to wander farther and farther from God. Still he cries after them: "Turn you, turn you at my reproof" Some wander at such an awful distance, that the voice of mercy which once came home to them with power, now, dies away in whispers upon their obdurate hearts. They wander, until they "stumble" at last "upon the dark mountains," and plunge headlong, into the whirlpool of endless perdition. This is the silly part acted by that being who is so prone to pride himself on the dignity of his nature. We would not cast any reflection upon his dignity; we would rather mourn over the strong indications he gives of a moral desolation. He presents a scene truly affecting. He is like a noble mansion in ruins. The grand and lofty columns, the fine exquisite workmanship, which are still seen, are striking evidences of former greatness: but the glory has departed. It is natural for us to linger in pensive melancholy, as we behold the remaining traces of departed
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considering the latter end.
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