THIS concise but comprehensive address contains one of the most solemn warnings, that can possibly sound in the ears of sinful mortals. _Prepare to meet thy God_! Awful sentence! Every word in it is fraught with meaning, is big with importance; and rings an alarm, louder than the voice of ten thousand thunders. Who can read it with inattention? Who can hear it with irreverence? Who can preach upon it, without deeply feeling, himself, the weighty truths he enforceth? And yet the most nervous language must be inexpressive, and the warmest sentiment flat, when compared with a subject, which, for majesty and importance, rises infinitely above all the powers of description or the utmost stretch of conception itself. To whose heart is it not sufficient to carry, at least, a transient impression of seriousness? Methinks when the solemn sentence, _Prepare to meet thy God_, is repeated, the votary of pleasure, even in the giddy whirl of dissipation, is made to think, and levity itself, for a moment, looks solid; an irresistible awe seizes the mind of the licentiate, that imbitters his gratifications, and disturbs his sensual repose; that extorts a sigh from the unrelenting breast of impenitence, draws a tear from the eye of the prodigal, and forces a blush into the hardened cheek of immodesty itself:—even the daring _infidel_ himself cannot stand the shock of the solemn warning; he starts—turns pale—looks aghast—and all the guilt of his conscience, all the misgivings of his heart, and all the horrors of his mind, fly into his pallid countenance, as so many witnesses against his atheistical principles, as so many vouchers for the truth of revelation; so that, methinks, even infidelity itself for a moment believes, and trembles.