Degrading indeed must be those sentiments which limit all action to the animal frame as an organized body, moved by a living principle.  Ours is a sublimer duty; to trace the operations of the Divine Wisdom which acts thro out all creation, in the minutest particle of dust which keeps its position secure, till moved by some superior power; or in the needle which points with unerring skill to its fixed point, and guides the vessel, freighted with a hundred lives, safe thro the midnight storm, to its destined haven; tho rocked by the waves and driven by the winds, it remains uninfluenced, and tremblingly alive to the important duties entrusted to its charge, continues its faithful service, and is watched with the most implicit confidence by all on board, as the only guide to safety.  The same Wisdom is displayed thro out all creation; in the beauty, order, and harmony of the universe; in the planets which float in the azure vault of heaven; in the glow worm that glitters in the dust; in the fish which cuts the liquid element; in the pearl which sparkles in the bottom of the ocean; in every thing that lives, moves, or has a being; but more distinctly in man, created in the moral image of his Maker, possessed of a heart to feel, and a mind to understand—­the third in the rank of intelligent beings.

I cannot refuse to favor you with a quotation from that inimitable poem, Pope’s Essay on Man.  It is rife with sentiment of the purest and most exalted character.  It is direct to our purpose.  You may have heard it a thousand times; but I am confident you will be pleased to hear it again.

      Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine,
    Earth for whose use?  Pride answers, “’Tis for mine: 
    “For me kind nature wakes her genial pow’r,
    “Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flow’r;
    “Annual for me, the grape, the rose renew
    “The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew;
    “For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings;
    “For me health gushes from a thousand springs;
    “Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
    “My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.”

      But errs not nature from this gracious end,
    From burning suns when livid deaths descend,
    When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep
    Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep?
    “No,” (’tis replied,) “the first Almighty Cause
    Acts not by partial, but by general laws;
    Th’ exceptions few; some change since all began: 
    And what created perfect?” Why then man? 
    If the great end be human happiness,
    Then nature deviates—­and can man do less? 
    As much that end a constant course requires
    Of show’rs and sunshine, as of man’s desires;
    As much eternal springs and cloudless skies,
    As man forever temp’rate, calm, and wise. 
    If plagues or earthquakes break not heaven’s design.