death itself. But let the pains of death be what they may-let the rending of the frame-work be however violent-let the taking down of the tabernacle be attended with whatever mortification-the pain will be taken away, the sting will be removed: every thing will be regulated by the Chief Shepherd; therefore 36 I will fear no evil.”

I will fear no mental evil. The mind is often terrified at the thought of the last struggle; we are afraid that the great enemy will come on us in our weakness, and that he will make dark suggestions to our minds. But what says the Psalmist?" I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy rod shall be with me to support me; thy staff shall be with me to comfort me." And what shall the rod be there for? Why, to beat off the enemy. And what shall the staff be there for? Why, that, amid the sinking of the flesh and the sinking of the spirit, we may have something to lean on: Thy rod and thy staff they

comfort me."

There is another evil that sometimes lies with great weight on the mind of a person in prospect of death; and that is, the effect of his death on his family, on his relatives. He sees a thousand interesting situations in which his children will need his instructions, his counsels, his prayers, his authority, his interposition; and for a moment a gloom may shoot across his spirit. But the gloom is broken, and the light of heaven irradiates the spirit; a more than mortal voice cries in his ear, "Leave thy fatherless children, and let thy widows trust in me." For remember, the Chief Shepherd does not die ; and he is not merely the Shepherd of individuals, but of the whole world; and many strange conjunctions of events can he bring about to promote the welfare of your orphan children-strange conjunctions of events by which he can do more for your bereaved relatives and friends than you could do while you were with them. Your care for your family is only a subordinate thing; it is only one link in the great chain of providential arrangements; if you are removed, the chain is not broken. You may, at death, safely transfer them to His care who never dies, and whose providence never ceases-to Him who is the Husband of the widow, and the Father of the fatherless.

There are several lessons which we may learn from the prospect of death, and from the confidence which the Christian expresses at such a time.

First, we learn that religion is the highest prudence. Prudence is one of those qualities of the mind that makes one man differ from another. You say one man is prudent, another is not. You honour the man that is prudent; you say, "The prudent man foreseeth the evil and hideth himself." Religion is the greatest prudence. Prudence is a forecasting; it is a reckoning for the future; it is a meeting futurity; it is a preparing for contingent events-making such arrangements that no event can surprise us. Religion is prudence, wisdom. It is preparing for events beyond the grave, for eternity itself. A man may be thoughtful and careful about his future success in life; but what is that, compared with the thought, and the care, and the scriptural, prudential preparation for death, and all that lies beyond. Religion is the highest wisdom, the truest philosophy, the soundest sagacity: it is seeking the greatest and best of ends, and securing it by the worthiest and most effectual means.

Secondly, the man who is prepared for this trial of passing through the valley

2

A

of the shadow of death, is prepared for every other trial. If a man does not fear death, he need not fear anything: if a man can look the last enemy in the face without dismay, he may look anything in the face without dismay: if death itself cannot frighten him, what is there that can? The man who is prepared to die, is the man who is fit to encounter all the ills of human life, all the vicissitudes of this mortal pilgrimage-the beating of the winds, and the rolling of the We sing sometimes-and truer lines never were composed in the shape

waves.

of a verse

"'Tis religion that must give
Solid pleasure while we live:
'Tis religion must supply
Solid comfort when we die."

What must I say to those who have made no preparation, who feel no confidence in the prospect of death, who banish the thought as much as they can, who are endeavouring to stifle every reflection of the sort that may haunt them. Perhaps you think preparation for death may be made just at the moment of death. Some flatter themselves that a short prayer, a simple confession, a turning at last to Jesus Christ will be sufficient. But you are not sure you will be able to do this. Disease may come, and with disease delirium may come, a delirium unfitting you for even one short prayer, or one sound reflection. Why should a man defer that which ought to be the occupation of a life, which ought to command all his powers in all their vigour-why should a man defer that to the last few abrupt moments, to his departure from time to eternity? When a man is going to any distant part of the globe-say to America-what preparation there is! How much it is talked about! How many people come together! What conversation goes on about it! What arrangements for the journey! It is a long journey, a distant journey, an eventful journey. The man talks about it; his family talks about it; his friends prepare in every conceivable way. Oh what infatuation, what stupidity, what folly it is for a man to make no preparation for this distant voyage, the voyage to eternity! Let us endeavour to live as, like David, to fear the grave as little as our bed. And I will tell you why it is the Christian need not fear. It is because Christ is there. The reason why the children of Israel went over Jordan in safety was, because the ark of the covenant made a way for them, and opened the passage into the goodly land. You are about, to-night, to commemorate the event of Jesus entering the valley of the shadow of death. He has perfumed it for his people; he has taken out the sting of it; he has broken an opening at the upper end of it, and he has let in a flood of light that is spreading itself all over the valley. You are meeting together to-night at the sacramental table to commemorate, not your own death-that has not taken place-but the death of Jesus Christ. Your death would have been a gloomy affair-a passage to hell, had he not trod the valley: but because the Shepherd hath died, laid down his life for the sheep, the sheep have the prospect of going through the valley and getting out on the other side into the land of spices.

There is no language like the Bible, no thoughts like Scripture thoughts, no sentiments like those engendered by the faith of the Gospel. "Though I walk”it is an individual affair-"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of

death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Almighty Jesus, grant that every one in this house to-night, may be able to say so, and may make their passage through the valley of the shadow of death, in the faith and the hope of the Gospel: and to his name shall be the glory. Amen.

THE WOMAN OF CANAAN.

REV. J. WILCOX, A.M.

TAVISTOCK CHAPEL, BROAD COURT, DRURY LANE, SEPTEMBER 21, 1834.

"And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil."-MATTHEW, xv. 22.

THE reality and the excellence of grace are only discovered by the strength of the tests to which they are subjected; as silver or gold is tried and purified by the fire. Hereby the sufficiency of God to support his people displays itself incontrovertibly; and the operations of the Holy Spirit in sanctifying and preparing the elect for the kingdom of heaven, are clearly seen.

This chapter, which has been read to you for the second lesson, is replete with the most important instruction. The power of Deity shines forth in a variety of instances; while the benevolence of Jesus extorts the reader's gratitude in the strongest manner. Who can peruse the detail of the interview here recorded, without, at least in a degree, entering into the circumstances of the individual, and ascribing the glory to God?

The boldness of the Saviour in reproving the spiritual pride and ignorance of the scribes and pharisees, stands conspicuous in the foreground: then follows a conspicuous statement of truth: next comes the history involved in my text: and the whole closes with an account of the miracles performed by Christ, in healing all manner of diseases that were brought unto him, and feeding an immense multitude of men, women, and children, with that which, apart from his divine character, would have been insufficient for the wants of even a very few.

Let me, however, confine your attention, on the present occasion, to the interesting female, more especially introduced in the words before us. "A woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously rexed with a devil."

Now, the first thing that presents itself here for our meditation, is, the cause of wretchedness that is developed; secondly, the application that is made; thirdly, the discouragement she has to encounter; fourthly, her perseverance; and lastly, her success. And oh that the Spirit of our God may enable me to open this subject to you, and set it before you; that through the guidance and application of the same blessed Spirit, the word may find its way into your heart, enlist your affections in the cause of God, and stir you and me up to

increased diligence, in the service of Him who is the chiefest among ten thousand.

In the first place, consider The WretchedNESS OF THE CASE NOW UNDER OUR REVIEW. No one that was capable of natural feeling, would for one moment doubt the poignancy of her sufferings. A mother; yea, and a widowed mother too: and, in addition to all her other sufferings, a mother compelled to witness the hopeless condition of her child—a daughter vexed, grievously vexed, with a devil. Physicians were in vain. She dwelt in a heathen country, where no neighbour, no priest of God, could comfort or direct her. The bitterness of her lamentation we may almost hear in her cry; "Have mercy." Poor woman; hopeless creature, as far as outward circumstances go. Oh, it is the wailing of a helpless being; of a heart racked by suffering, which she had no means to alleviate. What could she do? Far away from Jerusalem, the fame of the compassionate Jesus reached her ears, and, like Queen Esther, she resolved, come what may, to go and see the King. Yes, she probably reasoned in some such a manner as this: "If I fail, I can be no more wretched than I am; and it may be that he will take pity on me; he will relieve my heavy-laden spirit, and have compassion on my child—my daughter, my vexed, tormented daughter."

Half hoping, and, perhaps, half fearing, therefore, she goes to Jesus. She quits her home, leaves her neighbours and her kindred. But here, perhaps, it may be asked, "How came she to think of going to Christ?" Ah, brethren, have not you an answer to this question? Just as you and I thought of going to him: it was because she felt her misery; and there is no going to Christ unless we are sensible of our misery as sinners; unless we feel the extent of our iniquities, under the condemnation of God's righteous law: until we feel that there is no soundness in us; until we possess a broken heart and contrite spirit, we never shall be Christians. Mark my words; they are not hastily uttered; they are not the expressions of a moment. Long, long, have I considered, and re-considered, and more and more deeply am I convinced, that there never was a real Christian, and never will be a real Christian, unless he is brought by grace to feel his misery: then he will go like this poor wretched woman, and look for Christ. And then, when he feels his disease, he will look for a physician; and being broken-hearted, he will inquire for the Redeemer; for the Holy Spirit to enlighten and to console him. This poor woman (poor heretofore, but soon to be enriched for ever) felt her wretchedness: a stranger in a strange land, forlorn and destitute; no husband, as far as we read, to comfort her, and sympathize with her, and cheer her sorrows. No; "What can I do?" was probably the language of her mind, venting itself in such expressions as this, again and again.

But mark; a power, invisible-but the more efficacious-which on Scripture authority we call the Spirit of God, bade her go to Jesus Christ, and there we see her presenting her suit in the language of my text: "Have mercy on me Jesus, thou Son of David." This is the second point to which I would direct your attention-HER APPLICATION. Now what a marvel is here; what a wonder do we see? Nature impelled her to seek relief for her tormented child;