beneath; and in the midst of darkness and death, we cannot fail to perceive that there is something awful in the mercy of God, and something appalling in the forgiveness of the Gospel. The impression necessarily, intentionally, and really made is, that there is something in God more severe than mercy; something more fearful than forgiveness. And though we be in the enjoyment of a peaceful hope, yet when we reflect on the price of our salvation, there is much to strike an awe upon our spirits. Christians, we live by the death of the Son of God. God, to spare us, spared not his own Son. Mount Calvary, no less than Mount Sinai, teaches that it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, for he is a consuming fire.

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DIVINE TENDERNESS.

"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." How a father pities and feels for a child, they that are fathers know, and they that are not, cannot well know. One of the most interesting accounts of a father's pity, is found in Leigh Richmond's memoir of his son Wilberforce. Think of a few particulars, how a father pities.

He so pities that he is infinitely far from taking delight in the sufferings of his children, even when it nes necessary for their good to inflict them. It

grieves him more to chastise them, than them to be chastised. In all their afflictions, he is afflicted, and more than they. What parent, having corrected a child, has not gone away and wept for pure pity of him? What parent, in denying a child something, has not found it a greater self-denial ? Is such, a father's heart towards his children? Such is God's towards his. It grieves him to chastise.

willingly," nor "of his pleasure."

"He does not afflict

"In all their afflic

tion he is afflicted." It is not misery, but mercy that is his delight.

A father so pities, that he would spare or relieve his child, if he could with propriety. God has the power, and as often as, in view of all considerations, it is best, he exercises it. A parent, sometimes has the power, and does not extend it. The principle of benevolence within him, which proposes the greatest good of his child for the longest time, forbids that he should yield to the impulse of pity, which calls for the rendering of immediate relief. So the Lord pities. He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, would spare thee, child of God, every sorrow thou hast, and would relieve thine every pain, but that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth."

A father so pities his children, that he would, if he could, even suffer in their stead. More than one father has said, "would God, I had died for thee, my son, my son!" And is the pity of the Lord like a father's, in this particular too? Yes, the Lord doth thus pity. Our Lord could suffer thus in our stead. He has

actually laid down his life for us; and it commendeth his love and pity, that he did it when we were not children, nor friends, but enemies. Does he of a truth so pity, that he would even suffer in their place, aye, and die for them? He has already so pitied. "Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He has even died for us. Oh, what compassion! He has done what many a father has wished in vain he could do. He could suffer for the objects of his love, and he has done so. He had power over his life to lay it down for them, and he did it. So the Lord has pitied.

A father so pities his children, that to promote their comfort and happiness, he will spare no pains and no expense, and will keep back nothing. How much the parent will spend, if necessary, for the child. The sorrows and wants of his child, can open even the heart of the most avaricious. Such is the pity of the Lord. He withheld not his own Son. Having one Son, his only begotten Son, he sent him: and how shall he not with him freely give us all things, cost what they may, of love, and mercy, and grace, and truth, and power.

Such is the pity of a father, that if his children. rebel against him and depart from him, he will affectionately call them to repent, and will not only invite, but entreat them to return to him; and there are no means to relieve them which he will leave untried, to effect his tender purposes. He will do till he can do no more. So the Lord pities. He asks, "what could I have done more that I have not done?" He invites, entreats, expostulates, reasons, promises, threatens, and urges, by every possible consideration. How loth is the

father to give up his child and surrender all hope of his restoration to obedience and favor. And he says, "how shall I give thee up?" But that is the very language of God respecting Ephraim. It is inspiration. How does the father hail the first symptom of relenting in his child; how does he exult, even in the faint prospect of his being restored to him; and when he sees him. beginning to return, how does he not wait to welcome him, but go forth to meet and embrace him! Just such is the pity of the Lord to them that fear him.

A father's pity is such that it does not forget its object. It is never out of his thoughts.

to be reminded of it. parent, the mother? he may and she may.

Can he forget?

He needs not Can the other Can she? Yes, in some cases, "Yet, saith God, will not I."

If such is the commiseration God has for his children, how entirely calm and free from painful solicitude they may be, "casting all their care upon him, for he careth for them; being careful for nothing, but in all things by prayer and thanksgiving, making known their requests unto God, taking no thought," since he takes thought for them.

And if such is the pity of the Lord, what will not his bounty be? What the munificence of his bounty, that it may be in proportion to the tenderness of his compassion? It is large now, but how much larger it will be, when he has no longer any occasion for pity and forbearance—when misery is no more, and sighing has ceased, and God's hand has, for the last time, passed across the weeping eyes, and wiped away the final tear? What must be his generosity, whose pity is so

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great? What will he not do for them, having so felt for them? What must be the glory of that place to which he will take them, after he shall have made them perfect through sufferings? What exalted honors, what ecstatic joys must he not have in reserve for them, whom he came down here to weep with, and now takes up thither to rejoice with?

And if such is the pity of the Lord to them that fear him in this state of most imperfect sanctification, his pity towards them while with their sufferings there is mingled so much sin, what will be his complacency in them, when they shall have ceased to sin, and shall be perfectly conformed to his image? How will he delight himself in them, when there is nothing in them any longer, in which he cannot take the purest delight!

If thou art the object of such pity, be thyself the subject of similar pity. Pity as thou art pitied. Cared for, thyself, care for others. Let the case of others reach thy heart, as thine reached God's. Hast thou no tears for others' woes; thou, for whom so many have been shed? Nor give to misery merely thy tear. Tears did not save thee, nor can they save others. Speak the word of consolation; reach out the hand of help; do the substantial deeds of kindness.