sented itself. His anguish was of so deadly a nature, that it threatened the dissolution of his frame even before he had reached the cross, and at last did actually cause his death.

We are also told, that he was sore amazed.'This denotes a state of the utmost horror and consternation. He is said to have been very heavy, or in a state of the deepest dejection and depression of spirit. Let us turn aside and see this great sightthe Son of God in an agony. See him, in this bitter conflict of nature, starting back, as overwhelmed with horror-struck with amazement and consternationand encompassed with sorrow and anguish! See him going backward and forward; at one time kneeling, and at another falling prostrate on the ground, seeking for comforters in his disciples, and piteously complaining, "What! could ye not watch with me one hour?"-going again and again to his Father, and praying with increasing intenseness of mind, that this bitter cup might for a time be withdrawn! Consider the labours and the strivings of his thoughts; the flaming passions and affections which rushed upon his mind at once; and it will not be matter of wonder that he should have exclaimed, "Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in the deep mire, where there is no standing; I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me!" His heart was preternaturally fired within him, so as to force a

Psalm lxix. 1, 2.

passage through the body for his rarified blood; for his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. The agony of his soul must have been bitter beyond conception, when such was its effect upon his body in the open air, at midnight, and when they who were within found it necessary to defend themselves against the cold. His firm heart was ready to break, and immediate death was threatened; but knowing that much remained to be accomplished, it was his prayer that the cup might for a time pass from him. His prayer was heard; an angel appeared to strengthen him; and he regained composure to act with propriety before his Judges and the people, and to suffer what he endured before he reached the cross*.

On the cross, the scene of Gethsemane was renewed-the cup was again presented to him, and there he drank it to the very dregs! On Calvary his distress reached its height, and drew from him the bitter exclamation, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Mysterious dereliction! only to be accounted for by the nature of his death. Here he could not manifest the deep and restless agitation of his heart by going to and fro, and changing his posture, as he

* See Doddridge on Luke xxii. 42. Our Lord did not pray to be entirely excused from sufferings and death. Such a petition had been inconsistent with that steady constancy he always shewed, and with his language in John xii. 27, 28. in which he disowns such a prayer. He speaks of the severity of the present combat which threatened dissolution, before the Scriptures, relative to his last sufferings, had been fulfilled.

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did in the Garden; but it was indicated by other circumstances. His words marked it, as did also his countenance. The sun was clothed with darkness; not only as an expression of the Divine displeasure against his foes, and a token of the awful darkness of his mind when under the frown of Heaven, but also as an expression of respect for the sufferer, whose mental torture must at that time have "marred his visage more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men." Over this a veil was thrown, yet it must have been in some degree apparent*. He at last expired under the curse; not so much in consequence of the exhaustion of nature by bodily pain and the loss of blood (for in the article of death he cried with a loud voice, and Pilate marvelled when he heard of it), as in consequence of the extreme pressure of mental torture. This was too racking, too exquisite, for nature to support-it literally broke his heart. That sorrow which is the very soul of the curse, terminated his life; and thus discovered the nature of his sufferings, together with their great and glorious design.

It must be of the first importance to ascertain the causes of sufferings so great, and so deeply interesting to us. It cannot be that they arose merely from the fear of death. If, to a person so exalted and so distinguished, death itself had been so terrible, how dreadful would it be to us! Instead of having set us

* See, in connection with this, such passages as Psalm xxii. 6-8, 14, 15. lxix. 3, 9. cii. 3-5, 11. Isa. lii. 14. liii. 3,

But

free from the fear of death, this king of terrors would have been rendered more formidable than ever. blessed be God, the death of the Redeemer was no common death; we need not, therefore, dread the last enemy. Many of the children of God, who have been naturally timid and deeply sensible of their guilt and their weakness, have engaged in the last struggle with peaceful hearts, yea with unutterable gladness, even when death appeared in its most painful and frightful forms. They have met the most cruel deadly tortures with fortitude, and have discovered no 'dread or dejection; but, on the contrary, the most placid tranquillity, and even the highest emotions of joy. Whence the difference betwixt the Master, who is all dejection and consternation, even to such a degree as to affect his body in the most extraordinary manner; and the servant, who, in the prospect of martyrdom, exults in the hope of the "crown of righteousness?" The difference is to be found in this-that Christ died as a sacrifice for sin, and in the peculiar nature and measure of the sufferings which were necessary to that sacrifice. He bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that he might redeem us from the curse of the law and the power of death; that, dying under the weight of the Divine displeasure, we might be blessed in life, at death, and throughout eternity. Thus the curse is exhausted, and the cup put into our hands has nothing of wrath in it, but is entirely medicinal, even in its most bitter ingredients.

It is evident, my dear friend, that the sufferings of Christ arose from the hand of his Father, in the cha

racter of Judge and Lawgiver*. As such, it became him to express his displeasure against sin; that, while mercy triumphed, it might not be at the expence of justice, or of the general good. He loved the guilty, and would have had no difficulty in saving them without an atonement, had this been consistent with righteousness, with the glory of his character, the honour of the law, the good of the universe and of the guilty themselves. Christ did not purchase the love of God; his death is the fruit, and not the price of it. It opened a channel through which it flows to the guilty, in a way at once honourable to him and beneficial to them. There is nothing here bordering on rigour or cruelty; but a sacred regard to rectitude and the Divine law, united with the warmest benevolence towards sinners. The Saviour, personally considered, was never the object of the Divine displeasure. Even when the hand of God was most heavily upon him, he was the object of Divine delight; and confident of this, he said, "Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life for the sheept."

One great cause of the sufferings of Christ was, the clear perception which he had of the sins of his people, in all their odiousness and malignity. His holy mind was deeply affected by the evil and hatefulness of rebellion against God. Well did he know the high and righteous claims of God on the love and the obedi

Isa, liii, 6.-Zech. xiii. 7.

+ John x. 17.