Go back with me to those delightful scenes so full of gentle joy, of
ineffable sweetness, and hallowed peace, when first you cast your all on
Jesus, and felt

"The Saviour's pard'ning blood,
Applied to cleanse your soul from guilt
And bring you home to God."

Then, calm and trustful in spirit, transported in the freshness of a
new-born life, you could sing with a ravished heart,

"I am my Lord's, and he is mine:
He drew me--and I followed on--
Charm'd to confess the voice divine."

These were precious seasons. "How sweet their mem'ry still!" Then came
an hour of tender, impressive, and almost awful interest. You entered
the sanctuary of God, and in the presence of men, of angels, and your
adored Saviour, avouched the Lord Jehovah, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
to be your God, consecrating yourself and all your possessions,
unreservedly, to his service. Was this an unmeaning ceremony? No. You
remember the occasion, the hopes and fears of your trembling faith,
those sweet experiences, those glimpses of your Redeemer's smiles, which
forced the tear to your eye; the solemn and faltering accents of your
beloved pastor; and the weeping sympathy of a dear father and mother--
now, perhaps, gone to their rest--who had long yearned over a
thoughtless child. Or you may remember your soul's peaceful trust in
God, as you stood _alone_, with no sympathizing kindred; and felt, as
you tasted the cup,--the emblem of your Saviour's blood, and the pledge
of the eternal sacrifice of yourself to him,--that you could cheerfully