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much good has been accomplished in this way! How much more might be! And shall not the amazing benefit awaken us to the exercise of religious speech? Our contact with the impenitent is a practical quietus to their minds, and our silence the theme of their surprise, unless we break the seal and beseech them to be reconciled to God. They reason correctly when they infer, that if we felt much, we should talk with them; insecurely, when they judge, that because we do not seem to feel much concerned for their welfare, therefore they are safe. Let us take away this refuge from their hearts, let the benefit to be gained be a sufficient reason why we should do our duty to them by kind and constant entreaty. Why should not every Christian, in his sphere, be another Harlan Page, and bestud his starry crown with gems redeemed? Are we not more silent than we shall wish to have been, when assembled millions meet for their last account?

In bringing these remarks to a close permit me to say, that a proper consideration of this subject must make every Christian feel, that he is not doing his duty to himself, or to others, and above all to his Saviour, who omits to use his means of grace. It is mournful to think of the power, which is buried and lost in consequence of the omission. Talents, that might by use be burnished and made to shine, are left to rust in the solitude of their own quiescence. Multitudes find their way into the Church, and there live and die-use up a whole probation; yet you hear little or nothing from them, in any place or time, about the great things which by profession are made the objects of their thought and hope. The intellectual faculties, instead of being employed to show the worth and merit of the bleeding Lamb, are chartered to find reasons for silence; and a curious collection indeed these rea sons make, when all assembled into one common receptacle. They serve, however, as a sort of logical fort, within which an immense army of Christian mutes is encamped-so safely walled in that, the hardest cannonading seldom reaches them. The loss, which this dispensation of silence induces, is a thought, that well deserves our deepest regret; and if anything can be done to avert the evil, the effort is worthy the preacher's tongue and the Christian's prayer. You may be sure that it is an evil which ought to be corrected. Very useful Christians are communicative. And is it no evil not to be useful? Whatever makes the child of God spiritual, disposes him to holy speech. The scenes of a revival, the hour of affliction and the bed of death wake his tongue, and bring it into action. It is wise to begin this work in the beginning of piety. But if you did not do so, then it is wise to begin it now. Let me ask you, my brethren, to give all these thoughts free access to your conscience. Do not turn them away as an idle tale. I be lieve they deserve, as I trust they will receive at your hands a bet.

ter treatment.

SERMON CCCCLXXIII.

BY REV. JAMES M. SHERWOOD.

CHRIST A SYMPATHIZING FRIEND AND SAVIOUR.

"For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin." HEBREWS 4:15.

Who needs not a friend? Whose heart has not breathed the in ward sigh for the ear, and bosom, and arm of sympathy? The heart of man blighted in its primeval hopes and joys, burthened with guilt and fear, pining in sorrow and want, and struggling to rise above the darkness and misery of the present, and apprehend and realize the glory and blessedness of the future,-how much it needs, and longs after, the contact and aid of a true, and powerful friendship. We have, in CHRIST, & FRIEND of profound sympathy, and infinite love, whose great heart is stirred to its very depths on our account, and whose mighty arm is reached out to befriend and save us. At an immense sacrifice He has qualified Himself for the offices of a Friend, and now proffers His services to us in this interesting and attractive char.

acter.

I. In order to be a sympathizing friend, one must condescend to our estate and put his being in actual and living contact with our being. While he remains without the circle of our personal ties, relations, and interests; while an immense distance intervenes, and thought, and feeling, and experience, are brought into a free and living fellowship; there can be but little genuine and effective sympathy; there will be wanting that intimate knowledge of each other's being, that mutual and intelligent confidence, and that assimilation of mind and character, which constitute both the condition and bond of true friendship. If you would be my bosom friend, and warm me with your sympathy, and gain over me the power to influence and enrich my existence, you must come down from your elevation, and be my companion in the low and rugged paths I tread-humble yourself to the feeling and service of a brother; put your heart in contact with mine, till it shall throb with the like emotions, and consent to share in the joys and sorrows of my being.

The son of God has acted in this wise. He stooped from Hea ven to embrace us; exchanged the throne for the cross; the

glory of the Godhead for the weakness of humanity. He put Himself in direct contact, and intimate relationship with us; on a footing of equality in a common nature and a common interest; bound Himself to His people in near and perpetual ties, and made them one with Him. Amazing condescension! Mystery of godliness!" Divinity itself brought down to a level with fallen humanity; embodied in human form; possessing a human heart and a human character; so that with our eyes we "behold His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth." In the son of Mary we have the God incarnate; in “the man of sorrows," in the sufferer of Calvary we are brought into direct contact with the active sympathy and the abounding mercy of Heaven towards sinners. He has thus made Himself our Brother, in nature and feeling, in service and inheritance. We have in Him a perfect Friend. His powerful sympathies are enlisted in our cause. He has humbled Himself from the heights of heaven to the depths of our fallen world, that He might bind us to His heart, and thrill our being with His love, and purify and glorify it by His grace.

What honor, too, is put upon human nature by the second Adam! He has clothed it with peculiar interest and lustre, by adopting it, and glorifying it in His person and office-work, as our Redeemer. He presents, also, to the world, in His manhood, a perfect pattern of human excellence, for our study and imi

tation.

II. We expect in a friend, those elements and exercises which lead to conformity, and constitute a bond of union. There can be no real effective sympathy where there is no assimilation of spirit, thought, and experience. The greater the degree of oneness, in all the mental and moral states, and habits, and aims of a plurality of persons, the stronger is that mysterious tie, which binds their being and destiny together. Like both attracts and begets like.There is a spontaneous flowing together, of hearts pervaded by the same sentiments, beating with the like emotions, and walking in the same paths of actual being. Who has most of your heart's confidence, and is most longed for, and leaned upon, when the services of a friend are needed? That friend, assuredly, whose being mirrors best your own likeness, and in whose experience you can best read the tale of your own joys and sorrows; he is your friend in a peculiar sense, and can comfort and serve you, when the sympathy and kind offices of all the world beside, are unavailing.

The Son of man has not only taken to Himself our nature, but the whole burden of our "infirmities." He has both condescended to our own estate, and actually walked the like dark and rugged, and suffering ways of being. He has put Himself in a position that commands a perfect view, and comprehension of the entire field, of our existence, and He, Himself, has made the circuit of that field, weeping over its moral wastes, affected by all

the objects of interest, threading all its lonely and weary paths, and participating in all the states and exercises of our fallen being. His soul was alive to the beauties of nature and of being around Him; to the lessons of Providence, and the claims of want, and grief, and affection. He ever honored the relations of life; cherished natural affection; sanctified labor by the sweat of His own brow; honored the domestic relations; observed the innocent laws and customs of society, and mingled freely in the living scenes of the world. He felt the evils of sin-the bitterness of inward conflicts and outward sufferings-the joys and griefs of friendship-the ills of life and the pangs of death, just as other men feel them. He had the affections and infirmities, the wants and sensibilities, of a man. How the stupidity and unbelief of His disciples, the treachery of His friends, and the injuries of His enemies, 'tried His patience! How was His soul moved to pity and to prayer, for a lost world! With what an anxious heart did He prosecute the labors of each day !— How man's guilt and misery weighed down His spirits, and taxed his energies to the fartherest point of endurance! Behold how He "endures the contradiction of sinners." How profound His grief at the grave of Lazarus. See Him weep on the Mount of Olives, as He approaches the scene of final suffering-for the last time, and with a bursting heart, spreads out His arms over Jerusalem'

What personal conflicts did He endure! The wilderness, the solitary place, and the Mount of Olives, were often the scenes of exercises, affecting and sublime; manhood sinking under the weight of a world's guilt and grief, wrestling in prayer, groaning in spirit, and working out in solitary greatness, a mighty redemption for the brethren of His adoption. Gethsemane heard the earnest burdened pleadings of human infirmity in that moaning voice which broke on the midnight hour, and thrilled the hearts of attendant angels-"O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” "The hour," in which Jesus bowed under the weight of His sorrows in the garden, and embraced the earth in the intensity of His anguish, was a fearful approach to infinity of suffering. And on the cross, humanity bled and died. His was the death of a man keenly alive to the evil of suffering, and to the atrocious indignity offered Him-a death of excruciating agony and profound afflic tion. In the crowd that gathered to His cross, He recognised His weeping mother, and kindly commended her to "the beloved disciple." Filial love, and grief, lived in that noble heart till it ceased to beat. "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"— From the profoundest depth of creature weakness and distress, came forth that expiring cry.

There is no relation or circumstance in life, therefore, no joy or sorrow, anxiety or conflict, in which Jesus is not fully qualified to sympathize with us. He became a man in every thought

and feeling, and condition, sin excepted, that He might enter fully into our case, and challenge our gratitude and confidence.

III. A perfect knowledge of us, is essential to the character of a perfect friend. Ignorance of our case, or mere imperfection of judgment, may convert the well-meant service of a friend into actual and irreparable injury. Job's friends, ignorant of his real feelings, and misjudging Providence, proved miserable comforters to the smitten patriarch. Severe and trying as were the strokes of the Almighty, they were yet more tolerable to his burdened and anguished heart, than were the rash judgments and labored speeches, of those who came to condole with him in his affliction. And who has not been grieved and wronged by the false judgment or illtimed service of his friends! A word of praise or censure, misapplied; advice, well-meant, but evil; a service rendered, kind in spirit but unwise in fact; reproof or correction withheld from a mistaken regard; what have we not suffered in this way, in our. physical, mental, and moral being-and at the hand of our best friends! This fact lessens greatly the value of all human friendship. So imperfect is human character, at best, that it is safe to rely but little upon our friends, however wise, or kind, or able to Indeed, I doubt not, that we are, in general, greater sufferers from the faults, omissions and imperfections of our friends than from the malice of our enemies. Alas! how many lives are sacrificed, and characters spoiled, and hopes blasted, and souls ruined, from the mere imperfection and frailty of human kind

serve.

ness.

It is a relief to turn from the weakness of man, to the power of God, from the failings and errors of the fallen creature, to the perfection and transcendant ability of our Immanuel. He has a perfect knowledge of all things and a perfect judgment, so that He cannot err in His estimate of our wants and the means of relief, nor in a single item in the whole series of His agencies and providential dispensations. He has a perfect comprehension of our being, in all its laws, and in the entire range of its experience. He knows every want of the creature and the fullness of the Creator-the source of every evil and every remedy in the range of omniscience. For, as God, He made us, and gave laws to our being, and to the constitution of the universe, while, as man, He has experienced our infirmities, and has, therefore, a perfect knowledge of our case. He knows all our sins, secret and open, and the circumstances attending their commission. He knows all our secret sorrows which we bury in the depths of our hearts. He knows the weight of our cares the intensity of our mental conflicts with doubt, and fear, and error-and the darkness and misery we suffer in our souls, from the hidings of God's face, and the various trials and beseiments of life. He knows full well the extent of our ruin as sinners -the utter perversity of our hearts; the height and depth of that wrath which we have provoked, and the all but infinite difficulty in the way of our redemption. He knows, too, the strength and full

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