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fering from remorse; but generally men are indignant with the offender if his crime is great, and they treat him with ridicule and scorn if it is small. Jesus Christ, however, pities a sinner. He loved us while we were yet in our sins; he came to save us. He forgot our deep guilt, and only sympathized with us in our suffering.

This disposition of our Saviour, to look not so much at the guilt which we have incurred, as at the sufferings into which it has brought us, is everywhere very apparent in his whole history. Often the greatest sinners came to him, and he never reproached them, unless they came in pride and stubbornness of heart. He always endeavoured to relieve them of the burden of guilt, and to give them assurance of pardon and peace. On one occasion how kindly does he say to a very guilty sinner, "I do not condemn thee, go and sin no more." Instead of intending to add to the burden of guilt by exhibiting coldly the contrast of his own bright example, or by his severe rebukes, he says, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Persons who wish to be saved from sin very often distrust the Saviour's willingness to receive them. They acknowledge, in general terms, his kindness and compassion, and think that he is, in all ordinary cases, willing to save the chief of sinners, but they think there is something peculiar in their case, which should prevent them from coming to him in confidence. I observed that this peculiarity is almost always one of two things:-1. That they do not engage ardently enough in the work of salvation; or, 2. That they have often resolved before and broken their resolutions.

Do not some of you, my readers, feel unwilling to come to the Saviour, because you think that you do not feel a sufficient interest in the subject? You know that you are sinners, and would like to be free from sin. You would like such a friend as I describe the Saviour to be, but you have no sufficiently strong conviction, and you think the promises are not for you.

Or perhaps, some of you, though you feel a deep interest in the subject, may be discouraged and disheartened by the sins you find yourselves constantly committing, and by your repeatedly broken resolutions. You think the Saviour must be wearied out with your continual backslidings and sins, and you are ready to give up the contest, and to think that final holiness and peace is not for you.

Now there are throughout our land, vast multitudes who are vainly endeavouring to make their hearts better, in order to recommend themselves to their Saviour's care. You must, indeed, endeavour by every effort, to make your heart better, but not as a means of recommending yourself to the Saviour. Come to him at once, just as you are, and seek his sympathy and assistance in the work.

Inquirers after the path of piety are very slow to learn that the Saviour is the friend of sinners. They will not learn that he came to help us up while we are in our trials and difficulties, not after we get out of them. How many say in their hearts, I must overcome this sin, or free myself from that temptation, and then I will come to the Saviour. I must have clearer views of my own sins, or deeper penitence, or awaken true love to God in my heart, and then, but not till then, can I expect Christ to be my friend. What! do you suppose that it is the office of Jesus Christ to stand aloof from the struggling sinner, until he has, by his own unaided strength, and without assistance or sympathy, finished the contest, and then only to come and offer his congratulations after the victory is won? Is this such a Saviour as you imagine the Bible to describe?

At the door of one of the chambers in which you reside, you hear a mourning sound, as of one in distress. You enter hastily, and find a sick man, writhing in pain, and struggling alone with his sufferings. As soon as you understand the case, you say to him,

"We must send for a physician immediately; there is one at the next door, who will come in in a moment."


"Oh no," groans out the sufferer; "I am in no state to send for a physician. My head aches dreadfully-I am almost distracted with pain. I fear I am very dangerously ill."

"Then we must have a physician immediately," you reply; "run, and call him," you say, turning to an attendant, "ask him to come as soon as possible."

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Oh, stop! stop!" says the sick man, "wait till I get a little easier-my breath is very short, and my pulse very feeble, and besides I have been getting worse and worse every half-hour for some time, and I am afraid there is no hope for me. Wait a little while, and perhaps I may feel better, and then I will send for him."

You would turn, after hearing such words, and say in a

gentle voice to the attendant, "He is wandering in mind. Call the physician immediately."

you are.

Now Jesus Christ is a physician. He comes to heal your sins. If you wish to be healed, come to him at once, just as The soul that waits for purer motives, or for a deeper sense of guilt, or for a stronger interest in the subject, before it comes to Christ, is a sick person waiting for health before he sends for a physician. Jesus Christ came to help you in obtaining these feelings, not to receive you after you have made yourself holy without him. You have, I well know, great and arduous struggles to make with sin. Just as certainly as you attempt them alone, you will become discouraged, and fail. Come to the Saviour, before you begin them, for I do assure you, you will need help.

One great object which our Saviour had in view in remaining so long in the world, was to understand our temptations, and the contests which they bring up in the heart.

It is very often the case, that persons are struggling with temptations and sins almost in solitude, and those to whom they are directly accountable do not appreciate the circumstances in which they are placed, and the efforts they make to overcome temptation. I presume that teachers very often blame their pupils with a severity, which they would not use, if they remembered distinctly the feelings of childhood. Perhaps a little boy is placed on a seat by his intimate friend, and commanded upon pain of some very severe punishment not to whisper. He tries to refrain, and succeeds perhaps for half an hour in avoiding every temptation. At last some unexpected occurrence or some sudden thought darts into his mind,-his resolutions are forgotten,-the presence of the master, the regulations of the school, and the special prohibition to him all flit from his mind, and after the forbidden act, which occupied but an instant, is done, he immediately awakes to the consciousness of having disobeyed, and looks up just in time to see the stern eye of his teacher upon him, speaking most distinctly of displeasure and of punishment. Now, if any severe punishment should follow such a transgression, how disproportionate would it be to the guilt. Suppose the boy may indeed have done wrong, -but how slight must the wrong be in the view of any one who could look into the heart and estimate truly its moral

movements in such a case. It is unquestionably true, and every wise teacher is fully aware of it, that in school discipline there is constant danger that the teacher will estimate erroneously the moral character of the actions he witnesses, just because he has forgotten the feelings of childhood. He cannot appreciate its temptations or understand its difficulties, and many a little struggler with the inclinations which would draw him from duty, is chilled and discouraged in his efforts, because the teacher never knows that he is making an effort to do his duty, or at least never understands the difficulties and trials which he finds in his way.

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Suppose now that such a teacher should say to himself, and suppose he could by some magic power carry the plan into effect,- "I will become a little child myself, and go to school. I will take these same lessons which I assign, and endeavour to keep myself the rules which I have been endeavouring to enforce. I will spend two or three weeks in this way, that I may learn by actual experience what the difficulties, and temptations, and trials of childhood are." Suppose he could carry this plan into effect, and, laying aside his accumulated knowledge, and that strength of moral principle which long habit had formed, should assume the youth, and the spirits, and all the feelings of childhood, and should take his place in some neighbouring school, unknown to his new companions, to partake with them in all their trials and every temptation. He toils upon a perplexing lesson, that he may know by experience what the perplexity of childhood is. He obeys the strictest rules, that he may understand the difficulty of it, and he exposes himself to the unkindness or oppression of the vicious boys, that he may learn how hard it is patiently to endure them. After fully making the experiment, he resumes his former character, and returns to his station of authority. Now if this were done, how cordially, how much better can he afterwards sympathize with his pupils in their trials, and with what confidence can they come to him in all their cares.

Now we have such a Saviour as this. The Word was made flesh, i. e. became man and dwelt among us. He took not on him the nature of angels, but the nature of man. "Wherefore it behoved him in all things to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest." "We have not an high priest that cannot be

touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but was in all points tempted like as we are."

My reader will doubtless observe, that this case is somewhat similar to that of Howard, which I imagined in the former part of this chapter; and perhaps you may imagine, that if my paragraphs had been well arranged, this supposition would have come in connexion with that. But no. I was then upon the subject of sympathy with suffering. I imagined Howard to become a prisoner, that he might understand and sympathize with the sufferings of prisoners. Now I am speaking of the subject of temptation and struggle against sin, and I imagine the teacher to become a child, that he may appreciate the trials and temptations of childhood.

We may trust in the sympathy of our Saviour in this last respect as well as in the other. His disposition to feel compassion and sympathy, and not indignation, at those who had brought themselves into difficulty by doing wrong, was very often manifested while he was upon the earth, and we may be sure his character is not in this respect altered now.

But it is time that I should bring this chapter to a close. The sum and substance of what I have been endeavouring to illustrate in it is this. If you confess all your sins, and seek their forgiveness in the way which the gospel points out, resolve henceforth to lead a life of piety, you will need a friend and helper. You will want sympathy both in your sufferings and in your struggles with sin. Jesus Christ will sympathize with you, and help you in both. I once knew a benevolent gentleman whose fortune rendered him independent, but whose medical knowledge and skill were of a very high order, and he practised constantly without fee or reward, for the simple purpose of relieving suffering. The only things necessary to secure his attention, were to be sick, to need his aid, and to send for him. He did not wish his patients to become convalescent before he would visit them. Nor did he inquire how often they had been sick before. There was one poor lad who took cold, I believe by breaking through the ice in the winter, and he was rendered a helpless cripple for years, and yet this gentleman or some of his family, visited him almost daily during all this time, and instead of getting tired of their patient, he became more and more interested in him to the last. Now our Redeemer is such a physician. He does not ask any prepara

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