April 11

dient for us that he went away—that he not only died for us, but rose again—that he is exalted to be a Prince and a Saviour—that he is carrying on in heaven the same cause that brought him down to earth. There will be indeed a close to this at the end of the economy, when he will deliver up the kingdom to God, even the Father, and God shall be all in all: but at present he is leading not only a life of glory but of office, and will continue applying on the throne, the redemption he procured on the cross, till he shall appear the second time without sin unto the complete salvation of his people. It would be easy to show how the life of his people in their justification, sanctification, and glorification, depends on the living Saviour; but we see also that their life is insured and secured by his—"Because I live, ye shall live also."

The certainty of the result is founded in three principles. First, the union subsisting between him and them. Secondly, the claim he has to urge on their behalf, having suffered and died for them. And thirdly, the all-sufficiency he possesses to meet all their exigences. We cannot infer the safety and welfare of a person merely from the regard of his friend; for however intensely his friend may love him, he may be unable to succour and defend him. But the ability of the Saviour is equal to his readiness to help us. His love passeth knowledge, and has the command of unbounded resources—he is mighty to save—able to save to the uttermost those that come unto God by him. Jacob supposed Joseph was dead, but he was alive, and the prime minister of Egypt, and all the stores of the realm were at his disposal; and because he lived his family lived also. And we have an intercessor for us, an advocate with the Father, a relation who loved us so as to bleed and die for us, who has power over all flesh, who has all power in heaven and in earth, and is head over all things unto the Church, which is his body. How can we perish for want while in him all fulness dwells? In what perils can his defence fail us? "Fear not," says he, "I am the first and the last; I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death."

"How can I die while Jesus lives, Who rose and left the dead? Pardon and grace my soul receives From mine exalted Head."

APRIL 11.—"God maketh my heart soft."—Job 23:16.

WE may consider God's softening the heart three ways. There is a soft heart derived from constitution—Thus he makes the heart soft as the God of nature. There is a soft heart derived from affliction—Thus he makes the heart soft as the God of Providence. There is a soft heart derived from renovation—Thus he makes the heart soft as the God of grace.

Let us now attend to the first of these. We are fearfully and wonderfully made; and while there is a general sameness, there is also a remarkable variety in the human race naturally. It seems strange that any should deny this, and endeavour to account for every variation and inequality from the operation of causes subsequently to birth. Events and circumstances have unquestionably a

mighty influence in forming the character; and in elevating or depressing, in rousing or checking, the powers of the individual: but surely there is some difference previously to the existence or want of excitement and development. We cannot suppose that any similar mode of training would have made Johnson Shakspeare, or Shakspeare Johnson. Some are naturally bold, forward, and loquacious. Others are timid, retreating, and slow of speech. The meal out of which some are kneaded seems leavened with laudanum; while mercury seems infused into the very frame of others, and they are all vigour and motion. How unimpressible are some! It matters not where they are, all places and all scenes are nearly the same to them; they are insensible to every thing that can strike the senses, imagination, and passions. But—and you may see it in children—take others, and you find their curiosity is awakened, their fear excited, their hope inflamed, according to the quality of what comes in contact with them; and their feelings respond to every pleasing or painful occurrence.

We are not able to determine physically the cause of this constitutional sensibility; it requires far more knowledge than we possess or can probably acquire. Neither is it necessary to attempt absolutely to decide whether this softness of heart be upon the whole desirable or advantageous. We must not in this case arraign the sovereign pleasure of God, any more than in our form or our stature by saying, Why hast thou made me thus? Nor should we forget that religion adapts itself to every peculiarity of natural formation and complexion. It has scenery for the imaginative, secrets for the inquisitive, depths for the profound, argument for the reasoning, and facts for the busy and simple; it has active engagements for the daring and zealous; and retirement and gentleness for the meek; it allures some, and some it saves with fear. There is nothing also in the world purely natural, but the Maker of all things has, so to speak, balanced or qualified; levying some tax upon what is admired and envied, and connecting some redeeming quality, or some power of compensation, with every disadvantage. Certain states or qualities therefore abstractedly considered, cannot prove how much the subjects of them actually suffer or enjoy.

The tenderness of which we are speaking certainly gives a quickness to the sensations of the individual, so that he admits more misery than another; but he feels also more happiness. Such a man incurs indeed many a pang by his sensibility, but then he is capable of a thousand pleasures which others know not of. He has indeed less peace, but more enjoyment; and his exquisite indulgences, with the altercations of sadness—in which too he often feels a strange kind of satisfaction and luxury, are far better than the stagnant pool, or the dull unvarying level of dulness and unfeeling sameness. I would rather be a sensitive plant than a fungus. Who would as a traveller, be cased from head to foot in leather, to escape the inconvenience of a few gnats and briers, and lose the liberty and gratifications of the journey?

All must allow that this sensibility renders the possessor amiable. Men are commonly ashamed of being seen in tears. But true greatness is always tender and sympathetic. Homer that just observer of nature, makes no scruple to represent Ulysses—his best of