Anything is better than the stillness of death, however aesthetic and
beautiful, however reverential and devout a mere outward ceremonial may
appear. Imposing pageants and religious displays may excite enthusiastic
religiosity or devotionism; but they do not, and never can, promote
spiritual vitality. Far from this, they draw the heart and mind into a
channel of human religion, where it can sometimes over-flow to its own
satisfaction; but they never bring a sinner to see himself lost, or,
unworthy by nature to be a worshipper, and consequently, as such,
utterly unfit to take any part in religious ceremonies.

On the Monday after my conversion we had our first week-day revival
service in the church, which was filled to excess. In the sermon, I told
them once more that God had "brought me up out of an horrible pit, out
of the miry clay, and set my feet upon the Rock, and... put a new song
in my mouth" (Ps. 40:2-3). I had not spoken long, when some one in the
congregation gave a shriek, and then began to cry aloud for mercy. This
was quickly followed by cries from another and another, until preaching
was altogether hopeless. We then commenced praying for those who were in
distress, and some experienced men who were present dealt with the
anxious.

I cannot tell how many people cried for mercy, or how many found peace
that night; but there was great rejoicing. I, who was still in my
grave-clothes, though out of the grave, was sorely offended at people
praying and praising God so heartily and so loudly in the church. I
thought that if this was to become a regular thing, it would be akin to
"brawling," and quite out of order. Practising singing and rehearsing
anthems in the church, I did not think much about; but somehow, for
people to cry out in distress of soul, and to praise God out of the