strength, and with all thy mind.' I do not charge you with crimes.
You know how far it would be right to charge you with vices. _I_
do not charge you with anything; but I pray you to come with me and
confess: 'We all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.'

I suppose I need not dwell upon the difficulty of getting a lodgment
for this conviction in men's hearts. There is no sadder, and no more
conclusive proof, of the tremendous power of sin over us, than that
it has lulled us into unconsciousness, hard to be broken, of its own
presence and existence. You remember the old stories--I suppose there
is no truth in them, but they will do for an illustration--about some
kind of a blood-sucking animal that perched upon a sleeping man, and
with its leathern wings fanned him into deeper drowsiness whilst it
drew from him his life-blood. That is what this hideous Queen does
for men. She robes herself in a dark cloud, and sends out her behests
from obscurity. And men fancy that they are free whilst all the while
they are her servants. Oh, dear brethren! you may call this theology,
but it is a simple statement of the facts of our condition. 'Sin hath
reigned.'

And now turn to the other picture, 'Grace might reign.' Then there is
an antagonistic power that rises up to confront the widespread
dominion of this anarch of old. And this Queen comes with twenty
thousand to war against her that has but ten thousand on her side.

Again I say, let us understand our terms. I suppose, there are few of
the keywords of the New Testament which have lost more of their
radiance, like quicksilver, by exposure in the air during the
centuries than that great word Grace, which is always on the lips of
this Apostle, and to him had music in its sound, and which to us is a