a time have I called to the rocks and trees to witness that I took him to be my Saviour. He said to me, "I will betrothe thee unto me for ever" and I said to him, "My beloved is mine." Many a time have I gone with some Christian friend, and we poured out our trembling hearts together, consulting one with another as to whether we had liberty to close with Christ or no, and both together we came to this conclusion, that if we were but helpless sinners we had a right to close with the Saviour of sinners. We clave to him, and called him ours. And now have we come to take him publicly, to call an ungodly world to witness, to call heaven and earth for a record to our soul, that we do close with Christ. See he giveth himself to us in the bread; lo! we accept of him in accepting this bread. Bear witness, men and angels, bear witness, all the universe-" My beloved is mine."

(The communicants then partook of the broken bread and the cup of blessing.)

(It was his custom, after they had communicated, to speak briefly on a few suitable texts, before dismissing them from the tables. On Sabbath, January 19, the texts were "Love one another;" "Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it ;" "In the world ye shall have tribulation, but in me ye shall have peace.")

4. ADDRESS AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY.

"Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy.”—Jude 24.

There is no end to a pastor's anxieties. Our first care is to get you into Christ; and next, to keep you from falling. I have a good hope, dearly beloved, that a goodly number of you have this day joined yourselves to the Lord. But now a new anxiety begins, to get you to walk in Christ, to walk after the Spirit. Here we are to tell you of what God our Saviour is able to do for you: 1st, To keep you from falling all the way; 2d, To present you faultless at the end.

I. To keep you from falling.

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1. We are not able to keep you from falling. Those that lean on ministers lean on a reed shaken with the wind. When a soul has received saving good through a minister, he often thinks that he will be kept from falling by the same means. He thinks, "O if I had this friend always beside me to warn me, to advise me." No; ministers are not always by, nor godly friends. Your fathers, where are they? and the prophets, do they live for ever? We may soon be taken from you, and there may come a famine of the bread. And, besides, our words will not always tell. When temptation and passions are strong, you would not give heed

to us.

2. You are not able to keep yourselves from falling. At present you know little of the weakness or wickedness of your own heart. There is nothing more deceitful than your estimate of your own strength. O if you saw your soul in all its infirmity; if you saw how every sin has its fountain in your heart; if you saw what a mere reed you are, you would cry," Lord, hold up my goings." You may be at present strong, but stop till an inviting company occur; stop till a secret opportunity. O how many have fallen then! At present you feel strong, your feet like hind's feet. So did Peter at the Lord's table. But stop till this burst of feeling has passed away; stop till you are asked to join in some unholy game; stop till some secret opportunity of sinning all unseen, till some bitter provocation rouses your anger, and you will find that you are weak as water, and that there is no sin that you may not fall into.

3. Our Saviour-God is able.—Christ deals with us as you do with your children; they cannot go alone. You hold them, so does Christ by his Spirit. "I taught Ephraim also to go, taking them by their arms." Hosea xi., 3. Breathe this prayer-" Lord, take me by the arms." John Newton says, When a mother is teaching her child to walk on a soft carpet, she will sometimes let it go, and it will fall, to teach it its weakness; but not so on the brink of a precipice. So the Lord will sometimes let you fall, like Peter on the waters, though not to your injury. The shepherd layeth the sheep on his shoulder; it matters not how great the distance be, it matters not how high the mountains, how rough the path; our Saviour-God is an Almighty Shepherd. Some of you have mountains in your way to heaven, some of you have mountains of lusts in your hearts, and some of you have mountains of opposition; it matters not, only lie on the shoulder. He is able to keep you; even in the dark valley he will not stumble.

II. To present you faultless.

1. Faultless in Righteousness.-As long as you live in your mortal body, you will be faulty in yourself. It is a soul-ruining error to believe anything else. O if ye would be wise, be often looking beneath the robe of the Redeemer's righteousness to see your own deformity. It will make you keep faster hold of his robe, and keep you washing in the fountain. Now, when Christ brings you before the throne of God, he will clothe you with his own fine linen, and present you faultless. O it is sweet to me to think how soon you shall be the righteousness of God in him. What a glorious righteousness that can stand the light of God's. face! Sometimes a garment appears white in dim light: when you bring it into the sunshine you see the spots. O prize, then, this Divine righteousness, which is your covering.

2. Faultless in holiness.-My heart sometimes sickens when I think upon the defects of believers; when I think of one Chris

tian being fond of company, another vain, another given to evil speaking. O aim to be holy Christians, bright, shining Christians. The heaven is more adorned by the large bright constellations than by many insignificant stars; so God may be more glorified by one bright Christian than by many indifferent ones. Aim at being

that one.

Soon we shall be faultless. He that begun will perform it. We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. When you lay down this body, you may say, Farewell lust for ever, farewell my hateful pride, farewell hateful selfishness, farewell strife and envying, farewell being ashamed of Christ. O this makes death sweet indeed. O long to depart and to be with Christ

III. To him be glory.

1. O if anything has been done for your soul, give him the glory. Give no praise to others; give all praise to him. 2. And give him the dominion too. Yield yourselves unto him, soul and body.

SERMON XXIV.

THE VOICE OF MY BELOVED.

"The voice of my beloved! behold he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. My beloved is like a roe, or a young hart: behold he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, showing himself through the lattice. My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; the fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines; for our vines have tender grapes. My beloved is mine, and I am his; he feedeth among the lilies. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe, or a young hart, upon the mountains of Bether."-Song of Solomon ii., 8-17.

THERE is no book of the Bible which affords a better test of the depth of a man's Christianity than the Song of Solomon. (1.) If a man's religion be all in his head-a well set form of doctrines, built like mason work, stone above stone-but exercising no influence upon his heart, this book cannot but offend him; for there are no stiff statements of doctrine here upon which his heartless religion may be built. (2.) Or, if a man's religion be all in his fancy-if, like Pliable in the Pilgrim's Progress, he be taken with

August 14, 1836, when he preached as candidate-the first day he preached in St. Peter's

the outward beauty of Christianity-if, like the seed sown upon the rocky ground, his religion is fixed only in the surface faculties of the mind, while the heart remains rocky and unmoved-though he will relish this book much more than the first man, still there is a mysterious breathing of intimate affection in it, which cannot but stumble and offend him. (3.) But if a man's religion be heart religion-if he hath not only doctrines in his head, but love to Jesus in his heart-if he hath not only heard and read of the Lord Jesus, but hath felt his need of him, and been brought to cleave unto him, as the chiefest among ten thousand, and the altogether lovely, then this book will be inestimably precious to his soul; for it contains the tenderest breathings of the believer's heart toward the Saviour, and the tenderest breathings of the Saviour's heart again towards the believer.

It is agreed among the best interpreters of this book—(1.) That it consists not of one song, but of many songs; (2.) That these songs are in a dramatic form; and (3.) That, like the parables of Christ, they contain a spiritual meaning, under the dress and ornaments of some poetical incident.

The passage which I have read forms one of these dramatical songs, and the subject of it is, a sudden visit which an Eastern bride receives from her absent lord. The bride is represented to us as sitting lonely and desolate in a kiosk, or Eastern arbor, a place of safety and of retirement in the gardens of the East, described by modern travellers as an arbor surrounded by a green wall, covered with vines and jessamines, with windows of lattice work."

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The mountains of Bether (or, as it is on the margin, the mounts of division), the mountains that separate her from her beloved, appear almost impassable. They look so steep and craggy that she fears he will never be able to come over them to visit her any more. Her garden possesses no loveliness to entice her to walk forth. All nature seems to partake in her sadness; winter reigns without and within; no flowers appear on the earth; all the singing birds appear to be sad and silent upon the trees; and the turtle's voice of love is not heard in the land.

It is whilst she is sitting thus lonely and desolate that the voice of her beloved strikes upon her ear. Love is quick in hearing the voice that is loved; and, therefore, she hears sooner than all her maidens, and the song opens with her bursting exclamation, "The voice of my beloved!" When she sat in her solitude the mountains between her and her lord seemed nearly impassable, they were so lofty and so steep; but now she sees with what swiftness and ease he can come over these mountains, so that she can compare him to nothing else but the gazelle, or the young hart, the loveliest and swiftest creatures of the mountains. "My beloved is like a roe, or a young hart." Yea, while she is speaking, already he has arrived at the garden wall, and now, behold

"he looketh in at the window, showing himself through the lattice." The bride next relates to us the gentle invitation, which seems to have been the song of her beloved as he came so swiftly over the mountains. While she sat alone all nature seemed dead-winter reigned; but now he tells her that he has brought the spring-time along with him. "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." Moved by this pressing invitation, she comes forth from her place of retirement into the presence of her lord, and clings to him like the timorous dove to the clefts of the rock; and then he addresses her in these words of tenderest and most delicate affection, "O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the precipice, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely." Joyfully agreeing to go forth with her lord, she yet remembers that this is the season of greatest danger to her vines, from the foxes which gnaw the bark of the vines; and, therefore, she will not go forth without leaving this command of caution to her maidens," Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes." She then renews the covenant of her espousals with her beloved, in these words of appropriating affection: “My beloved is mine, and I am his; let him feed among the lilies." And last of all, because she knows that this season of intimate communion will not last, since her beloved must hurry away again over the mountains, she will not suffer him to depart without beseeching him that he will often renew these visits of love, till that happy day dawn when they shall not need to be separated any more" Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart, upon the mountains of Bether."

We might well challenge the whole world of genius to produce in any language a poem such as this, so short, so comprehensive, so delicately beautiful. But, what is far more to our present purpose, there is no part of the Bible which opens up more beautifully some of the innermost experience of the believer's heart.

Let us now, then, look at the parable as a description of one of those visits which the Saviour often pays to believing souls, when he manifests himself unto them in that other way than he doeth unto the world.

1. When Christ is away from the soul of the believer, he sits alone. We saw in the parable, that, when her Lord was away, the bride sat lonely and desolate. She did not call for the young and the gay to cheer her solitary hours. She did not call for the harp of the minstrel to soothe her in her solitude. There was no