When Sir Henry Havelock entered Persia, at the head of a British army, he wrote: “I have good troops and cannon under my command; but my trust is in the Lord Jesus, my tried and merciful friend. To Him all power is entrusted in heaven and on earth. Him daily seek for me, as I seek Him without shadow of doubting.” After a battle, he wrote: “We must be ever thankful for the preserving mercies of the day. The cannonade was warm, and my steamer, the Berenice, crowded with Highlanders, led the troop-ships to the point where we landed. I felt throughout that the Lord Jesus was at my side.” When tidings of peace came, he wrote: “The intelligence, which elevates some and depresses others, finds me calm in my reliance on that dear Redeemer, who has watched over and cared for me, even when I knew Him not, these three-score and two years.”

‘With desire have we desired’ to hear that voice from our civil rulers or military leaders, and have not heard it. Alas, it has had no echo in the official papers of the President, the resolutions of Congress, or the dispatches of Generals. Search through all those, and you will not find a word that is distinctively Christian. Every one of them might have been penned by a mere Theist. None testifies that the author of it has a “Lord Jesus.”

And is there no grievous wrong, no desert of national chastisement, in this? Is not the Lord Jesus, by the testimony of Scripture, the Administrator of Providence, “the Prince of the kings of the earth,” who rules and overrules all things, in preparation for the time when the glad acclaim shall be heard, “The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever?” Is it not true that we can never conquer peace and independence, until He—the Lamb in the midst of the throne—“has taken to Himself His great power” and exercised it on our behalf? And shall He not withhold the more signal interpositions of His hand, if, when that Hand is put forth to help us, our authorities persistently seal their lips against all confession of it? Oh, for at least one hearty, outspoken acknowledgment of the Lord Jesus, from the men who fill the high places of the Government and the army! It would come to us as one rift in the clouds that overhang the nation—one ray of serener light from the heavens.

The following remarks, by the Hon. H. V. Johnson, Confederate States Senator, of Georgia, merit the serious consideration of all who desire the peace of their country:

“When is this struggle to end? Shall we conquer the North? No, we have no desire to do this. Shall the North conquer us? Forbid it, Heaven! But I tell you that this war will never be ended till we are all conquered by the chastising hand of Providence, and we are brought back to the virtues of our forefathers. Though our armies have been victorious in nearly every battle, yet almost every man and woman is bathed in tears and cast down with sorrow at the loss of some friend or kinsman most dear. Every hearthstone is reft of its enjoyments by mourning and weeping, and the wails of sadness are heard all over the land. This is the chastisement of God, inflicted upon us for a departure from the paths of virtue. This is the lesson of the hour. Then let us return with humility to the practice of those great virtues which our fathers cherished, and without which our liberties cannot be maintained.”

Scenes of deep distress await us all. It is in vain to expect to pass through the world without falling into them. We have in our Lord's example a model for our behaviour in the most severe and most trying of these occasions; afflicted, yet resigned; grieved and wounded, yet submissive; not insensible of our sufferings, but increasing the ardor and fervency of our prayer in proportion to the pain and acuteness of our feelings. But whatever may be the fortune of our lives, one great extremity, at least, the hour of approaching death, is certainly to be passed through. What ought, then, to occupy us? What can their support us? Prayer, prayer, with our blessed Lord himself, was a refuge from the storm; almost every word he uttered, during that tremendous scene, was prayer; prayer the most earnest, the most urgent —repeated, continued, proceeding from the recesses of his soul—private, solitary—prayer for deliverance—prayer for strength—above everything, prayer for resignation.

The martyred dead have taken possession of this Southern soil for the Southern people. It was theirs originally, by the gift of God, and they have bought it anew by their blood. This land will be endeared to us and to our posterity, because it is the earthly resting-place of our immortal dead. It was the boast of the ancient Greek, as his eye wandered over his beautiful and beloved land, that every hill bore the tomb of a hero or the temple of a god. But more noble dust mingled not with the soil of Attica than that which reposes in the bosom of our own dear native land. It surely lends attraction to heaven, viewed with reference to our present constitution, to think that there we shall behold and converse with the best and loveliest we have known on earth. If Socrates could talk of transports of joy at the prospect of seeing Palamedes, Ajax and other heroes of antiquity in a future world, how should the Christian feel when he looks forward to all everlasting abode, not a transient meeting with the saints of all ages—with his Christian friends who have fallen in his defence—and with Christ Himself, the Author and Finisher of our faith. If he hoped for felicity in comparing his experience with theirs—how shall we rejoice in reviewing dispensations of Providence now impenetrably dark, or in, perfectly understood, but then shining in the light of Heaven. The past and the future meet in the memory of the dead. The sweetest and brightest link in the chain that stretches back over the past, binds us to the dead; and that chain stretches forward to eternity and attaches itself to the throne of the living God. Thus death joins on to life; and all that is sacred in memory connects itself with all that is inspiring in hope. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

To be a Christian is an unspeakable privilege Calvin did not overrate it, when he wrote to Edward VI.: “It is a great thing, Sire, to be a king, especially of such a country; and yet I doubt not that you regard it as above all comparison greater to be a Christian.” It lifts us from the depths of hostility to God, and numbers us with His elect— adopts us among His sons. It assures us of His Favor, employs us the accomplishment of His purposes, transforms us into His likeness, animates us with His Spirit, and finally gathers us to His presence.