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THE BRITISH

MILLENNIAL HARBINGER,

DEVOTED TO THE

Spread of Primitive Christianity.

“I saw another messenger flying through the midst of heaven, having everlasting good
news to proclaim to the inhabitants of the earth, even to every nation, and tribe, and tongue,
and people; saying with a loud voice-Fear God, and give glory to him, for the hour of his
judgments is come; and worship him who made heaven, and earth, and sea, and the fountains
of water” (John.)

TOT

VOLUME VII. THIRD SERIES:

LONDON:
ARTHUR HALL AND CO. 25, PATERNOSTER ROW.

1854.

PRE FACE.

Through the kind providence of our Heavenly Father, and the exercise of His preserving care, life and health are continued to us. Human life, at best, is only a journey—often long and toilsome ; yet, to the Christian, walking in the truth, it is nevertheless a happy pilgrimage to an immortal state of being. And each New Year's-day serves, like a mile-stone by the road side, to remind the traveller how much of the journey is accomplished, and how much, in the ordinary probability of events, remains to be traversed, as, with joyful heart, he hastens forward to his heavenly home. But we may not boast even of to-morrow, seeing that we know not what a day is to bring forth. Should we prove ourselves so wise in determination, and so persevering in effort, as to stand each day before God in the acceptable position which His love and favor have provided, and which all are free to choose or refuse, we may often say, in the full assurance of faith, and in the language of him who, in the spirit of prophecy, anticipated a resurrection from the dead, “ As for me, I shall behold thy face in righteousness : I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness.” Or, with the poet

“ This life's a dream, an empty show!
But the bright world, to which I go.
Hath joys substantial and sincere :
When shall I wake and find me there?

0, glorious hour !–0, bless'd abode !
I shall be near, and like my God;
And flesh and sin no more control
The sacred pleasures of the soul.

My flesh shall slumber in the ground,
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound;
Then burst the chains with sweet surprise,

And in my Saviour's image rise.” Man's earthly dwelling-place is but a shifting scene, soon to be rolled up as a worn-out scroll. It is but as a bubble, floating ir: the air, shortly to give place to that enduring and glorious inheritance, which is incorruptible, undefiled, and never to pass away. Such is the transitory character of the world in which man dwells. But nothing can be more con

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