172 The HAPPINESS of 
If sleep, the daily call of nature, is the image of death, what 
neccility was there for this remembrance? 
But if he meant to humble himfelf before his gods, or his fub~ 
jc£b ; the chriftian, whilft he bows his foul in awful homage to 
the true god, extends his views beyond the bounds of mortality* 
The Christian remembers him under whofe banners we carry 
on this warfare of life. He remembers him who parted with 
life for us : who fuffered a painful and ignominious death, to 
five us from perdition. He remembers him whofe love for us 
rendered his mercy adorable ! Every morn you rife fpeak to your 
own heart and fay, I am a Christian ! Every night repeat the 
fame ; and aik yourfelf in what you have a&ed agreeably to this 
profeffion, and in what deviated from it. In every conflict 
of your heart, fummons up your refolution, and fay, with zar a 
in the tragedy, I am a chriftian! rejoice that you was born a 
chriftian \ and that you live where you may boaft of that glo- 
rious appellation. Thus pofiefting your foul in a true fenfe of 
this honor and happinefs, you will receive a pleafure beyond the 
pride of kings ; beyond all earthly pomp ; or the higheft joy 
this world can give. Difcharge this duty well, 
“ ‘Then wilt thou fee to what a glorious height, 
<c The Christian virtue lifts up mortal man T 
But this is rhapsody, unintelligible jargon, to thofe who will 
not think seriously what it is to be a Christian. Thofe, 
alas! whofe days pafs in a round of amufements, or anxious fo- 
licitude ; in too great ftudy, or no ftudy at all : who have not 
fenfe to know the value of their own advantages, and like pro- 
2 digals 
