Christ, and mourn. Nothing will break your heart but a sight of Christ pierced by your sins.

2. That he has pierced the Son of God by unbelies. When the Spirit reveals Christ to the soul, this is generally the bitterest pang. An unawakened man thinks nothing of unbelief-he does not care that he has rejected Christ times without number. Ministers have preached till their breath is spent, beseeching him to turn and live-Christ hath stood all the day long with his hands stretched outGod hath waited upon that man, has delayed casting him into hell; still he is an unmelted rebel. Ah! when the Spirit awakes that man, what a sight he sees in a pierced Christ! Some of you are saying this day: I have despised that glorious One. He would often have gathered me, and I would not. God has been waiting on me for years. Jesus hath been knocking at my door, and I would never let him in; and now I fear he is gone for ever. Yea, some of you may feel that your heart is unwilling to take him, it is so hard and dead. All the more lovely he appears, the more your heart is pierced because you have rejected him. Ah, there is no grief like that of looking to a pierced Christ!

(1.) It is a bitter grief. Did you ever see parents mourning the loss of their only son, or of their first-born? It is an unspeakable sorrow. Such is the anguish of those who look to a pierced Christ. Indeed, some have deeper agony than others--but all who truly look to Christ are in bitterness.

(2.) It is a lonely grief. Indeed it will not be restrained anywhere; and they are wrong who condemn rashly intense anxiety breaking forth even in public; but this grief seeks the shade-the stricken soul seeks to be alone with God, or with a few like minded. David Brainerd mentions, that on one occasion, when he was preaching a pierced Christ to his Indians, the power of God came down among them like a mighty rushing wind: "Their concern was so great, each for himself, that none seemed to take any notice of those about him. They were, to their own apprehension, as much retired as if they had been alone in the thickest desert. Every one was praying apart, and yet all together."

Oh! dear friends, if you would really look to a pierced Christ, you would be in anguish of soul to obtain an interest in him. Oh! see how you have slighted him in the

days gone by. In youth-at the Sabbath school, as little children, how you have refused him! When you first came to the Lord's table, he stood a pierced Saviour before your eyes; yet you neglected him, and trampled him below your feet. And are you coming this day to pierce him over again-to drive the nails again into his hands-the spear into his side-the thorns into his brow? Oh, stop, sinner! you are piercing one who loves you-killing the Prince of Life-neglecting the only Saviour. If you reject him to-day, you may never see him again till you see him in the clouds of heaven, and wail because of him.

Dear believers, remember how you pierced him; let bitter herbs sweeten your passover-let a bitter remembrance of past sin make Christ the more precious.

IV. A fountain is seen in a pierced Christ.

The first look to Christ makes the sinner mourn; the second look to Christ makes the sinner rejoice. When the soul looks first to Christ, he sees half of the truth-he sees the wrath of God against sin—that God is holy, and must avenge sin that he can by no means clear the guilty-he sees that God's wrath is infinite. When he looks to Christ again, he sees the other half of the truth-the love of God to the lost-that God has provided a surety free to all. It is this that fills the soul with joy. Oh, it is strange, that the same object should break the heart and heal it! A look to Christ wounds—a look to Christ heals. Many, I fear, have only a half look at Christ, and this causes only grief. Many are slow of heart to believe all that is spoken concerning Jesus. They believe all except that he is free to them. They do not see this glorious truth: "That a crucified Jesus is free to every sinner in the world"—that Christ's all is free to all.

When the Spirit is teaching, he gives a full look at Christ a look to him alone for righteousness. What does the sinner see? The wounds of Christ—a fountain for sin and for uncleanness. Oh, trembling sinners, come and get this look at Christ! come and see a fountain for sin and for uncleanness, opened on Calvary eighteen hundred years ago. "I cannot, for my sins are very great." Are you all sin and uncleanness-nothing but sin-a lump of sin? in your life, in your heart, are you one bundle of lusts? Here is a fountain opened for you; look to a pierced Christ, weep; look to a pierced Christ, and be glad. "I cannot

and

wash." To look is to wash. No sooner is the eye turned than the filthy garments fall.

The fountain is opened up in this house of God to-day. At the very entrance to the tables, Jesus stands and says: "Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." Are you willing? do you look to him alone for righteousness? Then, come thus washed to the Lord's table-in the very garment you shall wear in glory. Sit with your eye upon the fountain. Oh, prize it highly! What do you not owe to him who saves you from being cast away!

Some would go past the fountain to the table. Take heed, ungodly man! Will you dare to sit there with unpardoned sin upon you?-will you venture to touch the bread, and your soul unwashed? Ah, you will bitterly rue it one day! Some, I trust, will remember this day in glory; some, I fear, will remember this day in hell.

St Peter's, April 19, 1840.—(Action Sermon.)

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SERMON XXXIII.

I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH.

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketb, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night," &c.-SONG v. 2, to the end.

THE passage I have read forms one of the dramatical songs of which this wonderful book is composed. The subject of it is a conversation between a forsaken and desolate wife and the daughters of Jerusalem. First of all, she relates to them how, through slothfulness, she had turned away her lord from the door. He had been absent on a journey from home, and did not return till night. Instead of anxiously sitting up for her husband, she had barred the door, and slothfully retired to rest: "I slept, but my heart was waking." In this half-sleeping, half-waking frame, she heard the voice of her beloved husband: "Open to me, my

sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night." But sloth prevailed with her, and she would not open, but answered him with foolish excuses: "I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?"

2. She next tells them her grief and anxiety to find her lord. He tried the bolt of the door, but it was fastened. This wakened her thoroughly. She ran to the door and opened, but her beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone. She listened-she sought about the door-she called -but he gave no answer. She followed him through the streets; but the watchmen found her, and smote her, and took away her veil; and now with the morning light she appears to the daughters of Jerusalem, and anxiously beseeches them to help her: "I charge you, if ye find him whom my soul loveth, that ye tell him that I am sick of love."

3. The daughters of Jerusalem, astonished at her extreme anxiety, ask: "What is thy beloved more than another beloved?" This gives opportunity to the desolate bride to enlarge on the perfections of her lord, which she does in a strain of the richest descriptiveness-the heart filling fuller and fuller as she proceeds, till she says: "This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O ye daughters of Jerusalem!” They seem to be entranced by the description, and are now as anxious as herself to join in the search after this altogether lovely one. "Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside, that we may seek him with thee?"

Such is the simple narrative before us. But you will see at once that there is a deeper meaning beneath-that the narrative is only a beautiful transparent veil, through which every intelligent child of God may trace some of the most common experiences in the life of the believer. (1.) The desolate bride is the believing soul. (2.) The daughters of Jerusalem are fellow-believers. (3.) The watchmen are ministers. (4.) And the altogether lovely one is our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

I. Believers often miss opportunities of communion with Christ through slothfulness.

1. Observe, Christ is seeking believers. It is true that Christ is seeking unconverted souls. He stretches out his

Christ is not done with a soul when he has bro the forgiveness of sins. It is only then that he regular visits to the soul. In the daily reading of Christ pays daily visits to sanctify the believing daily prayer, Christ reveals himself to his own in way than he doth to the world. In the hous Christ comes in to his own, and says: "Peace be u And in the sacrament he makes himself known the breaking of bread, and they cry out: "It is t These are all trysting times, when the Saviour visit his own.

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2. Observe, Christ also knocks at the door of Even believers have got doors upon their hea would think, perhaps, that when once Christ ha entrance into a poor sinner's heart, he never difficulty in getting in any more. You would as Samson carried off the gates of Gaza, bar a Christ would carry away all the gates and bar lieving hearts; but no, there is still a door on the Christ stands and knocks. He would fain be in. his pleasure that we should sit lonely and des would fain come in to us, and with us, sup and We 3. Observe, Christ speaks : Open to me, my love, my dove, my undefiled." O what a tender words is here!—all applied to a poor s has believed in Christ. (1.) "My sister;" f member how Jesus stretched his hand towar ciples, and said: "Behold my mother and my for whosoever shall do the will of my Father is my brother, and my sister, and my mother." love;" for you know how he loved sinners — out of love-lived, died, rose again, out of love sinners; and when one believes on him, he calls love." (3.) "My dove;" for you know that wh believes in Jesus, the holy dove-like Spirit is so Jesus calls that soul "My dove." (4.) "My u strangest name of all to give to a poor defiled si you remember how Jesus was holy, harmless, and He was that in our stead-when a poor sinner him, he is looked on as undefiled. Christ says: