The first thought, the only thought with all of us, is this church, this church, THIS CHURCH.  I call no man my friend, you must call no man your friend that does not stand by the interests of Lafayette Avenue Church.  It is now called to meet a great emergency.  For the first time in twenty-eight years this church is subjected to a severe strain.  During all these years you had very smooth sailing.  You have never been crippled by debt; you have never been distracted with quarrels, and you have never been without a pastor in your pulpit or your homes when you needed him.  And I suppose no church in Brooklyn has ever been subjected to less strain than this one.  Now you are called upon to face a new condition of things, perhaps a new danger—­certainly a new duty.  The duty overrides the danger.  To meet that duty you are strong in numbers.  There are 2,350 names on your church register.  Of these many are young children, many are non-residents who have never asked a dismission to other churches; but a great army of church members three Sabbaths ago rose up before that sacramental table.  You are strong in a holy harmony.  Let no man, no woman, break the ranks!  You are strong in the protection of that great Shepherd who never resigns and who never grows old.  “Lo!  I am with you always!  Lo!  I am with you always!  Lo!  I am with you always!” seems to greet me this morning from every wall of this sanctuary.  I confidently expect to see Lafayette Avenue Church move steadily forward with unbroken column led by the Captain of our salvation.  All eyes are upon you.  The eye that never slumbers or sleeps is watching over you.  If you are all true to conscience, true to your covenants, true to Christ, the future of this dear church may be as glorious as its past.  And when another thirty years have rolled away, it may still be a strong tower of the truth on which the smile of God shall rest like the light of the morning.  By as much as you love me, I entreat you not to sadden my life or break my heart by ever deserting these walls, or letting the fire of devotion burn down on these sacred altars.

The hands of the clock warn me to close.  This is one of the most trying hours of my whole life.  It is an hour when tears are only endurable by being rainbowed with the memory of tender mercies and holy joys.  When my feet descend those steps to-day, this will no longer be my pulpit.  I surrender it back before God into your hands.  One of my chiefest sorrows is that I leave some of my beloved hearers out of Christ.  Oh, you have been faithfully warned here, and you have been lovingly invited here; and once more, as though God did beseech you by me, I implore you in Christ’s name to be reconciled to God.  This dear pulpit, whose teachings are based on the Rock of Ages, will stand long after the lips that now address you have turned to dust.  It will be visible from the judgment seat; and its witness will be that I determined to know not anything