should spring up from the wondrous seed of his blood, he may still be especially embraced by the worshipers of the Lamb, in the realms above, as a particularly dear citizen of the heavenly kingdom. To us he remains both an incomparable monument of the all-sufficiency of the blood of Christ, and a lofty candlestick, on which the free grace of God beams as a flame, and an extremely significant beacon, yea, a light-house established by God for us on our passage through life. O, be assured, my readers, that the spiritual footsteps of the dying malefactor, with the words, “Remember me!" on his lips, point out to us to this day, the only path that leads to Zion. Let us, therefore, follow him, and make his "Remember me!" our own, and then say under the cross of the bleeding Friend of Sinners, as heartily in faith, as poor in spirit, in the sense of the malefactor,

"When to the cross I turn my eyes,

And rest on Calvary,

O Lamb of God, my sacrifice!

I must remember thee.

"And when these failing lips grow dumb,
And mind and memory flee,

When thou shalt in thy kingdom come,
Jesus, remember me!"

XLVI.

THE LEGACY OF LOVE.

OUR present meditation brings us again to the cross on Calvary. And where, my readers, do we linger more willingly than beneath its shade? Every day the desires of our hearts resort thither for the supply of our soul's necessities. For since we have daily to lament over our negligences and sins, we daily require fresh balm for our wounded consciences. What would become of us had we not Calvary to flee to? O, thou art the

Ararat to which I daily escape from the waves of trouble; the Zoar to which I flee from the flames of Sodom; my Nebo's top, from whence I survey the promised land; and my Tabor, where I rejoice and say, "It is good to be here-here will we erect our habitations."

A pleasing scene presents itself to our view beneath the cross. He who was "fairer than the children of men" does not die unlamented. In the midst of rage and fury, love stands near him in his dying moments, and lifts up to him its tearful and affectionate eye. Look at the little mournful group yonder, and behold a lovely little company in the midst of the bands of Belial-a hidden rosebud under wild and tangled bramblebushes, a splendid wreath of lilies around the deathbed of the Redeemer.

It is thus that the cross is surrounded even to this day. Though the infuriated hosts of hell rage around it, yet it is still encircled by the most estimable of the earth. For if we seek for sacred grief, for love which has emanated from heaven, for patience, which never tires, and gratitude, which gives up every thing-where do these beautiful and heavenly flowers flourish except beneath the cross ? We know the faithful company there, who form a living commentary on the words of the Song of songs, "Love is strong as death, aud immovable as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters can not quench love, neither can the floods drown it." What do they care about hazarding their lives! Their life was the man on the cross. What do they trouble themselves about the scorn and contempt of the word! They desire nothing else and nothing better from a world which crowned their King with thorns. Had they been nailed to the cross with him, they would have pushed away the earth from under them as a rotten and worthless plank, and have triumpnantly cast their anchor in the clouds. What charms could earth have for them, after his blessed steps ceased to tread upon its thorny and thirsty soil?

Look at the courageous group a little more closely. Of whom does it consist? Strange enough, with one exception, all of them are females. The strong are fled-the weak maintain

their ground; the heroes despair—the timid, wno did not presume to promise any thing, overcome the world. This was because they poured out their hearts before God, saying, "Hold thou us up, and we shall be safe!" and speaking thus, they leaned firmly on the divine arm. God's strength was then mighty in their weakness. How often does something of a similar kind occur among us! If the man's is the splendid deed, the result of combined strength-the woman's is enduring patience. If to the former belongs the heroism which cuts the knot-to the latter (which is the greater of the two) belongs the silent self-sacrificing love which is faithful even unto death.

Among the beloved females beneath the cross, there is one who especially demands our sympathy. It is the blessed one, who bore in her womb the man that bleeds on the crossthe deeply stricken Mary. Though it was grievous for Eve to stand at the grave of her favorite son Abel, and still more so for the patriarch Jacob to behold the bloody garment of his son Joseph, yet what was their grief compared with that of the mother of our Lord at the foot of the cross? O think where she is standing, what is the cause of her grief, and who it is she mourns! Think what a son, and what a kind of death! O who is able to describe the feelings which wring her maternal heart! One thing, however, we may be assured of, that the deeply wounded Mary did not despair. Even through this

her night of weeping, the words of her Son, respecting the necessity of the sufferings that awaited him, and the glory that should follow, gleamed like some distant light. And although it was most difficult for her still to cleave firmly to them, and though an impetuous host of distressing doubts raged in Mary's breast, yet she was not inconsolable, nor did she give up all for lost, as surely as the assertion of the apostle is true, that God will not suffer us to be tempted above that which we are able to bear. No; whenever the gold is in the crucible, the Refiner himself is at hand; and when a child of the Most High suffers, the paternal hand of Jehovah always lies, alleviating and mitigating, between the burden and the burdened shoulder. If we thus experience it, my readers, how will Mary have experienced it!

You also see, that although leaning on the disciple whom Jesus loved, she still stands upright under the cross, and only a gentle shower of tears bedews her cheeks, but no cry of agony proceeds from her lips. When the wife of Phineas saw the ark in the hands of the enemy, she fell dead upon the ground in dire dismay. Mary beholds something more appalling than that event, yet still she lives. She is indeed compelled again to bring forth Christ with great travail. Her earthly son dies, with all the earthly connection in which she had hiterto stood toward him, as well as the earthly ideas of him and his kingdom, so far as she had yielded to them. In opposition to these, she has now to receive Christ by faith, as from his ashes, in a very different capacity-as a new Christ-as one hitherto not known by her as a Lord and Prince of Peace of an incomparably higher kind and order than human; nor did she attain to this without great pain and conflict.

At Mary's side, and serving as her support, the Apostle John meets our eye. This "divine eagle" also tries the pinions of his penetrating spirit in the darkness and the storm on Calvary, but he is unable to find the way through this thunder-cloud. He sees himself surrounded by problems which he is unable to solve. But where his understanding beholds only an empty desert, he has, nevertheless, an inward presentiment of infinite and hidden riches. He again introduces himself here, as he is so gladly wont to do, as "the disciple whom Jesus loved." In these words he indicates to us what was his pride, his crown, and his highest boast. At the same time, they point out to us the source from whence he derived all his consolation, all his hope, and all his strength. This source was love—not the love with which he embraced the Lord, but that with which the Lord embraced him. Nor do I know any thing more precious or desirable, than the lively, fresh, and well-founded consciousness of the Saviour's love and affection. What a peaceful resting-place is this in the wild nocturnal storm! What a powerful staff and support for a wanderer in the wilderness! What sweet consolation in "the pit where there is no water;" and what an overflowing spring of encouragement in life and death! He who, with John, can sign himself the disciple whom Jesus loves, has, in

this appellation, a sure guaranty for all that he needs, and for all that his heart can desire. If, in other respects, he must call himself the man that is tossed with tempest, or the wretched worm which the world treads under foot; yet, if he is only justified in subscribing himself "the disciple whom Jesus loves," what more will he have? This consciousness gilds and sweetens every thing.

While the little company stand mourning together below, the mighty Sufferer hangs silent and bleeding on the cross. He is in the sanctuary performing his high-priestly office, while bearing upon his heart the sinful race of Adam. "Oh," might the mourning Mary think, "if he would but once more open his gracious lips to me, and give me one parting word!" But in the sublime situation he is now occupying, will he still be able to attend to what is passing at the foot of the cross? Will he still find time and leisure to think of any thing else than how he may arm and defend himself against the fiery darts of the wicked one which fly around him, and how he may complete the great and world-embracing work, on the last stage of which he has just entered! Scarcely should we think it possible. But what occurs? O when did any thing happen more generous and affecting than this? Truly, till the end of time his filial tenderness will be spoken of. In the midst of his dying agonies the Divine sufferer all at once directs his eyes to the little faithful group below; and he that is able to read in his eyes, reads a sympathy and a degree of consoling, cheering, and encouraging love, such as the world, till then, had never beheld. No, my friends; however much he may have to think of and attend to, he never loses sight of his children for a moment from the sphere of his superintending care. However great and boundless may be the objects of his supervision and vigilance in his government, yet there will never be a moment when the eye of his love will not rest upon every individual whom the Father has given him. They are his primary care, although in number and outward appearance, in comparison with what he has otherwise to superintend and provide for, they may be as the drops in the wide rolling ocean, and as flowerets in the immense and gloomy forest in which they stand. He dis