hast seen thyself a wretch, deserving hell, and hast discovered that all thou dost want is in Christ, and art really willing to accept of it as the gift of God, and to submit your whole body, soul, and spirit to God in Christ, for life and for death, for time and for eternity, for sanctification as well as for justification, to live in Him and for Him, and in entire dependence on Him, then thou art a Christian, and then the comforts of the Gospel are thine, the witnessings of the Spirit are thine, the ordinances, and especially the Supper of the Lord are thine, and in rejecting them thou art "provoking the Lord to jealousy."

It is a terrible thought, and as true as it is terrible, that a man may still be guilty of crucifying Christ, and bring down upon his soul the fearful guilt of His blood. It is related of Clodoveyus, a king of France, that when he was converted from Paganism to Christianity, while Rhemigius, the bishop, was reading in the gospel concerning the passion of our Saviour, and the abuses He suffered from Judas and the rest of the Jews, he broke out in these words: "O that I had been there with my Frenchmen, I would have put them all to the

sword;" forgetting all the while that by his daily sins he was doing just what they had done. And thus it is, the most of men, all sinful men, condemn the crucifiers of Christ for their cruelty, but never look into themselves, who, by their daily sins, make Him bleed again afresh. The proud man plaits a crown of thorns for His sacred head; the swearer nails His hands and feet; the drunkard gives Him gall and vinegar to drink; the envious man smites Him; the treacherous man sells Him; our hypocrisy is the kiss that betrays Him; the sins of our bodies are the tormentors of His body; and the sins of our souls make His soul heavy unto death; and cause him to remember afresh the withdrawing of His Father's love from Him, when in the heaviness of His anguished soul He cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

And if in all these ways men may crucify the Son of God afresh, and put Him to an open shame, with what bolder and more profane hand do they crucify the Son of God, and put Him to open shame, who set at naught that blessed ordinance in which Christ is so evidently "set before us crucified and slain ?"-who turn away

If

from Him, as He himself stands at the head of His own table, and pointing them to His thorncrowned, bleeding brow, and to His pierced hands and feet and side, in accents of divine compassion says, "Come unto Me and I will give you rest. Do this in remembrance of Me. ye love Me keep My commandments. For as oft as ye eat this bread and drink this wine, ye do show the Lord's death till He come." Oh, my dear reader, is it not manifest that to set at naught such words of love, and such commands of your dying Saviour, is to assume to yourself the guilt of His death, the vengeance for which His blood cries aloud, and madly shouting with His enemies, "Away with Him! away with Him! crucify Him! crucify Him!"-impiously crucify Christ afresh, and put Him to an open shame.

Come to His

Come then, oh, come to Him. church. Come to His ordinances.

Come to His table. "Only believe," receive and embrace Him, and He will "be made, of God, to your soul, wisdom and righteousness and sanctification and redemption."

Come with me, reader, unto yonder humble dwelling. There has just entered the cele

brated Dr. Chalmers. The scene is a low, dirty hovel, over whose damp and uneven floor it is difficult to walk without stumbling, and into which a small window, coated with dust, admits hardly enough of light to enable an eye unaccustomed to the gloom, to discern a single object. A poor old woman, bed-ridden, and almost blind, who occupies a miserable bed opposite the fireplace, is the object of the Doctor's visit. Seating himself by her side, he enters at once, after a few general inquiries as to her health, &c., into religious conversation with her. Alas! it seems all in vain. The mind which he strives to enlighten has been so long closed and dark, that it appears impossible to thrust into it a single ray of light. Still, on the part of the woman, there is an evident anxiety to lay hold upon something of what he is telling her; and encouraged by this, he perseveres, plying her, to use his own expression, with the offers of the gospel, and urging her to trust in Christ. At length she said, "Ah! sir, I would fain do as you bid me, but I dinna ken how; how can I trust in Christ?" "Oh, woman," was his expressive answer, in the dialect of the district, "just lippen to Him." "Eh, sir," was the reply, "and is that a'?"

"Yes, yes," was his gratified response; "just lippen to Him, and lean on Him, and you'll never perish." To some, perhaps, this language may be obscure, but to that poor dying woman, it was as light from heaven; it guided her to the knowledge of the Saviour, and there is good reason to believe it was the instrument of ultimately conducting her to heaven. And so, dear reader, will it guide you. It is not easy to give an English equivalent for the word. "lippen." It expresses the condition of a person who, entirely unable to support or protect himself, commits his interests, or his life, to safe-keeping of some person or object. Thus, a man crossing a chasm on a plank, lippens to the plank; and if it give way, he can do nothing for himself. The term implies, therefore, entire dependence, under circumstances of risk helplessness. As lost and helpless, let me entreat you then, to accept the offer of Christ's hand, Christ's help, Christ's guidance, Christ's deliverance, Christ's all-sufficiency, Christ's promise, and Christ's ordinances, and "just lippen to him," and you will be borne safely over the roaring gulf of perdition, and planted on the rock of ages.