go their way." But combined with this intrepidity, were the gentleness and tenderness of a woman. It is this, I had almost said, feminine craving for sympathy— for at least some support from the presence of those dear to his heart-that causes him to take Peter and James and John into the garden with him. And it is with the same feeling, that he rises three times from the ground, when swallowed up in wretchedness, and returns to these disciples. But they can hold no communion with him now, in this mysterious agony under which he is "sore amazed," and his "soul exceeding sorrowful even unto death." Indeed, he finds them each time asleep; and his complaint is exceedingly touching, "What, could ye not watch with me one hour ?" It is in reference to this consternation and anguish of Jesus in Gethsemane, that the Apostle says, "Who in the days of his flesh, when he had offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears unto him. that was able to save him from death, was heard in that he feared." And you recollect that, in compassion to the weakness of that "flesh," "there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him."

The disciples could sleep during the lonely hour of the Saviour's agony in the garden, but they knew no more sleep that night; they could sleep, but the enemies of Christ slept not; they could sleep, but Judas slept not; and no sooner has the Redeemer been invigorated by the celestial messenger, than that traitor enters the garden, leading armed soldiers to seize him. Nor does Jesus wait for them. "Rise," he says to his disci

ples, "let us go," and at once advances to meet them. In what followed, I need not say how entirely he was left alone. His blood sold-so many ounces for so many pieces of silver; arrested as a thief; buffeted in the face; stripped and scourged; spit upon; crowned with thorns ; perjurers suborned to slander him-Oh, the least of these wrongs would excite some commiseration for the worst of felons; but amidst all these accumulated insults and outrages, no eye pitied, no heart was moved towards the holy and harmless sufferer. Of his disciples one betrayed him, another denied him with feigned contempt, the rest "all forsook him and fled." "Of the people there was none with him ;" they all cried out, "Crucify him, crucify him," "Not this man but Barabbas." And even his judges—instead of the sympathy and compassion which the guiltiest ought to find when sentenced to an ignominious death-even his judges forgot their office and dignity, and joined the ferocious rabble in mocking and reviling the innocent victim whom they were about to murder.

The distress and agony of the garden arose from the clear and amazing apprehensions which Jesus then had of the cross, and the sacrifice he was about to offer upon that dreadful altar. Of the bitter pains of that terrible self-immolation in which he "tasted death for every man," we, of course, can comprehend nothing. But we know that then, in a sense most appalling and doleful, he "trod the wine-press alone." Strengthened by the angel, replenished with heavenly communications, his human nature was serene, even exulting amidst the de

sertion of his friends, and all the wrongs and insults heaped upon him by his foes. All this he had anticipated. He had said to his disciples, "Behold the hour cometh, yea is now come, that ye shall all be scattered, every man to his own and shall leave me alone; and yet I am not alone because the Father is with me." But the frightful solitude of his soul when that Father should forsake him, it was impossible to anticipate. Nothing could prepare him for this. And when the ever deepening cloud gathered in such blackness, that all communion with his Father was suspended, his humanity-perfect but all too weak for this deluge of agonycould sustain itself no longer. It at once quailed and shrank and died. Inanimate nature felt the horribleness of that scene, and "from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour." But no sympathy reached his convulsed spirit. He was alone; alone enduring the curse for us; alone "bearing our sins in his own body on the tree," and exhausting the fierceness of eternal justice; alone, without succor from man; alone, without one strengthening whisper from angel; above all, alone, without one ray from his Father's countenance. And that expiring cry, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" was the bitter, dreary, dismal, piercing wail of a soul utterly deserted--wrapped, shrouded in essential unmitigated desolation.

III. I had intended to present one other illustration of the text; I meant to apply it to the Redeemer's triumphs; but your own thoughts must supply this Article.

Every generous feeling in our bosoms would, indeed, revolt, had he not finally conquered. Nothing, not even the rescue of a ruined world, could reconcile us to a scheme involving the defeat and destruction of a benefactor, who thus welcomed shame and suffering and death for our sake. No, let me perish; let the storm of fire and wrath and blood break and beat upon all the guilty generations of the earth, and whelm and blend them in one common perdition, rather than such love and devotion terminate in a catastrophe so disastrous-not only to the glorious substitute-but to the interests of justice and virtue. Our hearts instinctively predict, that out of this fearful conflict, the Saviour must emerge a magnificent victor. Nor are we disappointed. Indeed in the Scriptures as if to gratify this anxious heralding of our souls-the mediatorial conquests of Jesus are constantly mentioned in the same sentence with his sufferings. If prophets "testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ," they, in the same breath, testified "the glory that should follow;" if "Christ ought to have suffered these things," it was that he might "enter into his glory;" if he was "for a little while made lower than the angels for the suffering of death," it was that he might be "crowned with glory and honor, seated at the right hand of God, from henceforth expecting till his enemies be made his footstool;" if "being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross," it was that he might be "highly exalted and receive a name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should

bow, of things in heaven and things in earth, and things under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father;" in short, if he be "led as a lamb to the slaughter," it is that from myriads of blest voices, from numbers without number, eternity may for ever resound with that adoring, exulting hallelujah, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing."

Our text, in fact, refers directly to the victories of the Redeemer. The solitary champion passing before the prophet's vision has his garments rolled in blood, attesting the closeness and deadliness of the strife. But on his brow is the lustre, and on his lip the smile, of a warrior fresh from fields where he had been masterful and irresistible. And you, my brethren, know well the arenas of his glorious triumphs.

Here, upon this earth, was his battle field; here "the god of this world" held old, prescriptive, undisputed empire; here the embattled legions of hell were firmly entrenched. And here the Redeemer came, and came alone; and, in his own unaided might, he destroyed "the works of the devil;" "and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them." Allies inspire courage and confidence; mind rallies mind, and heart, heart. But through all his protracted warfare, until he "overcame and sat down with his Father on his throne," the Saviour was entirely unsupported. What temptations he endured, what "contradiction of sinners against himself," how his disciples