and as soon as she arrived where he was, she uttered, with her sighs of grief, the exclamation of confidence in his divine agency, and efficacious power-"if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. But I know that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee."

It is not certain that she intimated in this expression of trustfulness, that she had the most distant idea of his restoring her brother to life, or that she alluded to his capability of performing such a miracle. The remark she made when Jesus ordered the stone removed from the cave where Lazarus was entombed, concerning the commencement of corruption, is an evidence that she apprehended the season of recovery, even by the redeeming energy of the Savior, had passed. She migh have indicated, that she felt assured, that any blessing he might ask God to bestow on the bleeding hearts of hapless mourners, would be granted, so that his own teachings would be verified in their case-"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Our blessed Lord took occasion to pour into her lacerated bosom the rich consolations of gospel grace- and to chase away her anguish by tidings of salvation. "Thy

brother," says he, "shall rise again!" She had been educated to believe in a future state of existence, and she replied "I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day." Jesus then addressed her in regard to gospel faith, and the bliss it yields to its recipient. "I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live!"

How

Oh! what precious words to be poured into the ear of the desponding soul! replete with comfort and peace! They are the heavenly accents of promise to a soul overwhelmed with wo. They tell of joy yet in store for the spirit burthened with sorrow. And thou grief-stricken mourner! these messages of consolation are all thine own! "Whosoever liveth and believeth in Christ shall never die." The soul will always find sustaining power in him. But Jesus would speak a word of comfort to Mary, who had before so solicitously listened to his instructions to learn "the way, the truth, the life," and acquire the "one thing needful." And Martha was sent to ask her attendance. On approaching him, she exclaimed in sorrowful lamentation, with her eyes swimming in tears,

as did her sister-"Lord! if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!”

The Savior saw her agony of soul. He knew that her heart was nigh ready to burst with grief. He saw her agitation and inexpressible woe. He beheld the friendly associates bemoaning with her the death of the loved and lost. The spectacle before him was one of suffering. As he gazed thereon, he heaved a deep drawn sigh. Then, as though reminded of former friendships and communings now no more-as though he would visit the spot where rested all that remained of one dear to his heart, and whose name he would embalm in his affections with fondest recollections, he inquired where he had been laid. On approaching the tomb, he gave vent to his feelings in a flood of tears.

But why wept the Saviour? Was it because he had lost a friend, and bemoaned his absence? So thought those that saw his expressions of sadness and sorrow; and they said to one another, "See how he loved him!" But could not he who preached consolation to others, stay his own grief? Could not he who hushed the plaints of distress, ease himself of the woe that hung so heavily

on his soul, or check the emotions of sadness that wrung the heart with agony?

But no! It was not his own loss that called forth the impulsive sigh, it was not his own bereavement that started the tear from his eye. He did not grieve for himself; thought rested on the condition of others. It was the expression of sympathy, of commisseration. It was not common for him to murmur or lament on account of his own afflictions. Though derided and persecuted, and subjected to the the world's reproach and scorn, though doomed to endure grievous trials, and to pass through the most forbidding scenes, he bore the shock with heroic courage, manly fortitude, and submissive patience. He was denied by a professed friend and disciple, and

betrayed into the hands of his enemies by another. But he wept not. He seemed almost unaffected and unmoved by these acts of unfaithfulness and perfidy. Behold him again at the judgment hall, surrounded by his foes, and passing through the form of a mock trial, where he is condemned to death. There he is wholly deserted by his friends. None appear to vindicate his innocence, or sympathise with him in his unhappy condition. He is obliged to depend on his inward strength

to sustain him in this dark and doleful hour. But the dreadful scene does not disturb the tranquility of his soul. He submits to indignities offered in uncomplaining silence, and sits "like patience on a monument, smiling at grief." Then again, he is scourged, and mocked, and crowned with thorns, and taunted, and ridiculed; but like the lamb dumb before his shearers, so opened he not his mouth. No wailings were heard on account of his sufferings, and barbarous treatment received. He yielded to the fiendish cruelty of ruthless violence without weakness, without agitation. Though unbefriended and alone in the day of evil, he seemed as calm and unruffled as the bosom of the tranquil lake. No manifestations of overwhelming sadness was there, but a serenity of expression played on his countenance, that indicated composure of soul, a mind at peace. He is taken to calvary to witness a martyr's doom, and to perfect the manifestation of his glory. There, scandalized by the world, he witnesses an ignominious fate. But the revilings and tortures of murderous foes did not overcome his firmness of spirit. It was there, he spoke the words of comfort, of peace, and of hope to his companions in death, and prayed for