n, I hardly dare
drop a hint which belongs here, though it grows out of a remark made
under the last head. But I will say that it is not unreasonable to
suppose that the departed may perform a more close and personal agency
than this which I have just dwelt upon. Often, it may be, they are
permitted messengers for our welfare; guardians, whose invisible wings
shield us; teachers, whose unfelt instructions mysteriously sway us.
The child may thus discharge an office of more than filial love for the
bereaved parents. The mother may watch and minister to her child.
The father, by unseen influences, win to virtue the heart of his
poor prodigal. But whether this be so or not, certain are we that the
departed do discharge such an agency, if not by spiritual contact with
us, or direct labor in our behalf, by the chastening influence that
their memory sheds upon us, by uplifting our thoughts, by spiritualizing
our affections, by drawing our souls to communion with things celestial
and with God.

Let us see to it, then, that we improve this discipline; that we quench
not the holy aspiration which springs up in our sorrow; that we neglect
not the opportunity when our hearts are softened; that we continue the
prayer which first escaped our lips as a sigh and a call of distress;
that the baptism of tears lets us into the new life of reconciliation,
and love, and holiness. Otherwise, the discipline is of no avail, and,
it may be, we harden under it.

And, finally, let me say, that the faith by which we regard our
relations to the departed in the light that has been exhibited in this
discourse, is a faith that must be assimilated with our entire spiritual
nature. It must be illustrated in our daily conduct, and sanctify every
thought and motive of our hearts. We should not seek religion merely for
its consolations, and take it up as an occasional remedy. In this way
religion is injured. It is associated only with sorrow, and clothed, to
the eyes of men, in perpetual sadness. It is sought as the last resort,
the heart's extreme unction, when it has tried the world's nostrums
in vain. It is dissociated from things healthy and active,--from all
ordinary experiences,--from the great whole of life. It is consigned to
the darkened chamber of mourning, and the weary and disappointed spirit.
Besides, to seek religion only in sorrow,--to fly to it as the last
refuge,--argues an extreme selfishness. We have served the world and our
own wills