. After several had poured out their hearts in fervent supplication, the father gave utterance to his own feelings, in a strain of most tender supplication, which melted all present to tears. During thesa exercises a poor wretched creature was seen wandering round the window and listening at the door of the vestry; and no sooner had the prayer of the good man for his son ended, and when the meeting was about to break up, than the listener, who was indeed the subject of all these prayers, entered, fell upon the neck of his father, and simply sobbed out, “0, my father, forgive me.” It is unnecessary I should describe the scene that followed, you have it in the parable of the prodigal son, — “Kejoice with me, for this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found.” He lived a new life, and realised in the end, after long disappointing them, the hopes of his parents. What an encouragement to parents to continue instant in prayer. And what an encouragement to prodigals to say, “I will arise and go unto my father, and say. Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.” If any whose eye shall glance over these pages, shall be still in the land of their wanderings, to them would I say, “Return, return.” It is not yet too late. You may still realise the hopes of your parents. You may still repent, reform, and lead a new life. The grace of God which bringeth salvation may teach you to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this evil world. You may be respectable, happy, and useful even yet. Abandon despair. There is no need of it even in your case. If returning prodigals are few, be you one of the few. Let me recommend, earnestly recommend you to read the fifteenth chapter of the gospel by Luke, which is one of the most beautiful and touching portions of the whole Bible. It is full of instruction, of tenderness, of encouragenient; and will, if you have not pressed out every spark of feeling from your soul, melt your heart to compunction and your eyes to tears. It describes your character, suits your condition, represents your father’s heart towards you, and will perhaps by God’s grace, recover you from your present condition. Read it, read it till this blessed effect is produced. Kead it with

earnest prayer, that you may be indeed a reclaimed, restored prodigal, and even yet bind up the heart you have nearly broken, and not bring down a father’s grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. Or if your parents have gone to the world where “the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest,” and have perhaps been hurried to their grave by your misconduct; if they left our earth with hearts broken by disappointed hopes, and breathed out their last feelings for you, exclaiming, “O my son my son, must we part for erg?-,” if in this world there was no reward, by your good conduct, of their prayers, their tears, their example, and their labors — carry it to them, by your present repentance and reformation, and by your thus following them thither when you die. If nothing but disappointment was felt by them here, let fruition be granted to them there. Though they left you in your sinful wanderings when they ascended to their glory, and feared they had lost you for ever, let them by your forsaking your evil courses, find you in Paradise. What a meeting will you then have in that happy state! How will it enhance even their heavenly felicity, after having given up all hope of your salvation upon earth, to have the assurance of your salvation by seeing you in heaven. Richly will it reward them for all their sorrows ajid anxiety, and infinitely more than compensate for all they have endured on your account.

And now, young men, let me close this discourse by a few more words of affectionate yet earnest expostulation and persuasion. It is cruel under any circumstances to frustrate wilfully and wantonly, by any part of our conduct, the hopes of our fellow-creatures; and the cruelty is in exact proportion to the strength the propriety, and the justness of the expectations which are so defeated. If persons who have no right to expect anything from us, make us, out of mere choice, the subject of foolish and unwarranted anticipations, we have no great need to concern ourselves about the matter, and any disappointment we may occasion is rather a punishment for their own folly than a reproach upon ourselves. But where by a kind of necessity we become to others the objects of their well-founded and rational expectations — where these expectations are by every consideration authorized, and are very large — where the alternative of disappointment or fruition must be followed with great happiness or misery — and where it is in our own power to occasion one or the other of these alternatives, it is most cruel wantonly to sport with those hopes which are thus suspended upon our conduct A generous and sensitive mind does not like to occasion disappointment even to a dumb animal. Think, then, of the hopes of parents in reference to their children. I appeal to your generosity on their behalf. Have they not a right to entertain hope concerning you y Does not the very relationship give them this right y Fancy your mother thus addressing you, —” I am a mother, and have all a mother’s affections, anxieties, hopes, and rights. Next to God and my husband, in whom should I hope so justly as in my child, whom I have borne in my womb — nursed at my breast — fondled in my arms? FOr whom I have given the sleep of countless nights, and the labor of countless days. Whom I have taught to walk, to speak, to think, to act Whom J

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have loved with a mother’s love — watched around his couch in sickness — wept when he wept, and smiled when he smiled — heard his complaints, and soothed his sorrows — borne with his waywardness, and gently reproved his faults. Whom as an infant, a child, a youth, a man, I have anxiously cared for, as I have watched with solicitude each successive development. Whom I have prayed for, instructed, warned, encouraged. 0, my son, my son, had not thy mother a right to hope that all this would be rewarded at some period when it should be all understood? I saw thy infant smiles as thou turnedst thy eyes upon her that fed thee from her bosom, and which seemed at that time silently to thank me Tor thy sustenance. I heard thee call me thy ’ dear mother,’ as thou madest thy first essays at articulate language. I beheld thy opening talents and virtues, as they appeared to be then, and interpreted them into signs of future excellence - and had I not a right to hope for much at thy hands — and wilt thou disappoint it all, and thus reward thy mother’s care .-’ Shall hopes so early awakened — so fondly cherished — so long sustained — so justly founded — that rose so high, and anticipated so much, be all doomed, by thy misconduct, to disappointment? 0, my son, my son.”

And then your father too — think of him: that kind good man, who when he first took you in his arms, felt the new and strange emotions of that rapturous moment all kindle into hope: as he looked upon your face and for the first time cried, “My child.” How did that hope grow with your growth, and strengthen with your strength; rising higher and sinking deeper at every advanced stage of your life. His hope of your future excellence was his prospective reward for all the labor he sustained to support, to educate, and provide for you. Often as he wiped away the sweat of his brovamidst the heat and burden of the day, and began to think his labors almost too severe — his hope of thy future good conduct checked the rising feeling of hardship, and compelled him to say, “It is for my wife and children and it is my hope that they by their affection and general good conduct will one day make me as thankful that I endure all this for them, as their mother already does.”

Young men, have you generosity, gratitude, nobleness of soul? If so, let me ask you, what do such ties, such benefits, such feelings, and such conduct deserve at your hands? Can you be insensible to such an appeal? One should imagine it would be your study and delight to acknowledge and discharge, in the most effectual and satisfactory manner* obligations which you were contracting before you had the ability to understand and appreciate them; and which from that time to the present have never ceased to accumulate. Above all beings on earth your parents have the largest claims upon your consideration, and though there are higher motives to the cultivation of all moral excellence, than even a regard to their happiness, yet this ought never to be left out of view, and never will be by any generous, dutiful, and affectionate son