In the sorrow of your stricken spirit, and with the grievous burden of sin lying heavy upon you, your guardian angel took you one day, trembling, anxious, fearful, harassed by the stings of remorse, to the confessional. {27} There you poured out your griefs, and told all the shameful guilt--griefs that seemed eternal, and guilt that no oceans might wash away. And yet, O tender mercy of God! down falls the veil of darkness, and your soul is bathed in light. You, who a moment ago were stumbling in despair at the portals of hell, are now standing before the gates of heaven. You, who had that in your soul which almost drove you to madness, now are in such peace that words fail you, and you weep for very joy. Yes, of a truth God has been very merciful, tenderly merciful to you. Ah! what would you not then do for God--what sacrifices would you not make--what life long resolutions were you not ready to form! Do you not remember? Ah, yes! now I remind you of it. But how long did you remember it to any profit to yourself or praise to God? And tell me, how now? What of your present remembrance? An East Indian having been shown all about the beautiful city of Paris, through its royal palaces, its galleries of art, its manufactories of wondrous scientific and mechanical instruments, manifested, it was observed, but little enthusiasm. The Indian was too proud to show any emotion at sight of the works of strangers. One day he was taken to the Jardin des Plantes, where are cultivated trees, shrubs, and flowers of every clime. {28} Suddenly he stopped short before a tropical tree, fell upon his knees, clasped it lovingly and kissed it, and, as the tears flowed fast down his swarthy cheek, cried out, in his own language, "O tree of my own land! O tree of my own native land, so far away! Let us go back home again." There are some of you, my brethren, to whom I have shown the picture of a mercy you cannot but remember well. How does the sight of it affect you? Are you moved with that deep emotion such a memory should awaken? Do you hug the memory of that hour of peace to your bosom, and does your heart cry out, "O tender mercy of my God! O sweet hour of peace now so far away! Let me go back to thee again!" Blessed remembrance, as happy for yourself as it is dear to God. You are wise because you keep these things in mind, and have understood the mercies of the Lord, and the praise of the Lord for all the things He hath bestowed upon you. But can you look at it with indifference, seeing there nothing to stir the depths of your soul, nothing to call forth a grateful aspiration from your breast? Then I think of that uncivilized Indian, and must say: He loved his country better than you love God. He was quick to remember __that__; you have been quick to forget __Him__. {29}