The world hath its night.  It seemeth necessary that it should have one.  The sun shineth by day, and men go forth to their labors; but they grow weary, and nightfall cometh on, like a sweet boon from heaven.  The darkness draweth the curtains, and shutteth out the light, which might prevent our eyes from slumber; while the sweet, calm stillness of the night permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and there forget awhile our cares, until the morning sun appeareth, and an angel puts his hand upon the curtain, and undraws it once again, touches our eyelids, and bids us rise, and proceed to the labors of the day.  Night is one of the greatest blessings men enjoy; we have many reasons to thank God for it.  Yet night is to many a gloomy season.  There is “the pestilence that walketh in darkness”; there is “the terror by night”; there is the dread of robbers and of fell disease, with all those fears that the timorous know, when they have no light wherewith they can discern objects.  It is then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk the earth; tho, if they knew rightly, they would find it to be true, that

  “Millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth,
  Unseen, both when we sleep and when we wake,”

and that at all times they are round about us—­not more by night than by day.  Night is the season of terror and alarm to most men.  Yet even night hath its songs.  Have you never stood by the seaside at night, and heard the pebbles sing, and the waves chant God’s glories?  Or have you never risen from your couch, and thrown up the window of your chamber, and listened there?  Listened to what?  Silence—­save now and then a murmuring sound, which seems sweet music then.  And have you not fancied that you heard the harp of God playing in heaven?  Did you not conceive, that yon stars, that those eyes of God, looking down on you, were also mouths of song—­that every star was singing God’s glory, singing, as it shone, its mighty Maker, and His lawful, well-deserved praise?  Night hath its songs.  We need not much poetry in our spirit, to catch the song of night, and hear the spheres as they chant praises which are loud to the heart, tho they be silent to the ear—­the praises of the mighty God, who bears up the unpillared arch of heaven, and moves the stars in their courses....

If we are going to sing of the things of yesterday, let us begin with what God did for us in past times.  My beloved brethren, you will find it a sweet subject for song at times, to begin to sing of electing love and covenanted mercies.  When thou thyself art low, it is well to sing of the fountain-head of mercy; of that blest decree wherein thou wast ordained to eternal life, and of that glorious Man who undertook thy redemption; of that solemn covenant signed, and sealed, and ratified, in all things ordered well; of that everlasting love which, ere the hoary mountains were begotten, or ere the aged hills were children, chose thee, loved thee firmly, loved thee fast, loved