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SERMON XIII.

Psalm cxvi. 15.

"PRECIOUS IN THE SIGHT OF THE LORD IS THE DEATH OF HIS SAINTS."

HAD not God himself spoken it, we might naturally have supposed, that death in any and every shape would be exceedingly offensive to His sight. It furnishes such a melancholy evidence of the fall-such a gloomy witness of Satan's temporary triumph over man. human eyes, it is a reality the most distressing; and nature, however familiarised it may be, involuntarily shudders at the sight.

To

When God poured out upon the head of guilty Adam the vial of his wrath, and mixed among the direful ingredients the bitterness of death, say did he then contemplate its sad effects as "dear and precious in his sight?" Constructing as he had done, our wondrous frame-that frame described, even by him

self, "as fearfully and wonderfully made," furnishing it with organs so curiously wrought -so fitted to the end designed-giving to the eye its sight, to the ear its hearing, to the tongue its speech, to the limbs their motionsay could he for a moment regard the dimness of the eye, the deadness of the ear, the silence of the tongue, the stiffening of the limbs, with a feeling of complacency? When his work lay paralyzed before his eye, say what could render such a scene "precious in his sight?"

Is it-oh! is it the death of a saint which he contemplates? The mystery is solved.In such a case, the hour of weakness becomes the moment of triumph-the king of terror is converted into the messenger of peace-" the dissolving of the earthly tabernacle makes way for the building of God, the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

Yes, brethren, the very name of "saint" unfolds the secret to our view-that venerable name, borne by every Christian in the apostolic age-that name, consecrated by the blood of martyrs, embalmed by the memory of the blessed; it is that which turns the cup of bitterness into the cup of blessing, which gives "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit

of heaviness."

A saint and a Christian are synonymous terms, or words of the same signification-a saint is a Christian, and a Christian is a saint. A saint is one sanctified by the Spirit of God-and all Christians must be sanctified; for, "except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God”—and “ if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His." And again," no man can say that Jesus is the Christ, but by the Holy Ghost." Every grace which the Christian possesses is from Him-" every good and perfect gift cometh down from above." Quickened by his energy, we come unto Jesus for salvation. "No man cometh unto me (saith Jesus) except the Father draw him." It is he who convinces of sin-it is he who takes of the things of Christ and shows them unto us: he discovers on the one hand our need, on the other Christ's fulness. He shows our poverty in contrast with "the unsearchable riches of Christ." He carries on the work of grace through all its stages, until he brings the child of adoption from grace to glory, through all the chequered scenes of time to the unalloyed, the unclouded brightness of eternity.

I need not, my brethren, bring you to the chamber of a dying sinner, of one unredeemed

by a Saviour's blood, untouched by the Spirit's grace, unillumined by the hope of glory. Let all the pomp and pageantry of the world surround the couch and canopy of such a onethe eye of God turns with abhorrence from such a sight: He sees the sting of death left unextracted-the curse of death unrepealedthe hardened sinner bids, perhaps the Almighty himself, "to depart from him for he desires not the knowledge of His ways;" forbids the minister of the sanctuary to approach, lest his dreamings of lengthened days should be disturbed; he tries to lean upon some rotten prop of expectation, some fancied merits of his own, some paltry alms-deeds, some formal ceremonies, some vague and indefinite repentance; he sucks in the frothy and insincere whisperings of a mercenary flattery. At last, he drops into eternity-Christ forgotten -his cross despised; ready to meet him as a Judge, not a Saviour. "O! kiss the Son, lest he be angry, so ye perish from the right way; if his wrath be kindled, yea, but a little; blessed are all they that put their trust in Him."

I call you not to the chamber of the impenitent and worthless; but I would invite you to turn your eye upon the bed of a departing saint; that bed which "God himself makes in all his sickness;" that death on which he looks

as "right dear in his sight;" and say not, brethren, that that sight is gloomy on which God himself delights to dwell. I ask you not to count the fluttering pulse; I ask you not to watch between hopes and fears, the alternating flush, succeeded by the pallid hue. I ask you not to listen to the sigh and sobbings of exhausted nature. I ask you not to look upon the melting sorrows of surrounding friends, or to wait till evening spreads its gloomy curtain upon the face of nature, and sheds its parting rays upon the bed of death. No, brethren ; but when the involuntary exclamation, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," calmly issues from the lips, is there nothing there of the Spirit's touch and contact? When the constant ejaculation, "None but Christ" "Whom have I in heaven but Thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire in comparison of Thee"-Oh! he is a precious Saviour" He is my all in all.”

all in all." When these are the sentiments which flow from the fountain of the soul, are they not the living waters which have their source and origin in God? When the tumultuous agitations of expiring nature are softened into a holy calm, is it not the very breath of Jesus saying, "Peace, be still." When the radiance of hope glitters amid the throes of a suffering frame, exclaiming, "happy,

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