backs, also, are lacerated with stripes; but this too, is forgotten-their souls are not lacerated; their souls are happy! In the midst of all their worldly tribulations, they have inward comfort. The full tide of heavenly consolation is flowing into every chamber of their souls! I repeat it, they are happy-the happiest men in Philippi; yea, the happiest men in Philippi! How can this be accounted for? Our text explains the whole matter. "They have proved their own work;" they have full evidence that they are the children of God; that God loves them; and that soon their ፡፡ weary feet shall reach the peaceful inn of lasting rest." Yes, in their bosoms they have the blest assurance, that only a little while, and they will have shed their last tear! will have heaved their last sigh! will have felt their last pang! Only a little while, and they will be with God and his angels! Only a little while, and they will be looking their Redeemer in the face with joy! Only a little while, and they will be bathing in glory, as in the sunlight of heaven! How beautifully and strongly does this illustrate our text-"Let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another."

But have we not seen examples before our

own eyes? Have we not seen the children of God wonderfully sustained in the hour of trouble? Have we not seen them happy, exceedingly happy, in the time of their deepest affliction? Yes, when every thing of a temporal nature seemed to be against them, they have been enabled to say with the prophet-" Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vine: the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stall; yet will I rejoice in the Lord; I will joy in the God of my salvation." Thank God, for that religion which can sustain us in the day of severest trial, and give us rich consolation amid scenes of deepest worldly sorrow! Which

can lighten the heaviest burden, and sweeten the bitterest cup, and brighten the darkest scene; yea, which in the hour of deepest affliction, can give us "a young heaven begun below, and glory in the bud!" "The people here, will say," said the late venerated Moses Hoge, when dying in Philadelphia, away from his home-"the people here will say, 'Poor old man!' Why," exclaimed he, “I am the happiest man in Philadelphia!" My dear sister," said I to a beloved member of my church, who was near her end-" my

66

dear sister, how do you find yourself this morning?" Grasping my hand, with much emotion, she replied, "My dear pastor, I am in pain, in great pain; but O," continued she, "I am happy! I am happy! O, I am so happy!"

"Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are !"

O, let me but have grace to prove my own work-let me only have clear scriptural evidence that I am a Christian-a real Christian -a true child of God, and I am free to say, for one, I can be happy on a bed of straw-on a bed of affliction! on the rack! on the wheel! bound to the stake! or amid the flames of martyrdom! If God be for us, who can be against us? Only think!-one short night, and then everlasting day! One pang, and then, joy! joy! and joy for evermore! "Let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another."

J

SERMON VIII.

THE SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST, AND THEIR DESIGN.

And at the ninth hour, Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?-MARK XV. 34.

NEVER, O never, my friends, was there a more awful hour than that in which these words were pronounced by the suffering Jesus! It was an hour of wrath, of awful vengeance, of mysterious darkness! It was the dread hour of atonement, when the high destinies of man were sealed with blood! Nature trembled, and stood aghast! Midnight veiled the earth and skies! The universe was wrapped in solemn silence, whilst the Eternal Father, bending from his awful throne, fixed his eyes on Calvary, and laid his hand heavy upon the darling of his bosom! Oh! what a scene was there! The "Lord of glory," stripped of his splendours, surrounded by his enemies, and nailed to the accursed tree! His head is wounded with pricking thorns; his hands and his feet are pierced with rugged nails; his precious blood gushes forth, streams down, and smokes upon the mount! His soul is in anguish, and almost overwhelmed, he cries with a grievous and bitter cry, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani?—my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

O that sound!-so strange, so awful, so mysterious! Methinks it rends the heavens! It reaches the courts of glory!

Suddenly, the Mute is the tongue of the seraph, silent the harps of the angelic throng! All the heavenly ones gaze in astonishment upon the wondrous scene! "Around the bloody tree,

music of heaven dies away!

They pressed with strong desire,
That wondrous sight to see,

The Lord of life expire!

And could their eyes
Have known a tear,

Had dropped it there
In sad surprise!"

We

My brethren, we would present no scene of human grandeur, but a scene far better calculated to touch the ingenuous heart. would not rehearse the achievements of some mighty conqueror, who has desolated the earth, drenched its fields in blood, and grasped his laurels, reeking with human gore. No, we would rather take you by the hand, and lead you to Calvary, and there point out to you our blessed Saviour, suspended on the cross. O see! He suffers! It is in a cause worthy of a God. He dies! Garlands of victory grace his immortal brow; and the rising dead chant his triumphs before the eternal throne! But whither would we go? It is the suffering, not the triumphing Saviour, we are