nreflecting species of life and conduct
has given way, somewhat, to a thoughtful and vigilant life, knows and
acknowledges that perfection is not yet come. As he casts his eye over
even his regenerate and illuminated life, and sees what a small amount of
sin has been distinctly detected, keenly felt, and heartily confessed, in
comparison with that large amount of sin which he knows he must have
committed, during this long period of incessant action of mind, heart,
and limbs, he finds no repose for his misgivings with respect to the
filial examination and account, except by enveloping himself yet more
entirely in the ample folds of his Redeemer's righteousness; except by
hiding himself yet more profoundly in the cleft of that Rock of Ages
which protects the chief of sinners from the unsufferable splendors and
terrors of the Divine glory and holiness as it passes by. Even the
Christian knows that he must have committed many sins in thoughtless
moments and hours,--many sins of which he was not deliberately thinking
at the time of their commission,--and must pray with David, "Cleanse thou
me from secret faults." The functions and operations of memory evince
that such is the case. Are we not sometimes, in our serious hours when
memory is busy, convinced of sins which, at the time of their commission,
were wholly unaccompanied with a sense of their sinfulness? The act in
this instance was performed blindly, without self-inspection, and
therefore without self-conviction. Ten years, we will say, have
intervened,--years of new activity, and immensely varied experiences. And
now the magic power of recollection sets us back, once more, at that
point of responsible action, and bids do what we did not do at the
time,--analyze our performance and feel consciously guilty, experience the
first sensation of remorse, for what we did ten years ago. Have we not,
sometimes, been vividly reminded that upon such an occasion, and at such
a time, we were angry, or proud, but at the time when the emotion was
swelling our veins were not filled with, that clear and painful sense of
its turpitude which now attends the recollection of it? The re-exhibition
of an action in memory, as in a mirror, is often accompanied with a
distinct apprehension of its moral character that formed no part of the
experience of the agent while absorbed in the hot and hasty original
action itself. And when we remember how immense are the stores of memory,
and what an amoun