and praise them, in this style, why do you not love them?  Why is it, that when the character of Christ bows your intellect, it does not bend your will, and sway your affections?  Must there not be an inveterate opposition and resistance in the heart? in the heart which can refuse submission to such high claims, when so distinctly seen? in the heart which can refuse to take the yoke, and learn of a Teacher who has already made such an impression upon the conscience and the understanding?

The human heart is, as the prophet affirms, desperately wicked, desperately selfish.  And perhaps its self-love is never more plainly seen, than in such instances as those of that moral and cultivated young man mentioned in the Gospel, and that class in modern society who correspond to him.  Nowhere is the difference between the approbation of goodness, and the love of it, more apparent.  In these instances the approbation is of a high order.  It is refined and sublimated by culture and taste.  It is not stained by the temptations of low life, and gross sin.  If there ever could be a case, in which the intellectual approbation of goodness would develop and pass over into the affectionate and hearty love of it, we should expect to find it here.  But it is not found.  The young man goes away,—­sorrowful indeed,—­but he goes away from the Redeemer of the world, never to return.  The amiable, the educated, the refined, pass on from year to year, and, so far as the evangelic sorrow, and the evangelic faith are concerned, like the dying Beaufort depart to judgment making no sign.  We hear their praises of Christian men, and Christian graces, and Christian actions; we enjoy the grand and swelling sentiments with which, perhaps, they enrich the common literature of the world; but we never hear them cry:  “God be merciful to me a sinner; O Lamb of God, that takest away the sin of the world, grant me thy peace; Thou, O God, art the strength of my heart, and my portion forever.”

3.  In the third place, it follows from this subject, that in order to holiness in man there must be a change in his heart and will.  If our analysis is correct, no possible modification of either his conscience, or his intellect, would produce holiness.  Holiness is an affection of the heart, and an inclination of the will.  It is the love and practice of goodness, and not the mere approbation and admiration of it.  Now, suppose that the conscience should be stimulated to the utmost, and remorse should be produced until it filled the soul to overflowing, would there be in this any of that gentle and blessed affection for God and goodness, that heartfelt love of them, which is the essence of religion?  Or, suppose that the intellect merely were impressed by the truth, and very clear perceptions of the Christian system and of the character and claims of its Author were imparted, would the result be any different?  If the heart and will were unaffected; if the influences and impressions were limited merely to the conscience and the understanding; would not the seat of the difficulty still be untouched?  The command is not:  “Give me thy conscience,” but, “Give me thy heart.”