This was the spirit which raised him from the humble task of a fisherman, to that of drawing men and nations within the compass of the gospel, and to a glory which not all the gods of ancient superstition ever attained.
Most empty honors! Why hew down the marble mountains, and rear them into walls as massive and as lasting? Why raise the solemn arches and the lofty towers to overtop the everlasting hills with their heavenward heads? Or lift the skiey dome into the middle heaven, almost outswelling the blue vault itself? Why task the soul of art for new creations to line the long-drawn aisles, and gem the fretted roof? There is a glory that shall outlast all
"The cloud-capped towers,—the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples,—the great globe itself,—
Yea all which it inherits;"
—a glory far beyond the brightest things of earth in its brightest day; for "they that be wise shall shine as the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars, for ever and ever." Yet in this the apostle rejoices not;—not that adoring millions lift his name in prayers, and thanksgivings, and songs, and incense, from the noblest piles of man's creation, to the glory of a God,—not even that over all the earth, in all ages, till the perpetual hills shall bow with time,—till "eternity grows gray," the pure in heart will yield him the highest human honors of the faith, on which nations, continents and worlds hang their hopes of salvation;—he "rejoices not that the spirits" of angels or men "are subject to him,—but that HIS NAME IS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN."
