feet through suffering; that if we sutter with him we shall also reign with him, which implies also the reverse, that if we do not suffer with him, we shall not reign with him; that is, if we suffer merely because we cannot help it, without reference to him, without suffering for his sake and in his spirit. If it be not sanctified suffering it will avail but little. We shall not be paid for having suffered, as in the creed of too many, but our meetness for the kingdom of glory will be increased if we suffer according to his will and after his example.

He who is brought to serious reflection by the salutary affliction of a sick bed, will look back with astonishment on his former false estimate of worldly things. Riches! Beauty! Pleasure! Genius! Fame!-what are they in the eyes of the sick and dying?

RICHES! These are so far from affording him a moment's ease, that it will be well if no former misapplication of them aggravate his present pains. He feels as if he only wished to live that he might henceforth dedicate them to the purposes for which they were given.

BEAUTY! What is beauty, he cries, as he considers his own sunk eyes, hollow cheeks, and pallid countenance. He acknowledges with the Psalmist, that the consuming of beauty is "the rebuke with which the Almighty corrects man for sin."

GENIUS! What is it? Without religion genius is only a lamp on the gate of a palace. It may serve to cast a gleam of light on those without, while the inhabitant sits in darkness.

PLEASURE! That has not left a trace behind it. “It died in the birth, and is not therefore worthy to come into this bill of mortality*."

FAME! Of this his very soul acknowledges the emptiness. He is astonished how he could ever be so infatuated as to run after a sound, to court a breath, to pursue a shadow, to embrace a cloud. Augustus, asking his friends as they surrounded his dying bed, if he had acted his part well, on their answering in the affirmative, cried plaudite. But the acclamations of the whole universe would rather mock than sooth the dying Christian if unsanctioned by the hope of the divine approbation. He now rates at its just value that fame which was so often eclipsed by envy, and which will be so soon forBishop Hall.

*

gotten in death. He has no ambition left but for heaven, where there will be neither envy, death, nor forgetfulness.

When capable of reflection, the sick Christian will revolve all the sins and errors of his past life; he will humble himself for them as sincerely as if he had never repented of them before; and implore the divine forgiveness as fervently as if he did not believe they were long since for given. The remembrance of his former offences will grieve him, but the humble hope that they are pardoned will fill him "with joy unspeakable and full of glory.”

Even in this state of helplessness he may improve his self-acquaintance. He may detect new deficiences in his character, fresh imperfections in his virtues. Omissions will now strike him with the force of actual sins. Resignation, which he fancied was so easy when only the sufferings of others required it, he now finds to be difficult when called on tó practise it himself. He has sometimes wondered at their impatience, he is now humbled at his own. He will not only try to hear patiently the pains he actually suffers, but will recollect gratefully those from which he has been delivered, and which he may have formerly found less supportable than his present sufferings.

In the extremity of pain he feels there is no consolation but in humble aequiescence in the divine will. It may be that he can pray but little, but that little will be fervent. He can articulate perhaps not at all, but bis prayer is addressed to one who sees the heart, who can interpret its language, who requires not words but affec tions. A pang endured without a murmur, or only such an involuntary groan as nature extorts, and faith regrets, is itself a prayer.

Ifsurrounded with all the accommodations of affluence, let him compare his own situation with that of thousands, who probably with greater merit, and under severer trials, have not one of his alleviations. When invited to the distateful remedy, let him reflect how many perishing fellow-creatures may be pining for that remedy, to whom it might be restorative, or who, fancying that it might be so, suffer additional distress from their inability to procure it.

In the intervals of severer pain he will turn his few advantages to the best account. He will make the most of every short respite. He will patiently bear with little

disappointments, little delays, with the awkwardness or accidental neglect of his attendants, and, thankful for general kindness, he will accept good-will instead of perfection. The suffering Christian will be grateful for small reliefs, little alleviations, short snatches of rest. To him abated pain will be positive pleasure. The freer use of limbs which had nearly lost their activity, will be enjoyments. Let not the reader who is rioting

In all the madness of superfluous health,

think lightly of these trivial comforts. Let him not despise them as not worthy of gratitude, or as not capable of exciting it. He may one day, and that no distant day, be brought to the same state of debility and pain. May he experience the mercies he now derides, and may he feel higher comforts on safe grounds!

The sufferer has perhaps often regretted that one of the worst effects of sickness is the selfishness it too naturally induces. The temptation to this he will resist, by not being exacting and unreasonable in his requisitions. Through his tenderness to the feelings of others, lie will be careful not to add to their distress by any appearance of discontent.

What a lesson against selfishness have we in the conduct of our dying Redeemer!-It was while bearing his Cross to the place of execution, that he said to the sorrowing multitude, "weep not for me, bet for yourselves and for your children."—It was while enduring the agonies of crucifixion that he endeavoured to mitigate the sorrows of his mother and of his friend, by tenderly committing them to each other's care.-It was while sustaining the pangs of dissolution, that he gave the immediate promise of heaven to the expiring criminal.

The Christian will review, if able, not only the sins, but the mercies of his past life. If previously accustomed to unbroken health, he will bless God for the long period in which he has enjoyed it. If continued infirmity has been his portion, he will feel grateful that he has had such a long and gradual weaning from the world. From either state he will extract consolation. If pain be new, what a mercy to have hitherto escaped it! If habitual, we bear more easily what we have borne long.

He will review his temporal blessings and deliverances; his domestic comforts, his Christian friendships. Among

bis mercies his now purged eyes" will reckon his difficulties, his sorrows and trials. A new and heavenly light will be thrown on that passage, "it is good for me that I have been afflicted." It seems to him as if hitherto, he had only heard it with the hearing of his ear, but now his "eye seeth it." If he be a real christian, and has had enemies, he will always have prayed for them, but now he will be thankful for them. He will the more earnestly implore mercy for them as instruments which have helped to fit him for his present state. He will look up with holy gratitude to the great Physician, who by a divine chemistry in making up events, has made that one unpalatable ingredient, at the bitterness of which he once revolted, the very means by which all other things have worked together for good; had they worked separately they would not have worked efficaciously.

Under the most severe visitation, let us compare, if the capacity of comparing be allowed us, our own sofferings with the cup which our Redeemer drank for our sakes; drank to avert the divine displeasure from us. Let us puísue the comparative view of our condition with that of the Son of God. He was deserted in his most trying hour; deserted probably by those whose limbs, sight, life, he had restored, whose souls he had come to save. We are surrounded by unwearied friends: every pain is mitigated by sympathy, every want not only relieved but prevented; the "asking eye" explored; the inarticulate sound understood; the ill-expressed wish anticipated ; the bnt-suspected want supplied. When our souls are "exceeding sorrowful," our friends participate our sorrow; when desired "to watch" with us, they watch not ઃઃ one hour" but many, not falling asleep, but both flesh and spirit ready and willing; not forsaking us in our "agony" but sympathizing where they cannot relieve.

Besides this, we must acknowledge with the penitent malefactor, we indeed suffer justly but this man hath done nothing amiss." We suffer for our offences the inevitable penalty of our fallen nature. He bore our sins and those of the whole human race. Hence the heart rending interrogation, "is it nothing to you all ye that pass by? Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger."

How cheering in this forlorn state to reflect that he not only suffered for us then, but is sympathizing with us now; that "in all our afflictions he is afflicted." The tenderness of the sympathy seems to add a value to the sacrifice, while the vastness of the sacrifice endears the sympathy by ennobling it.

If the intellectual powers be mercifully preserved, how many virtues may now be brought into exercise which had either lain dormant or been considered as of inferior worth in the prosperous day of activity. The Christian temper indeed seems to be that part of religion which is more peculiarly to be exercised on a sick bed. The passive virtues, the least brilliant, but the most dif ficult, are then particularly called into action. To suffer the whole will of God on the tedious bed of languishing, is more trying than to perform the most shining exploit on the theatre of the world. The hero in the field of battle has the love of fame as well as patriotism to support him. He knows that the witnesses of his valour will be the heralds of his renown. The martyr at the stake is divinely strengthened. Extraordinary grace is imparted for extraordinary trials. His pangs are exquisite but they are short. The crown is in sight, it is almost in possession. By faith "he sees the heavens opened. He sees the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God." But to be strong in faith, and patient in hope, in a long and lingering sickness, is an example of more general use and ordinary application, than even the sublime heroism of the martyr. The sickness is brought home to our feelings, we see it with our eyes, we apply it to our hearts. Of the martyr we read, indeed, with astonishment: Our faith is strengthened, and our admiration kindled; but we read it without that special approbation, without that peculiar reference to our own circumstances, which we feel in cases that are likely to apply to ourselves. With the dying friend we have not only a feeling of pious tenderness, but there is also a community of interests. The certain conviction that his case must soon be our own, makes it our own now. Self mixes with the social feeling, and the Christian death we are contemplating we do not so much admire as a prodigy, as propose for a model. To the martyr's stake we feel that we are not likely to be brought. To the dying bed we must inevitably come.