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happiness, preserved these sentiments while they live; yet the tenderest friendship continues but for a time. The moment must come, in which we must bid a last adieu to those who were interested in our happiness, and to whom our souls were bound; to those who were the dearest part of our. selves, and whose society constituted our joy. You must be wrested from us, tender and faithful friends, and nothing be left to our desolate hearts, but afflictive regrets and a bitter remembrance of having once possessed you. With you will be entombed the peace which you gave, the felicity which you conferred. But for us, what will there remain? What, my brethren? Jesus, our Redeemer, who gives not his peace as the world does: Jesus, who can abundantly replace those whom we weep: Jesus, in whose communion we can find infinitely more than we have lost: Jesus, on whom time and death have no power, since though "he was dead, he is alive again, and liveth forever and ever:" Jesus, who, when the hour of our dissolution arrives, will receive our disembodied spirits, will at last raise our bodies from the dust, will in heaven make us experience his tenderness, and cause us through eternity to enjoy the perfection of peace.

Blessed Jesus! when we anticipate this celestial felicity we acknowledge that thou didst truly say, "Not as the world giveth give I unto you."

Such, christians, is your religion; the parent of peace, a support to the weakness of human nature, a bulwark against external distresses. Cherish it; love it; practise it more faithfully, that you may enjoy more of its consolations.

Such, sinners, is the religion which we invite you to embrace. Do we require too much of you; are we austere, morose, enemies to your happiness, when we entreat you to secure for yourselves these unfading joys?

If

Such, infidels, is the religion which you oppose you have not its consolations, we pity you from our hearts; but if you attempt to wrest them from others, what do you not deserve? A firm belief in it has supported, still supports thousands of your afflicted fellow-creatures. Stripped of all earthly enjoyments, exposed to penury, contempt and bereavement, they have been rendered contented and happy by the gospel of Jesus. Will you strive to pluck from them this, their last, and only solace ? Are you not satisfied with seeing them already sinking under temporal calamities, unless you can tear from them their spiritual joys, and deprive them of the hope of immortality? Oh! how often when I have witnessed the last hours of the saints, and seen them departing in triumph, upheld by that peace which their Saviour conferred on them, have I wished that you, unbelievers, might behold these.

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scenes with me. I would then point you to the departing christian. I would say to you-See this believer convulsed and racked with pain, straining his dim eyes for the last time upon the objects dearest to his heart, about to be separated from all earthly enjoyments, and to descend to the lonely grave. Yet he is still tranquil; nay, triumphant. The peace of Jesus dwells in his heart, and the religion of Jesus enlightens before him the "valley of the shadow of death." Come now; tear from him these hopes which solace him: teach him that the joys which he anticipates are unreal: tell him that, instead of going to his Redeemer, he is entering into a dark, a dismal, an uncertain future, or sinking into gloomy annihilation. Come, root from his heart those sentiments which fill him with exultation: come, and force him to resign his breath, shivering, doubtful, and appalled.

You would shudder at such a proposal. You would think yourself a monster, a dæmon, if you complied with it. Yet this cruel effect is produced by the propagation of your sentiments. If then you have not this peace yourself, be not so barbarous, so brutal, as to strive to tear it from others.

SERMON VI.

THE AGONY OF JESUS.

LUKE xxii. 44.

"Being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

MY brethren; the external sufferings of your Saviour, have often been described to you with energy and force; the cross has been reared in your presence, and you have beheld it red with the blood of your Redeemer: the scourge, the thorns, the nails, and the spear, which lacerated the body of the holy Jesus, have been held up to your view. The remembrance of these sorrows has affected your hearts and drawn tears from your eyes. We come to you to-day to fix your thoughts on another part of your Saviour's sufferings; we mean not to elevate the cross in the midst of you, and shew your Redeemer extended upon it: we wish not to engage your natural sympathy by directing your minds to his wounds and his blood, and by painting to you the cruelty of his executioners. We are to consider the more terrible griefs of his soul-we are to present him suffering, not under the iniquit

ous sentence of Pilate, but under the awful con demnation of God, who wounds him as our pledge and surety-stricken, not by the ruthless soldiery, but by his heavenly Father. O man, these are subjects which are calculated equally to astonish and console. Let us meditate on them with the most vigorous attention. "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear."

Jesus having instituted the holy sacrament, having given to his disciples the most tender consolations against their approaching sorrows, and having offered in their behalf to his Father, a most affectionate and ardent prayer, departs with them from Jerusalem, and crosses the brook Cedron, which flowed at the edge of the city. Over this brook David formerly passed with a small number of faithful followers, when he fled from Jerusalem to avoid the treachery and violence of the rebellious Absalom: the greater son of David now crosses it, not to flee from, but to meet his perfidious betrayer. Beyond this stream, about a mile's distance from the city, was the mount of Olives, at the foot of which was the village of Gethsemane : in this village was a garden, known by Judas to be often visited by the Saviour, and consecrated by his prayers thither he had often retired after the toils of the day, to hold communion with his Fa ther; thither he now goes to experience woes inconceivable.

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