"Most of all, ye ministers of the sanctuary, heralds commissioned from above, lift every one his voice like a trumpet, and loudly proclaim the Redeemer. Get ye up, ye ambassadors of peace, get ye up into the high mountains, and spread far and wide the honours of the Lamb that was slain, but is alive for evermore. Teach every sacred roof to resound with His fame, and every human heart to glow with His love. Declare, as far as the force of words will go, declare the inexhaustible fulness of that great atonement, whose merits are commensurate with the glories of the Divinity. Tell the sinful wretch what pity yearns at Immanuel's breast; what blood He has spilt, what agonies He has endured, what wonders He has wrought for the salvation of His enemies. Invite the indigent to become rich; entreat the guilty to accept of pardon; because with the crucified Jesus is plenteous redemption and all-sufficiency to save. While you, placed in conspicuous stations, proclaim the joyful sound, may I, as I steal through the vale of humble life, catch the pleasing accents! For me the Author of all blessings became a curse; for me His bones were dislocated, and His flesh was torn. He hung with streaming veins and an agonizing soul on the cross for me. O! may I, in my little sphere, and amidst the scanty circle of my acquaintance, at least whisper these glad transporting tidings!--whisper them from my own heart, that they may surely reach and sweetly penetrate theirs. "But when men and angels raise the grand hymn; when all worlds and all beings add their collective acclamations--this full, fervent, and universal chorus, will be so inferior to the riches of the Redeemer's grace, so disproportionate to the magnificence of His glory, that it will seem but to debase the unutterable subject it attempts to exalt. The loud hallelujah will _die_ away in the solemn mental eloquence of prostrate, rapturous, silent admiration. 'O goodness infinite! goodness immense! And love that passeth knowledge! Words are vain; Language is lost in wonder so divine; Come, then, expressive _silence_, muse his praise.'" On my way to the church, passing a cottage which stood a short distance from a foot-path I was crossing, I saw a man and his two sons at work in his garden; they made me a bow, which I acknowledged. "Your cottage," I remarked, "is pleasantly situated; and you seem to have a productive garden, and keep it in good order." "Why, yes, Sir; but it costs us a deal of hard labour." "Have you a large family?" "Yes, Sir, we have six children; and, thank God, they are as healthy as a spring morning." "Who do you work for?" "I and these two lads work for Farmer Goddard, who lives just over the hill, as good a master as ever hired a servant." "What time do you generally devote to your garden?" "Why, Sir, we give it a few odd hours in the week; but as that is not enough, we work at it on a Sunday morning till dinner-time."