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creasing that current, until it is betrayed. This betrayal of the fire, under whatever circumstances it may have originated, has in some cases occurred in time to permit of remedy; in others, like the Eldon, when no exertions could subdue the conflagration.

The power of cotton, when once lighted, to burn slowly on until it is all consumed, is exemplified in the touch-cord of the Indian and Arab matchlocks. It is merely a thin, hard-twisted cotton rope, coiled to the trigger near the touch-hole: when once lighted, it never goes out of itself, but smoulders on, and is always made glowing hot by a breath, when required to fire the matchlock. The very quality which it possesses of slow and inextinguishable burning makes it the more dangerous; and no rigour could be too great to prohibit cooking or smoking on board the shore-boats employed in taking off cotton to ships loading in Bombay harbour; nor any vigilance too strict to prevent the smoking of tobacco in the ship whilst taking in such an inflammable cargo. Every bale should be minutely overlooked as it passes down into the hold, that no embers or sparks may be carried with it; and the captain and his officers are responsible that no fire, under any pretext whatever, is introduced below decks. The carelessness of natives of India, with their clumsy cocoa-nut-shell hookas and beehries, exceeds belief; and the use of such dangerous indulgence when loading, or in fact at any time, cannot be too peremptorily prohibited.

The force and the mode of action of fire are as yet mysteries to the best-informed philosophers; and all that is known serves only to inculcate the wisdom of the most rigid precaution.

The narrative is now concluded. Captain Theaker and his gallant crew, and the passengers of the Eldon, have shewn what may be done, and what can be borne; and their history will not have been written in vain, should it ever occur to the recollection of sufferers in any similar misfortune, and should this noble example of patient endurance and consummate skill enliven their despondency, and encourage exertion to accomplish the same happy deliverance.

THE SHIPWRIGHT'S WIDOW.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE SMUGGLER," &c.
"And sadly muse on former joys,
Which now return no more."

THOSE who have travelled the somewhat weary stage from Kendal to Shap will recollect a long steep hill, about midway over which the road winds, and where it is usual for passengers to alight from their carriages for ease to their horses. It was a bright summer afternoon, extremely sultry, when I was on a tour to the lakes with a clerical friend; we had descended from our gig, and were slowly walking up the hill, when we came to a respectable-looking female, dressed in very humble weeds, who, with two children, a boy and a girl, was seated upon a large stone, partaking of some little refreshment, overlocking one of the wild valleys of Westmoreland. The group appeared very faint and weary, and probably had not tasted food for many hours. I was induced to enter into conversation with the little party, and I learned from the mother, that she was on her way to her native parish in Scotland, where her father, once a person of respectability and some little property, now resided, supported by the bounty of others; for bad crops, wet harvests, a not very tender-hearted laird, and an unprincipled relation for whom he had become security, had reduced him to poverty. Her story was

sad but simple. She had married a young man to whom she had been sincerely attached from childhood: they had attended the parish-school together; had there imbibed sound scriptural knowledge; and, with the entire sanction of all friends, were united. He had been bred a shipwright, and earned good wages in a Scottish port; but a year after marriage was persuaded to go to Plymouth, in the hope of bettering his condition.

For some years all went on well. He was civil, sober, and industrious; and, by frugality and strict attention to his work, was enabled not only to aid his father-in-law in his distress, but also to lay by for a day of necessity. That day arrived. A malignant fever attacked the whole family, from the effects of which one child was removed, and the father was thrown into a state incapable of work, by which their little fund in the savings'-bank was nearly exhausted, when he rapidly declined, and died. "A good, kind husband Archy was to me," she said; "but the Lord's will be done." I could plainly discover that the expressions of submission she used were heartfelt; that her mode of address differed from that disgusting cant by which compassion is sometimes sought. A bundle, containing a few articles of clothing, and from which a bottle of milk and some bread had been taken, was spread out before them; and in it was a well-read Bible, and one or two religious books.

After her husband's decease she sold her little furniture; and was now, with her remaining children, returning to Scotland. A kind-hearted master of a vessel had conveyed them gratuitously to Liverpool, and they were proceeding homewards as fast as their strength would permit. She hoped to reach Shap that evening. I offered to add some little to her purse; but she civilly refused to accept any thingthe offer, in fact, obviously pained her; and all that I could do, was to order for her, as I passed through Shap to Penrith, comfortable refreshment and lodging for the night. "A good woman," said the hostess to me, on my return a few days afterwards, in the almost unintelligible language of Westmoreland—“ a good woman. Thankful she seemed for what you ordered her. She sat down in the bar; and the clerk of the parish came in, and they talked Scripture together, and she beat him out and out. A good woman; for I overheard the children read a chapter, and she prayed with them before they went to bed; and much she said in her prayers about your kindness. Some drovers from the North were in the house when she came in; and one of them told me he knew her well, and recollected her wedding, when he was herd on a neighbouring farm, and said her poor old father had seen better days. Sad, rough chaps are the Scottish drovers, and sadly they drink and swear whisky is their ruin; but I saw them gather a few shillings, and, unknown to her, slip them into her bundle; and a carrier to Carlisle offered to give them a lift for nothing, and that saved them nearly thirty miles' walk."

Years passed by, and in a Scottish tour I had occasion to pass not far from the village where I recollected the shipwright's widow told me her father resided; for I had thought of her tale of woe. I went to the vil

lage to inquire after her, and found that she had arrived with her children in safety, but all her little store was gone. Her father was in the utmost poverty, and depended only on a small pittance allowed him by the Kirk-session, as it is termed, (and of that he was a member, for he was an elder,) and the bounty of the minister. "A sad, altered woman was Jessy," said my informant, "from the day of her wedding, when she walked arm-and-arm with Archy from the manse: there was not a brawer couple on — water," mentioning the stream near which the village stood. She had tried for a time to support her father and her children; but it was too much for her sickly frame : the journey had enfeebled her, and she gradually sunk into the grave. Her children, with their grandfather, had in a very few years followed; and all that served to mark their existence on life's busy scene, were four hillocks in a quiet churchyard in a pastoral glen, far from the remains of her husband.

The widow sank, but she sank not without hope. That religious principle which had been engrafted in her bosom in early years-that faith in the merits of a Saviour which had whispered peace to her dying husband, was her stay in life, and support in the hour of death. Fully had she experienced that,

"E'en while the mourner's eye is wet

With nature's tears for nature's woe,

There is a balm, a solace yet,

For all that wrongs or wounds below."-DALE. The scene around me, as I stood by these graves, amidst the brilliancy of a setting sun, was deeply interesting. The sheep were browsing on the neighbouring hills; and nothing interrupted the solemn stillness that reigned on all sides, save the bark of the solley or shepherd's dog, and the rippling over its pebbly bed of a river not unnoticed in Scottish story and Scottish song,-that river by which, when young, Archy and Jessy had played in early childhood, and walked in the pale moonlight in the sweet season of youth's early love. On those peaceful mountains their eyes should never again open, nor their ears hear the bleating of the sheep, nor the soft music of the stream; but newer and brighter scenes awaited them, to be shared with the dear children whom God had given them, in that blessed land which needs not the sun to enlighten it. They were themselves members of that spiritual flock to whom it is said, "Fear not; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Their feet shall tread the hills of the heavenly Zion; and they shall eternally be led by living fountains of waters, where God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. Z.

AN OLD DISCIPLE.*

THE venerable Christian of whom I mean to record a few particulars was not a native of this parish, but came here at an early age, and engaged in the laborious employment at the brass-works.

I have heard his daughter speak, with tears in her eyes, of his being left a widower, and of his tender care of his three young children. He had regularly at

From "Things New and Old; or, Recollections by a District Visitor, (Miss Lucy Emra,) in Prose and Verse." Pp. 174. London, Hamilton, Adams, and Co. 1839. A very pleasing small work; the religious tone scriptural, and the incidents well narrated.

tended the house of God in the place from which he came; and in this neighbourhood he attended many places of worship, and heard various ministers; but it was at the church of St. M- that he received, by the grace of God, the knowledge of the truths essential to salvation,-that he was a sinner, and that the Lord Jesus Christ is the all-sufficient Saviour. And no wonder that he always loved to visit that church, when the sacred bread and wine, representing his Saviour's body and blood, were provided there. One of these visits was paid on the very last Sunday of his life.

With one of his daughters he had a comfortable home for many years. No signs of distressing poverty were in that house. There was a wide fire-place, which spoke of comfort, and well-polished furniture spoke of neatness and good management; a cage, containing a green canary, hung in the window, which was shaded by a tall straggling geranium. At the back of the house was a garden, well filled with herbs and common flowers.

On occasion of a summer-evening visit, I remember the good old man coming in from one of his long walks, and sitting to rest in his accustomed seat: his countenance was lighted up with joy as he said, "I cannot hear a word; but I can enjoy his presence at morning, and evening, and noon-day. I think of the nails in his feet and in his hands; and I think of him in the clouds." How these two ideas blend themselves in the mind of the Christian, the humiliation and the exaltation of the Saviour; his obtaining salvation for his people by his death upon the cross, and his coming again to make them partakers of his glory!

Our old friend was one who could "continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving." He was ready and longing to depart; and, as his daughter expressed it, employed himself in reading and prayer, "in season and out of season." None who love to talk of the things of religion could see him without wishing to converse with him; but this could not be he would smile on his visitors, and give them the right hand of fellowship, and point to his book, and lay his hand upon his heart, and look upward.

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How many did he outlive whom we might have expected to look upon his grave-the young, the healthful, the beautiful! Many a time when the solemn bell has led us to inquire for whom it tolled, an unexpected answer has been given; many a time has the yet springing grass withered, and the yet unfolded flower faded. He lived to see those who were children when he was already an aged man carried before him to the grave. We have shuddered as we passed the low white dwelling, and saw, through the halfopened door, the coffin and the winding-sheet of her who had been till lately as strong and hard-working a woman as any could be; we have seen the little baby taken by some kind friends miles away from the dying mother, and in a little while brought back to follow that young mother to the tomb; we have heard the muffled bell toll for one but a short time since a bride.

How many such instances since the time of his severe illness, eight years before his death, when the minister went to partake with him that blessed sacrament which he had so often and so thankfully received among the congregation! "I am leaving the world," he said, for so he then thought, "and I am glad of it." "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint." It was a long and severe illness; but his steady peace of mind and simple confidence in God never failed. He could appeal to God-" have I not remembered thee on my bed, and thought upon thee when I was walking?" for he was accustomed to meditate on the Lord, tracing his Saviour from the first

book of Genesis, through all the prophets, down to the present time. "I am glad of it," he had said, when he thought he was leaving the world; yet, when he found it was the will of God that he should wait longer, how satisfied was he to wait year after year!-many another Christmas-day, to pass through the oft-trodden aisle, and look round where the fir-tree, and the pinetree, and the box-tree together, beautified the house of God's sanctuary; many a rising and setting sun; many a lengthening and shortening day, before he reached that world where his sun shall no more go down, neither shall his moon withdraw itself: many a time more to kneel at the chestnut-shaded altar, and receive the emblems of divine love, before he hailed the banquet of new wine in the kingdom of his Father. He will long be missed; his hoary head, which was a crown of glory, for it was found in the way of righteousness; his mild grey eye; his furrowed brow; his sunken cheek; his peaceful smile, will often be remembered. Many a time will it be recollected how he loved to be among the multitudes that kept holyday; how he joined with the heart, as well as with the lips, in every prayer and every thanksgiving, and every offering of praise; and when the sermon began, and some kind friend had found out the text for him, how he loved to sit and meditate upon it, rejoicing that others heard what he could not hear; sometimes almost hopelessly lifting the trumpet to his ear, and fixing his eye on the preacher, if perhaps he might catch some few emphatic words; and then, after the vain attempt, looking down again upon his Bible, and satisfied with that.

He had lived beyond threescore years and ten, beyond fourscore years; and he looked like a pilgrim with his staff in his hand, ready for a long journey. He had indeed a long journey before him, and he wanted provision for it; and the very last Sunday of his life, he went to seek provision at the church where he first learned to believe in the crucified Saviour. He drank of the brook in the way; he experienced the truth of the words, "My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed;" and in the afternoon we saw him here once more: as usual, he looked on the text to which others listened. It was a solemn text: it referred to characters among whom he, like all others, had once been included: it said of them, "They all, with one consent, began to make excuse." He knew

that on the next Sunday the feast, of which in the morning he had partaken, would be spread here; and he hoped to be among the little company who should partake of it; and whilst others were listening to the expostulation and invitation given, he could meditate with joy that ever he had listened to the call; that ever he had ventured near; and he could pray for his companions, regret that they were so few in number, and rejoice that the Lord has a flock, though it is but a little flock. Then would arise anticipations (a saint just on the wing for heaven must have glorious anticipations,) of a world where the outward means of grace are no more needed; where types and shadows give place to the blessed reality.

There was an intense feeling in the account his daughter gave of his sudden death, dwelling-how naturally!- -on every little incident: he had taken his breakfast as usual, and was gone up stairs; and when she went up, a short time after, he had fallen down : she lifted him and spoke to him, but he could not answer. No! he was on his way between earth and heaven, already learning from his angelic attendants a new language-already preparing to look at things which are invisible. In a moment he was gone; and this was sudden death! Surely, if a Christian asks, in submission to the will of God, for exemption from such a death, it is for the sake of survivors, and not on his own account, that he makes the petition. Death unthought of, death unprepared for, death without the hope of life hereafter, this we may dread, this we may

deprecate; but welcome to the believer, though acutely painful to his friends, is the death that in one moment translates him from hope to reality, from earth to heaven, from time to eternity.

“I will thank the Lord for giving me warning," may be said even when death has come suddenly, and at the last unexpectedly. Every melting snow-flake of spring, every fading flower of summer, every falling leaf of autumn, has given warning. "No two sunsets," it has been remarked, "are alike." Thousands of times, and hundreds of thousands of times, has the great Creator varied the forms and colours of the cloudy chariot in which the glorious sun has descended to his rest; and, in the same manner, no two deaths are alike there is some variety in the attendant circumstances; but there is one Lord to watch over all, and to appoint all.

"Right dear in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints," is a beautiful and soothing truth. To their companions their life is "right dear;" they would protract the little span, but "the Lord's ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts ;" and, inspired by him, his people can understand, that to depart and be with Christ is far better."

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He had come to the grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season. They had intended to bury him on the Sunday after his death, but found it necessary to hasten his funeral; and thus his daughter, and many others who meant to have joined the procession, were prevented: but all was done with decency and order. It was a burning summer afternoon; and as I marked the streak of light from the sun gilding the leaves of the willows and the chestnut near the open grave, I thought of the path of the just, which is as the shining light. I strove to comfort his poor little grand-daughter, the only female who attended the funeral, and whose sobs and lamentations formed a contrast to the calmness of all the rest. They might well be calm. Surely the beautiful and soothing burial-service was never more appropriate : the hope with which a corpse is committed to the grave was never more sure and certain."

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There, in peace, the corpse was laid
'Neath the stately chestnut's shade;
There in certain hope to lie
Till the trumpet shakes the sky.
One more safe.-The race is run;
Bright and brighter was the sun,
Till the shining noon-day glowed
O'er the pilgrim's heavenward road.
Yet a few more changing days,
Winter's cold and sun's bright rays;
Yet a few more flowers to dress
Earth's prolific wilderness-
Then round every Christian's tomb
Light from heaven shall cheer the gloom,
While the prison house shall shake;
First the dead in Christ shall wake.
Glorious hour! though sons of men
Know not how, and know not when-
Lord! 'tis thine to choose the day;
Theirs to watch, and wait, and pray.

CHRIST'S ATONEMENT THE NOURISHMENT OF THE SOUL:

A Sermon,

BY THE REV. JOHN SANDYS, M.A. Minister of St. Paul's, Islington; and late Fellow of Queen's College, Cambridge.

JOHN, vi. 55. "For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed."

A MIND unenlightened by Divine grace neither does nor can understand spiritual truths; "The natural man receiveth not the things of

the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness | unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned" (1 Cor. ii. 14). This inspired declaration has been verified under every variety of circumstance. Take the incident recorded in the fourth chapter of this Gospel. When our Lord spoke to the woman of Samaria about "living water," she ignorantly supposed that he spoke merely of common spring-water, and accordingly made reply, "Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep from whence then hast thou this living water?" The commencement of the third chapter of this Gospel furnishes a still more forcible illustration of it. There we have an account of the conversation of our Lord with Nicodemus, on the all-essential doctrine of the new birth; and we find that individual, though a master in Israel, so grossly mistakes his meaning, that he replies, "How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter a second time into his mother's womb, and be born?" And in the chapter before us, the Jews manifest precisely similar blindness; for when our Lord had said, "The bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world;" we are told (ver. 52), that they strove among themselves, saying, How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" We see, then, brethren, that when we are ill-informed as a Samaritan woman, or when we are learned as a master in Israel, we must, according to the language of verses 44 and 45, be "all taught of God," and thus be drawn of the Father, ere we shall understand and receive the spiritual truths of the Gospel. May we all experience the illuminating and constraining influence of Divine grace, while meditating on the important doctrine contained in the words before us.

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In pursuing our subject, we shall endea

vour,

I. To explain the figurative language employed by our Lord in the text.

II. To shew the excellency of the food of which it speaks.

In explaining the figurative language, we observe that it must not be understood literally. It may seem unnecessary almost to mention this in addressing Protestants, who have been rescued from this and the many delusions of popery for a period of well-nigh 300 years; but seeing that this apostate church is at this time rallying all her energies; seeing that her ever-active emissaries are now more than ever active amongst us, compassing sea and land to make one proselyte; seeing, too, that we live in an age when it is not only particularly desirable that every one should be thoroughly persuaded in his own mind, but also be ready to give a reason

for what he receives or rejects, it may be well to spend a little time in exposing the fallacy of the Roman Catholic interpretation of the passage before us.

First, then, let it be remembered, that nothing is more frequent among the eastern nations than to use the metaphor of eating and drinking, when they are speaking, not of common meat and drink, which supports the body, but of spiritual food, which nourishes the soul. Thus Wisdom, as we read in Prov. ix., gives this exhortation : "Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine that I have mingled;" and St. Paul also, in writing to the Hebrews, saith, "I have fed you with milk, and not with meat," that is, with the first principles, and not the higher doctrines of the oracles of God.

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Hence it is plain, that taking merely the language of our text, it may fairly be interpreted otherwise than literally; and if we observe the context, we shall see that it must be interpreted spiritually; for you will perceive that our Lord again and again declares, that to eat this meat is the same thing as to believe on him: this you will see by comparing ver. 27 and 29. When our Lord had exhorted those to whom he spake, to labour for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life," and they ask for an explanation of his meaning, he tells them, ver. 29, that he means by it, that they should believe on Him whom God hath sent. Again, in ver. 35, when he had told them that he was "the bread of life," he immediately adds, to shew that it was to be understood spiritually," he that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall never thirst;" and yet again, ver. 47, 48, he says, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that believeth on me hath everlasting life; I am the bread of life." What, then, can be more plain than that this food is to be eaten, not literally, but by faith; and that the words before us must be understood in a spiritual, and not literal, manner? But this further appears from the mistake into which the Jews fell; they, understanding our Lord literally, murmured, and said, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" Now, that they were wrong in thus understanding our Lord,-which they were not, if the Roman Catholic interpretation be true,—our Lord himself plainly declares; for it is in order to set them right in this matter, that he says to them, in ver. 53, "It is the Spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth little; the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit and they are life." But in addition to these, I think conclusive, arguments against the literal interpretation, we observe, that were our Lord's words to be so understood, it would follow, since the ordinance of the Lord's sup

And

per was not instituted for above a year after | shall give for the life of the world."
our Lord spake these words,-it would fol-
low, I say, that all those of his hearers who
died during that year, or any that have since
died without partaking of the holy com-
munion, must be inevitably lost; for our Lord
solemnly declares, in ver. 53, " Verily, verily,
I say unto you, except ye eat the flesh of the
Son of man and drink his blood, ye have no
life in you." It would necessarily follow, on
this interpretation, that none who communi-
cate, however they live, or however they die,
could possibly perish; for our Lord as impli-
citly and unconditionally declares (ver. 54)
"that whoso eateth my flesh and drinketh
my blood hath eternal life, and I will raise
him up at the last day." If these words are
interpreted literally, as the fallen church of
Rome would have us interpret them, Judas,
who in this sense partook with the other
eleven of the body and blood of Jesus Christ,
as well as the multitudes of ungodly charac-
ters who have also done the same, must have
eternal life, and be the children of a glorious
resurrection.

this is fully confirmed by the words which
our blessed Lord used at the institution of
the holy communion; for he there employs
language exactly similar to that of our text,
and speaks of his body being broken, and his
blood poured out, to represent his dying as a
sacrifice for us, his dying to make atone-
ment for our sin. And it is the expiatory
sacrifice of Christ, this grand doctrine of the
atonement, this thrice-blessed truth, that
Christ, by the one oblation of himself once
offered, made a full, perfect, and sufficient
oblation and satisfaction for the sins of the
whole world; it is this which is not only the
grand distinguishing doctrine of the Gospel,
but which is pre-eminently the food of the
believer's soul.

You see then, brethren, what unscriptural consequences follow from a literal interpretation; and, indeed, the holding of so monstrous a doctrine by the Roman Catholic church appears to be a remarkable instance of the fulfilment of that most awful denunciation recorded against them (2 Thess. ii.), that God would "send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie." Again, not only must the words now under our consideration not be understood literally; but we observe, also, that they must not be understood merely of the instruction which Christ gave. This, though a spiritual interpretation, and one sanctioned by the names of not a few learned men, by no means gives the true force of the metaphor; for although it be granted, that the sacred writers continually represent Divine instruction as the food of the soul, still, where is there an instance to be found in which the instructor himself, as such, is called food, much less in which we are said to eat his flesh and drink his blood? Brethren, if this mode of interpreting the words before us be true, then, when we are reading the instruction of Moses, or the prophets, or the apostles, we must with equal propriety say, that we are eating their flesh and drinking their blood. If, then, these words must not be understood either literally with the Romanist, nor merely of the instruction which Christ gave, as minds of a Socinian tendency would interpret them, to what must they be understood as referred? We reply, To the atonement which he offered. This is clearly taught us in ver. 51, where our Lord says, "The bread which I shall give is my flesh, which I

But this leads us to the second head of our subject, under which we purposed,

II. To shew the excellency of this food. This is strongly marked by the mode of expression employed in our text: it is called "meat indeed and drink indeed." The word indeed, not, as the Roman Catholics affirm, signifying that it is meat and drink literallythis, we have already proved, it cannot mean—but being intended to mark its superiority to every other kind of food. It is a mode of expression frequently adopted in order to set forth the pre-eminency of our blessed Lord. Thus he is said to be the "true light," inasmuch as in comparison of him all other light is darkness; and in other places, the "true vine," and the "true bread from heaven," to teach us that feeding on Jesus Christ will in a far greater degree strengthen, refresh, and gladden the soul, than the finest wheat-flour, than manna itself, or the choicest "wines of the lees," can invigorate our bodies or cheer our hearts. We have likewise in the context its excellency distinctly marked out in three particulars: it imparts life to the soul; it supports the life of the soul; it perpetuates the life of the soul.

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1. It imparts life. The most excellent natural food cannot profit a dead person; the functions of life must be going on, no benefit can be derived from it. This divine food, however, of which we are speaking, quickens those who are actually dead-" dead in trespasses and sins." Hence (ver. 51) it is called the living, or, as it might be rendered, the life-giving "bread;" and thus our Lord says also (ver. 33) of this same food, that "it giveth life unto the world;" and this is again implied (ver. 53), "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, ye have no life in you." Brethren, the doctrine of the atonement is the grand life-giving doctrine of the Gospel.

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