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Memoirs of the Rev. Samuel Parr
Ch. XXVI. 1800-1803

Ch. I. 1747-1752
Ch. II. 1752-1761
Ch. III. 1761-1765
Ch. IV. 1765-1766
Ch. V. 1767-1771
Ch. VI. 1771
Ch. VII. 1771-1776
Ch. VIII. 1771-1776
Ch. IX. 1776-1777
Ch. X. 1779-1786
Ch. XI. 1779-1786
Ch. XII. 1779-1786
Ch. XIII. 1780-1782
Ch. XIV. 1786-1789
Ch. XV. 1786-1790
Ch. XVI. 1776-1790
Ch. XVII. 1787
Ch. XVIII. 1789
Ch. XIX. 1790-1792
Ch. XX. 1791-1792
Ch. XXI. 1791-1796
Ch. XXII. 1794-1795
Ch. XXIII. 1794
Ch. XXIV. 1794-1800
Ch. XXV. 1794-1800
‣ Ch. XXVI. 1800-1803
Ch. XXVII. 1801-1803
Ch. XXVIII. 1800-1807
Vol. II Contents
Ch I. 1800-1807
Ch II. 1807-1810
Ch III. 1809
Ch IV. 1809-1812
Ch V. 1810-1813
Ch VI. 1811-1815
Ch VII. 1812-1815
Ch VIII. 1816-1820
Ch IX. 1816-1820
Ch X. 1816-1820
Ch XI. 1816-1820
Ch XII. 1816-1820
Ch XIII. 1816-1820
Ch XIV. 1819
Ch XV. 1820-1821
Ch XVI. 1816-1820
Ch XVII. 1820-1824
Ch XVIII. 1820-1824
Ch XIX. 1820-1824
Ch XX. 1820-1825
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Produced by CATH
A.D. 1800-1803.
Dr. Parr’s Spital Sermon—Its subject—In the first part a protest against Godwin’s “Political Justice”—in the second, an answer to Turgot’s Strictures on Charitable Institutions—The notes—Quotations from ancient and modern authors—Remarks on the obligation of gratitude, &c.—Atheism and superstition compared—Defence of the two Universities—Doctrine of future rewards and punishments—Dr. Parr’s Sermon on Patriotism—Reply to the argument of Lord Shaftesbury—and of Soame Jenyns—True and false patriotism—Conclusion.

The sermon, commonly called the Hospital, or, by abbreviation, the Spital Sermon, is annually preached at Christ Church, Newgate-street, before the Lord Mayor of London, and the incorporated governors of various charitable institutions, chiefly of royal foundation, established in the City. In compliance with the request of his friend, Harvey Christian Combe, Esq., who, at that time, filled the civic chair, on Easter Tuesday, 1800, Dr. Parr delivered the discourse, of which some account is now to be given.

It is much to be regretted that, instead of a moral and religious disquisition, on the subject of which it professes to treat, the preacher should have allowed his discourse to assume the form of a personal attack, as already noticed, on a very distinguished writer and a friend; and still more to be regretted is the want of fairness and candour, so
evident, in declaiming, vehemently and acrimoniously, against the errors of a system, even after those errors had been publicly acknowledged and abjured. It is true, the ingenuous confession, which did so much honour to the author of “
Political Justice,” is inserted, by Dr. Parr, among “the notes,” accompanied with its due commendation, in the following words:—“I will not insult the foregoing observations with the name of concessions. I am more disposed to consider them as modifications, suggested by maturer reflection, and expressed with some degree of contrition, that they had neither occurred to the writer, nor had been conveyed to the reader before.”1

But even these commendatory expressions, almost concealed and lost as they are amidst a vast body of notes, could hardly be considered as a sufficient reparation for the injury done by the bitter invectives scattered through a discourse, which was delivered to a crowded audience from the pulpit, and afterwards to the world from the press. Such a procedure, it must be owned, wears too much the air of a private apology for a public affront. If acknowledged error must be proclaimed aloud, and censured with unsparing severity, justice surely demands that the rare merit of the frank and explicit acknowledgment should be, at least, as openly announced and applauded.

But waving these objections to the form of this discourse, and to the spirit which too much pervades it, even in the subject matter of it, the

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reader will, probably, find much to which his judgment will not readily yield assent.

Entering on the consideration of his important subject, benevolence, the preacher begins with stating and condemning two theories, which have been proposed for explaining the nature and the origin of the social affections. The first of these he reproachfully terms the “selfish system;” though in reality, when cleared from offensive and objectionable terms, and represented in its true form, it seems to be the most reasonable and probable of all the theories, which have yet been suggested.1 According to that theory, the essence of virtue consists in its tendency to promote the highest happiness of every individual; and moral obligation resolves itself, at last, into that all-powerful obligation, which is imposed upon every intelligent being, of providing, in the best possible manner, for his own true and permanent felicity. What are called disinterested affections, according to the same theory, always take their first rise from interested motives, or from views of personal good; and it is only by length of time, and a succession of efforts, that they reach their disinterested state; or that state, in which they prompt to action, without the least regard to considerations of self-advantage, and even with a certain degree, more or less perfect, of self-oblivion. If it be said that a noble and generous action may be performed, solely for its own sake, or for the sake of some gra-

1 This theory is adopted in its principle by Bishop Cumberland, Rutherforth, Brown, Helvetius, Hume, Hartley, Tucker, Gisborne, and Belsham.

tification, arising out of itself; still it may be asked, what is that very gratification but another name for happiness to the agent, and happiness too of the most pure and exalted kind?

But though to this theory the term selfish seems to be contemptuously applied by Dr. Parr, and though he found much to censure, no doubt, in the representations which have been sometimes given of it, especially by the Epicureans of old, and by the schoolmen of the middle ages, yet when placed in its true light, and guarded against abuses, it is evidently the theory which he himself adopted. For thus, in one place, he expresses himself: “I grant that every man’s satisfaction is the spring that actuates all his motions;”1 and though he affirms that “our sympathy with others arises from the very constitution of our nature, and not from any views of personal advantage;”2 yet he afterwards gives, not very consistently with this, the following account of the origin and progress of the benevolent affections: “Probable it is that, by the laws of association, the elements of these affections, which impel us ‘to weep with those that weep,’ and ‘to rejoice with those that rejoice,’ were first brought into action, by events which immediately interested ourselves—which produced our own pleasure, or removed our own pain.”3

The second of the two theories, and that which is more particularly noticed and censured by Dr. Parr, he calls the “philanthropic system;” or that which requires us to direct our benevolent thoughts

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and wishes, and even our active efforts, if we can, to the good of the whole collective species: but not surely to the exclusion, nor even to the neglect, of the kind and affectionate regards which we owe to those more immediately connected with us. No modern advocate of the doctrine of philanthropy could mean more, than that universal benevolence is the supreme law of our moral nature, as it certainly is of our divine religion; and that to it, therefore, all the partialities of kindred and friendship must be held in due subordination. Such, indeed, is the wise provision of nature, that the excess is more common than the want of those charities of husband, father, brother, son, on which human happiness so much depends. Here, consequently, there is less urgent call for the exertion of the moralist; whilst, on the other hand, the benevolent affections, which have for their object men in the larger circles of neighbourhood, country, and the world, usually require to be expanded rather than contracted, and need much oftener to be warmed into life and urged into activity, than to be checked and chilled. If, then, it should be found that
Mr. Godwin has spoken too little in favour of the private affections, and too much in praise of general benevolence; this is not surely an offence which required to be visited with all the severity of censure bestowed upon it by Dr. Parr. On such a subject, from such a man, who could have expected language so full of reproach, as the following?

“If you compare the selfish with the philan-
thropic system, you will find that the one never occasioned so much mischief as it seemed to threaten; and that the other will be productive of less good than it promises, accompanied by a long and portentous train of evils, which had been negligently overlooked, or insidiously disguised by its panegyrists.”1—And again—“In the motives by which the philanthropist is impelled, the kind affections may be so writhed round the unsocial; in the character of his actions, the freaks of absurdity may be so blended with the outrages of wickedness, that if our common sense did not revolt from the incongruous mass, scarcely any process could separate affectation from hypocrisy, delusion from malignity, that which deserves only pity or contempt from that which calls aloud for reprobation.”2

Proceeding from his introductory observations to the more particular consideration of his text, which is happily chosen from Gal. vi. 10. As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith—the preacher observes, that “this text, like many other passages of Scripture, has the substance, without the form of genuine philosophy;” that “in language obvious to every understanding, it exhibits the result of the most minute analysis which can be given of our faculties and duties as social beings;” that “it contains all that is practicable in the doctrine of general benevolence, and all that is required of us indispensably by that which is particular.” To these observations a critical re-

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mark is added on the original expression εργαζώμεθα το άγαθον, which is pursued at great length in a learned note.” That expression it is shown implies not merely to do good, but to labour to do good—or to exert strenuous efforts in doing it. “As to the import of the text, nothing,” says the preacher, “can be more just than the condition laid down by the apostle, let us labour in doing good as we have opportunity:—nothing more comprehensive than the precept, let the good be done unto all men:—nothing more proper than the preference given, to than who are of the household of faith.”1

Having explained the language of his text and proceeding to the two-fold division of his subject—in the first, the preacher proposes to consider the nature of benevolence, general and partial, and the consistency of the one with the other; and in the second, to inquire into the value of the charitable institutions placed under the charge of the incorporated governors, to whom the discourse was particularly addressed.

Under the former of these divisions—after stating the obvious fact, which no philanthropist would attempt to deny, that the more remote our connexion with social beings, in the same degree our benevolent feelings become less vivid, and our desires for their happiness less ardent and anxious—and after having admitted almost as fully as the most ardent philanthropist could desire, not only the practicability, but the duty, of extending our kind thoughts and good wishes, wide as the world of human creatures—he goes on to observe:—

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“Now whether we conceive of universal benevolence as a quality of nature, or a principle of action, it is highly expedient for us not to misunderstand its properties or its offices. I admit and I approve of it as an emotion of which general happiness is the cause; but not as a passion of which it could often be the object. I approve of it as a disposition to wish, and, as opportunity may occur, to desire and to do good to those with whom we are quite unconnected. I approve of it as a capacity, sometimes to receive uneasiness from their pains and satisfaction from their joys; but an uneasiness and a satisfaction far less frequent, less intense, less permanent, than the uneasiness and satisfaction which we feel for those around us, and by which we are stimulated to act as we feel in their behalf.”1

In this passage, the preacher’s design seems to be to show the difference between himself and the philanthropists, whom he opposes; and yet so small and evanescent does the difference, after all, appear, that we might almost wonder at the zeal of the opposer, as Mr. Godwin himself observes, if it were not recollected how often the warmth of disputation rises, exactly in proportion to the minuteness of the point which divides the disputants. There are some other passages, besides, in which concessions are made in favour of universal benevolence, large enough to please and satisfy the most enthusiastic of its admirers. Still, however, the preacher apprehends that the doctrine of philanthropy may be pushed too far, so as to produce

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“a long and portentous train of evils;” some of which he thus enumerates:—

“If the mother could forget the child that hung at her breast—if the friend, with whom we took sweet counsel together, should forsake us, when we are compelled to beg our daily bread—if they who have trodden the same soil with ourselves, spoken the same language, followed the same customs, enjoyed the same rights, obeyed the same laws, bowed before the same altar, should be no more endeared to us than other men, whose kindness we have never experienced, whose faces we have never seen, whose voices we have never heard—if all these things were done under the pretence ‘of cultivating universal philanthropy,’ what would become of society; which parental affection, which friendship, which gratitude, which compassion, which patriotism do now uphold?—how changed would be the scenes around us?—how blunted the edge of all our finer affections?—how scanty the sum of our happiness?—how multiplied and embittered the sources of our woe?”1

To this ardent and eloquent appeal against the dangers of philanthropy, would it not be fair to reply—that if the doctrine of universal benevolence could be so far perverted as to produce, or even to encourage, insensibility to the claims of kindred, friends, and countrymen, this would be a gross abuse of the doctrine, like that to which the best principles of religion and morality are liable; but that, from the natural and almost irresistible strength of the private and domestic affections, such

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an abuse can hardly be conceived as falling within the limits of possibility, certainly not of probability. “A sound morality requires,” says
Mr. Godwin, “that nothing human should be regarded by us as indifferent; but it is impossible we should not feel the strongest interest for those persons whom we know most intimately, and whose welfare and sympathies are united with our own.” And again:—“Philanthropy is a bank, in which every creature that lives has an interest; the first and preferable tallies being, by the very nature of the case, in the possession of those who are nearest to us, and whom we have the most frequent opportunity to benefit.”1 Against the doctrine thus stated, what reasonable objection can be opposed? or what moral dangers can be apprehended from it to the growth or the vigour of the parental or the filial affection, or to the sentiments of love, friendship, and patriotism?

Proceeding from the first to the second division of his subject—the preacher here offers some remarks, in reply to the objections of a celebrated foreigner against charitable institutions in general, founded chiefly on the abuses, to which long experience has shown they are ever liable: sometimes, indeed, though not often, it is to be hoped, to the extent of subverting all the purposes of utility which they were intended or adapted to accomplish. This foreigner was the late M. Turgot, minister to Louis XVI., “who had deeply explored,” says Dr. Parr, “the true science of politics, and was sincerely attached to the interests of humanity.” The objections of such a man are

1 Godwin’s Reply to Parr, &c.

considered and answered, with all the respect and deference due to him. In showing that these objections least of all apply to the charitable institutions of which he was then the advocate,1 the preacher expatiates, with much feeling and force, on the advantages which, under a wise system of management, they still afford, for the relief of almost all the wants and miseries of men in the lower classes of the community; and with a solemn and pathetic appeal to his audience, in their behalf, he concludes.

Not the least valuable, and by far the most extensive portion of this publication, is the notes, which comprise, besides several disquisitions, a vast miscellaneous collection of extracts from writers, ancient and modern, bearing more or less on the topics discussed in the sermon. Among the former, Aristotle and Plutarch furnish, in rich abundance, their share of these quotations; and, next to them, Plato and Seneca. Gassendi, the great impugner of the Aristotelian doctrines, is often appealed to. Of the more modern writers, many valuable passages are borrowed from Lord Bacon, Bishops Taylor and Butler, Hutchinson, Adam Smith, Hume, Tucker; and next to these,

1 These are the five following institutions:—Christ’s, St. Thomas’, St. Bartholomew’s, Bethlem, and Bridewell hospitals. The encomiums bestowed on the four first of these noble institutions are probably just. But the last, with an endowment of 8000l. a year, is shamefully perverted from its original purpose, which was that of a school of industry for untaught youth, a place of occupation for unemployed men, and a house of refuge for the infirm, the vagrant, and the destitute. It is now used as a common prison!

Barrow, Bentham, Kaimes, Hooker and Reid. As an apology for his numerous quotations from writers supposed to look with no favourable eye on the evidences of revelation, Dr. Parr fairly and liberally observes, that they who speak truth, howsoever discovered, have a right to be heard; and they who assist others in discovering it, have the yet higher claim to be applauded; and surely upon the propriety of any practice recommended by reason, as well as inculcated in the Scriptures, the testimony of supposed deists is no less weighty among the impartial, nor less acceptable to the serious, than that of professed Christians.

Of the disquisitions, as from their length they may be called, which occur among the notes, the first is, on the question whether general character in the object ought to influence the exercise of compassion in cases of distress, or of gratitude in return for kindness received. The difficulty of determining the moral merits of another is strongly urged; and independently of its connexion with the question proposed, the following passage, which may be read as an appeal against censoriousness, is striking:—

“Who art thou that judgest another? Who has laid open to thee every thought of his heart?—or made to thee every effect and every tendency of his actions known? Who has revealed to thee every extenuating circumstance of his misconduct, or every secret, minute, and exquisitely delicate motive, which in the sight of heaven may have enhanced the merit of his better deeds? Who has thrown open to thy view the register, in which are
recorded all that he has done well, and all that he has done amiss, from his youth upwards until now? If the tree which is very good can easily be discerned from the tree which is very corrupt; yet in most of the objects that are placed before thee, canst thou determine how many blossoms of virtue have faded away from want of nourishment, of opportunity, or encouragement, or example? How many have reached their full maturity unobserved by thee? How many roots of good intention may yet be exempt from decay, and, in due season, bring forth fruit, some ten, and some a hundred fold?”1

The effects of atheism and superstition compared, form the subject of the second disquisition; in which occurs the following passage, admired by many of his friends, and considered by the author himself as the best in his book:

“What, I would ask, are the general effects of superstition and atheism upon the happiness and the conduct of mankind? Superstition, it is granted, has many direct sorrows; but atheism has no direct joys. Superstition admits fear, mingled with hope; but atheism, while it excludes hope, affords a very imperfect security against fear. Superstition is never exposed to the dreary vacuities in the soul, over which atheism is wont to brood in solitude and silence; but atheism is sometimes haunted by forebodings, scarcely less confused, or less unquiet, than those by which superstition is annoyed. Superstition stands aghast at the punishment reserved for wicked men in another state; but

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atheism cannot disprove the possibility of such a state to all men, accompanied by consciousness, and fraught with evils equally dreadful in degree, and even in duration, with those punishments. Superstition has often preserved men from crimes; but atheism tends to protect them from weaknesses only. Superstition imposes fresh restraints upon the sensual appetites, though it may often let loose the malignant passions; but atheism takes away many restraints from those appetites, without throwing equal checks upon those passions, under many circumstances, which may excite them, in the minds of its votaries. Superstition is eager from a vicious excess of credulity; but atheism is obstinate from an excess of incredulity equally vicious. Superstition is sometimes docile from conscious weakness; but atheism is always haughty from real or supposed strength. Superstition errs and perverts only in consequence of error; but atheism rejects, and, for the most part, disdains to examine after rejection. Superstition catches at appearances; but atheism starts back from realities. Superstition may, in some favourable moment, be awakened to the call of truth; but atheism is generally deaf to the voice of the charmer ‘charm she ever so wisely.’”1

The longest and the most remarkable of all the discussions, pursued under the form of notes, is the defence of the two universities, in answer to the objections of Gray, and still more of Gibbon. Of this some notice has already been taken. It is extended through the space of thirty-two closely-

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printed quarto pages, and closes with the following words: “For the time I have spent, and the efforts I have made in this note, I, with great sincerity and great confidence, urge the plea of Mr. Gibbon, that I am conscious of having discharged a momentous duty to the interests of the public; and for the freedom of some parts, the seriousness of others, and the length of the whole, no vindication will be required by the considerate, and no apology will be accepted by the froward.”

Another long discussion, and the last which occurs among these copious annotations, is on the subject of future rewards and punishments, of which the substance is thus given, by the writer himself: “The result of the whole,” says he, “is this. It is a part of our present condition to be the subject of future rewards and punishments. It is a part of our present nature to be influenced, and very strongly too, by the hope of the one, and the fear of the other: but that hope and that fear, however necessary they may be to regulate, do not obstruct the proper energies of other parts of the same nature. They leave us to be actuated by the love of God and the love of our neighbour, in consequence of regards quite distinct from the peculiar objects, which they may themselves present to our minds. To the original and distinct force of these affections, they bring an additional and distinct force of their own.”

Towards the end of the year 1803, Dr. Parr published another sermon, which he had preached on the fast-day, Oct. 19, in Hatton church. The
subject is patriotism, and it is divided into two parts.

The first comprises an argument vigorously conceived, ably conducted, and eloquently enforced, in reply to the mis-statement of Lord Shaftesbury on the one hand, and Soame Jenyns on the other. The former writer held it forth, as an objection to Christianity, that, professing to be a perfect code of ethics, it omits all mention of the love of country; whilst the latter considered that very omission as an excellence, and even as a proof of the divine origin of the system, because patriotism, according to him, as a principle, is founded in narrow views, and as a passion, has been the cause of more mischief and misery to the world, than any one passion of the human mind besides.

In reply to the first of these mis-statements, it is justly contended, that though not formally mentioned in the Christian code, yet patriotism must, by fair construction, be understood as included within the meaning of those precepts, which inculcate general benevolence to our species, in all their moral and all their social relations; and is further recommended and enforced by the example of its great Author. For what lawgiver, moralist or philosopher can be named, in ancient or modern times, in whom a purer or warmer spirit of patriotism breathed; or who employed himself with more ardour and activity, in reforming the religion, correcting the morals, and promoting the true interests and happiness of the country in which he was born?

Such are the arguments urged in refutation of
the first of the two statements just referred to. In reply to the second, it is only necessary, says the preacher, to draw the great line of distinction, between true and false patriotism. The former is a reasonable and virtuous love of our country, an ardent attachment to its rights, its freedom and independence, accompanied and controlled by a sacred regard to the rights, the freedom and the independence of other nations. The latter is that blind, infatuated, misguided passion, which substitutes the hatred of other countries for the love of our own; and which seeks to raise the power and the fancied glory of the nation to which we belong, upon the degradation and ruin of surrounding nations. The former, as already shown, Christianity approves and enforces. But it is admitted—nay, for the honour of religion, and the happiness of the world, it is contended—that the latter makes no part of Christianity; that it is neither sanctioned by the precepts, nor ennobled by the praises, nor countenanced by the example, of its divine author; but that it is, by fair implication, disclaimed and rejected by him.

It was notoriously the false and not the true patriotism which prevailed both in the Jewish and the Heathen world: and for this reason, as it is here ingeniously conjectured, the Christian lawgiver omitted the express and formal recognition, by a direct and peremptory command, even of true patriotism, lest it should be perverted, by the rash or the crafty, to the purposes of encouraging that mad, restless, ambitious spirit, which has too long usurped its name, and which has been the
fruitful source of all the aggravated and accumulated crimes and calamities, of almost all the wars, which have disturbed and desolated the world, from the earliest to the latest times. It may be added, that if the substance of the thing be there; if the duty itself be found in the Christian system, in all its most essential branches of obedience to the constituted authorities and established laws, and in zeal for the public good, the omission of the name, or of the formal definition, becomes of little consequence.

The closing part of this admirable discourse consists of a powerful and most impassioned appeal, on the state of the country at that time, threatened with all the horrors and miseries of hostile invasion; and whilst it carefully discriminates between justifiable and unjustifiable warfare, it exhorts and animates, in a fine strain of mingled piety and patriotism, to a brave and determined resistance to all the attempts of an insulting and invading foe.

The following is a sketch of false patriotism, contrasted with a portraiture of the true and the genuine:—

“No approbation is to be expected from the suffrage of the religionists, by the factious incendiary, by the rapacious adventurer, by the ruthless oppressor, or by the ambitious and tyrannous conqueror, when bedecked with titles, and laden with spoils, and reeking with blood of fellow-christians and fellow-men, he calls himself the saviour of his country. Upon the worthless, shameless, pitiless ruffian, who, plunging his weapon into the bosom of a disarmed, fallen, sup-
pliant antagonist, would bring back the atrocities of savage hordes into the conflicts of Christian combatants, tarnish the annals of his country to the latest posterity, and agitate the whole civilised world with astonishment at the flagitious overt act, indignation at the dastardly excuse, and horror at the portentous example—upon the cool-headed and flinty-hearted sophist, who, from motives of groveling avarice, or rampant ambition, puts ‘evil for good and good for evil’—upon the perfidious counsellor, who would ‘fashion, rest, and bow his reading in opening or sustaining titles miscreate, the right of which suits not in native colours with the truth;’ and this too when he ‘empawns the person or the honour of his royal master, and would awake the sleeping sword of war’—upon all such wretches the religionist looks down, as the betrayers of their sovereign, the corrupters of their fellow-subjects, and the murderers of their species.

“From the loathsome and terrific forms which lurk under the glare of false patriotism, I gladly turn to the contemplation of that purer lustre in which the true love of our country is arrayed, in the eye both of God and of man. To him, then, who goeth to the battle, sincerely and seriously, in the well-applied name, and for the well understood glory of the Lord of Hosts—to him who would deliver the ‘meek and humble’ from the cruel ‘despitefulness’ of the mighty and the ‘proud’—to him who ‘snappeth asunder the spear of the destroyers, and burneth their chariots in the fire’—to such a patriot, contending in such a cause, and
for such ends, even religion holds forth encouragement in the promise of ‘the life that now is, and of that which is to come.’ His merits, indeed, will be rewarded by the ardent gratitude and the rapturous admiration of the people among whom he was born, and whom he has rescued from enemies abroad, or from oppressors at home.—His name will be pronounced with reverence in the assemblies of princes, and the festivities of nations.—His feats are transmitted from generation to generation, by the testimony of faithful and impartial historians—they are holden up to wonder and to imitation, in the sublime and animated eloquence of statesmen and patriots—they are consecrated, as it were, by the calm and solemn applause of wise and virtuous sages—nay more, they are recorded in the infallible, immutable registry of heaven, where the spirits of ‘just men made perfect’ may even now be permitted to sympathise with kindred excellence; and where angels and archangels, upon such occasions as these, may not disdain to behold and approve.”