SEAM. XXXVI.1 OF CHRISTS ATONEMENT. 111 I see that lovely, that illustrious Friend, who laid down his own life to rescue mine, his own valuable life to ransom a worm, a rebel that deserved to die. He suf- fered, he groaned, he died; but he rose again, the blessed Saviour arose, he lives, he reigns exalted over all the creation. Faith beholds him risen, and reigning, but it is through a glass, it is at a distance, and but darkly. I wait, I hope for a more divine pleasure : it is adelight worth dying for, to behold him face to face, to see him as he is, to converse with his wondrous person, and to survey his glories. Alas ! my soul is too patient of this long distance and separation. O for the wings of love, to bear my spirit upward in holy breathings ! Methinks I would long to be near him, to be with him, togive him my highest praises and thanks for my share in his dying love. I would rise to join with the blessed acclamations, the holy songs of the saints on high, while they behold their exalted Savioùr. How sweet their songs ! How loud their acclamations ! This is the man, the God -man who died for me ! This is the Son of God, who was buffetted, who was crowned with thorns, who endured exquisite anguish, and unknown sorrows for me, who was scourged, and wounded, and crucified for me ! This is the glorious Person; the Lamb of God, who washed me from my sins in his own blood. Mes- sing, honour, and salvation to his holy name for ever." Amen. HYMN FOR SERMON XXXVI. ..d CIIRIST's PROPITIATION IMPROVED. LORD, didst thou send thy Son to die For such a guilty wretch as I ; And shall thy mercy not impart Thy Spirit to renew my heart ? Lord, hast thou wash'd my garments clean In Jesus' blood from shame and sin ? Shall I not strive with all my power That sin pollute my soul no more ! Shall I not bear my Father's rod, The kind corrections of my God, When-Christ upon the cursed tree Sustaiu'da heavier load for nie ? Why should I dread my dying day Since Christ, bath took the curse away, And taught me with my latest breath To triumph o'er thy- terrors, death ? O rather let me wishand cry, " When shall my soul get loose and fly To upper worlds? When shall I see The God, the man, that dy'd for nie ?" I shall behold his glories there, And pay him my eternal share Of praise, and gratitude and love. Among ten thousand saints above.,
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