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much which we daily see and hear to remind us of him. Doubtless you often involuntarily remember him; but do you voluntarily, and of choice, rememher him? Do you ever, by an exercise of volition, recall the memory of him? He is sometimes intruded into the society of your thoughts, but do you ever invite him there? Do you ever say, "Come let me think of Christ?" I doubt not you do this also. You voluntarily remember-you call to mind his incarnation, his miracles of mercy, his doctrine, his example, his resurrection; but do you particularly remember his death? His death was the main circumstance in his history. Do your thoughts, passing from the manger along the track of his sorrowful story, fasten on the cross?

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May I ask, moreover, with what you remember him? Whether it is a mere intellectual operation, or one in which the heart is conjoined? There are recollections which pass across the mind without ever stirring the most easily excited emotions of the heart. Is your recollection of Christ of this kind? or do you feel while you think of him? Do your affections move in the line of your thoughts, and collect about the same centre? Jesus ought to be remembered with the heart. We should feel when we think of him. You say, perhaps, "I do not only mentally, but cordially remember Christ." But do you remember him practically? Do you do any thing in remembrance of him? It is customary not

only to remember, but to commemorate great benefactors; and that not merely by speaking of their benevolent exploits, but by some appropriate acts. Do you this with respect to Christ, that greatest, best of benefactors?

Perhaps you answer: "I do many things out of regard to the memory of Christ. His precepts generally I endeavor to obey." That is all very well; but do you that which he appointed, or requested to be done in remembrance of him, on that "same night in which he was betrayed?" Some do not. Even

some who profess respect, and indeed love for Christ, do not! It is strange, but so it is. They remember Christ in their own way, but not in his way. They do some things in remembrance of him, but not that which he said "do." I wonder they do not adopt his way. I cannot help suspecting their love when I see they do not. It always appeared to me that such a benefactor as Christ ought to be remembered in his own way—that he deserved to have the privilege of saying how he would be remembered; and that sinners, whom he died to save, should remember him in that way, even though it should not seem to them the most appropriate and reasonable manner of commemorating him. I do not know how it strikes others, but so it always struck me; and I confess I take the bread and eat it, and I put the cup to my ips, primarily, because he said, "Do this."

The question about the usefulness of visible me

morials, and the suitableness of these memorials, I am content that he should settle. I know very well that if there be no natural adaptation in these memorials to do me good, he can connect a blessing with them. It is my part to obey him. It is enough for me that my Savior inclined to this mode of be ing remembered, and expressed such a wish: the least I can do is to comply with it. He did not express a great many wishes. It is an easy yoke he calls us to take a light burden to bear. I cannot help regarding it as unkind, that this one wish of Je sus should not be complied with; and especially when I consider what a friend he was what a benefactor! I use the word benefactor-but those who are acquainted with the etymology of the word, know it does not express all that Christ was. It implies doing out of good will to others; but his benevolence was not satisfied with benefaction: he suffered-he died for others. Strong as death-stronger was his love! And consider, too, the circumstances under which this wish was expressed-when it was, and where. All his wishes, I think, should be complied with; but this was his last. He was going to suffer-he was to die in a few hours: and such a death too! and for them of whom he made the request, that they might never die. And the request was touching his death. He desired it might be com memorated as he signified. Oh, to think that such a wish should not be complied with the tender re

quest of the dying Redeemer not regarded! Who would have believed it? I wonder those words, "broken for you," do not break the heart of every one who refuses.

Men treat no other being so. Out of their own mouths I will judge them. They know the sacred regard they pay to last wishes and dying injunctions; and that, though they are under no particular obligations to the persons expressing them, and though the things desired be often unreasonable, yet, because they are last wishes-dying requests, the individuals expressing them being about to make the awful transition to eternity, how solemnly they charge the memory with them! how punctiliously they comply with them! We feel as if persons in such circumstances had a right to command us. I never knew one such request, if it was practicable, and at all reasonable, that was not complied with. I ought to say, I never knew but one. The last request of Jesus Christ-his last solemn injunction on those whom he bled to save, forms the solitary exception! Oh, it is too bad! It were a neglect unpardonable, but for the mediation of the very being who is the object of it. Nothing but his blood can cleanse from the sin of putting away from us the offered emblem of it. I know not how to make any apology for it. Jesus pleaded for his murderers, that they knew not what they did. But those who disregard his dying injunction, know what they do.

Excuses, it is true, they make; but to what do they amount? Can any doubt that Christ said, "Do this?" Can any doubt that he meant it to be done by all who believe on him? What reason can be imagined why one redeemed sinner should partake of the embleins of the body and blood of Christ, which does not equally apply to every redeemed sinner? Should not as many as the body was broken and the blood shed for, partake of the memorials of that transaction? What propriety is there in limiting the command, "Do this," and not the declaration, "This is my body broken for you?" If we put it on the ground of right to command, questions any one the right of Christ to issue mandates? What duty plainermore peremptory? Do some pay respect to this, who do not obey other commands of Christ? What if it be so? Is that a reason why you should add another to your acts of disobedience?

Do you refrain because it is a solemn transaction? Far more solemn are death, judgment, and eternity, from which, nevertheless, you cannot refrain. Do you feel yourself to be too unworthy? But will this neglect make you less unworthy? A sense of unworthiness is a grand part of the qualification. Are you afraid of sinning, should you in this way remember Christ? But you are certain of sinning by not remembering him. Say you, "I cannot trust myself?" But can you not trust Christ? If there is danger that you will prove faithless, yet is there any

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