131 / 674
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
a
delight 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,
to
give 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'd
a
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 wish
and 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.,