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possibly desire of our Lord's willing sufferings for our sakes, than this which the tragical scene in the garden sets before our eyes? Those tortures of body, and that exceeding sorrow and heaviness, even unto death; those agonies and earnest prayers which extorted even drops of blood, and a most vehement importunity that the bitterness of that cup, which he was then about to drink, might, if possible, pass from him : these are all indications of anguish and grief of heart, greater than can be expressed. By all these pangs our Lord has convinced us, at how dear a price he thought our souls worth purchasing." Truly he was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." (Isa. liii. 3.) Nay, more; was ever sorrow like unto his sorrow?" (Lam. i. 12.) Yet all this he endured, not for his own sake, but for ours; not for any sin which he had ever committed, for he knew no sin, but as the just punishment of our iniquities. To all this, overwhelming as it was to his human nature, he willingly and cheerfully submitted, to save us sinners, unworthy as we all are of his love, from perishing everlastingly, and to open to us the gates of eternal life. What unspeakable mercy is here displayed! What unfathomable kindness towards the sons of men! "Greater love," surely, "hath no man than this!" And have we no return to make him for this his inestimable love towards us? Shall we, as thousands do, in spite of what he has done for us, cling to our sins, which caused him such anguish? Shall we go on day by day wilfully displeasing him, and doing despite to his grace? No, brethren, that be far from us. Rather, if we have the least gratitude in us, if we be not dead to all feeling, let us, as under divine grace we may, mourn deeply over our manifold and grievous transgressions. Let us repent us of all our sins. Let us seek through his merits for mercy and for pardon. Let us resign ourselves entirely to work the will of God in all things as he has revealed it. In fact, let us ever recollect that "we are not our own; for we are bought with a price," (and oh, what a price!) and "therefore, let us glorify God in our body and in our spirit, which are God's." (1 Cor. vi. 19, 20.)

II. This, however, is not the only lesson which we may take from the history of our Lord's agony in the garden. There is much, I conceive, in his conduct on this occasion, extraordinary as the circumstances of it were, which may afford us an example, which, at least to a certain extent, we may, and therefore ought to follow. We never, of course, can be placed in a situation precisely the same as that in which we here find our blessed Lord; but still circumstances of the same kind may meet us in the course of our earthly pilgrimage. And then we may easily perceive that there is much in the transaction before us which may apply to our own case, and afford us under them a pattern for our imitation. Our great Example was here, as we have seen, placed in the deepest trouble and anguish of mind. Let us observe then what was the course he pursued.

How

1. What chiefly occupied him in this his state of distress? did he exercise himself? The answer is plain-he had recourse to prayer. "We find our Lord," observes Dr. Paley, "resorting to prayer in his last extremity; and with an earnestness, I had almost said vehemence, of devotion, proportioned to the occasion. The terms in which the evangelists describe our Lord's devotion in the

garden of Gethsemane, the evening preceding his death, are the strongest terms that could be used. As soon as he came to the place, he bid his disciples pray. When he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray, that ye enter not into temptation.' This did not content him; this was not enough for the state and sufferings of his mind. He parted even from them. He withdrew about a stone's cast and kneeled down. Hear how his struggle in prayer is described. Three times he came to his disciples, and returned again to prayer; thrice he kneeled down, at a distance from them, repeating the same words. Being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly; drops of sweat fell from his body, as if it had been great drops of blood; yet in all this, throughout the whole scene, the constant conclusion of his prayer was, 'Not my will, but thine be done.' It was the greatest occasion that ever was: the earnestness of our Lord's prayer, the devotion of his soul, corresponded with it." "Prayer with him was a refuge from the storm: almost every word he uttered during that tremendous scene was prayer; prayer the most earnest, the most urgent; repeated, continued, proceeding from the recesses of his soul; private, solitary prayer for deliverance; prayer for strength; above every thing, prayer for resignation." Now surely in all this there is much which we may, without presumption, take for our example. Scenes of deep distress await us all. It is in vain to expect to pass through this world without sooner or later falling into them. For a season, indeed, we may be permitted to be free from those agonising trials which assail the generality of mankind. But such is the character of human affairs, that few, very few continue long secured from suffering; none, however favoured they may have hitherto been, can certainly promise themselves such freedom to the end of their existence. Misfortunes of various kinds, the loss of friends, of possessions, or of health, the unkindness of others, or perhaps an overwhelming sense of guilt within ourselves; these and such as these are amongst the sorrows which often weigh down the mind, and from which none can entirely insure themselves. Should we not then all be prepared to meet such trials as these? And how can we do better than to take our blessed Saviour as our model for imitation when afflicted and overcome by suffering? Like him we should resort to prayer; to earnest, fervent, persevering prayer; to prayer, increasing in ardour and fervency in proportion to the pain and acuteness of our feelings.

And looking at the manner of our Lord's devotions at this period, we may be convinced that repetitions in prayer are not always displeasing to the Almighty. Our divine Master certainly did condemn the repetitions of the Pharisees, but that was because they fancied they should be the more favourably "heard for their much speaking." (Matt. vi. 7.) Those, in fact, were vain repetitions. Where, however, repetitions are natural and heartfelt, they are, as we see here, acceptable in the sight of our heavenly Father. It has indeed been justly noticed, that "Deep, earnest, heartfelt devotion, naturally expresses itself in repetition. Observe a person racked by excruciating bodily pain; or a person suddenly struck with the intelligence of some dreadful calamity; or a person labouring under some cutting anguish of soul; and you will always find him breaking out into ejaculations, imploring from God

Sermons on several subjects. Serm. 8.

support, mercy, relief, over and over again, uttering the same prayer in the same words. Nothing, he finds, suits so well the extremity of his sufferings, the urgency of his wants, as a continual recurrence to the same cries, in the same call for divine aid. Our Lord himself, in his last agony, affords a high example of what we are saying: thrice he besought his heavenly Father; and thrice he used the same (or nearly the same) words."* We conclude, therefore, that repetitions in prayer, when serious and springing from the heart, will find favour at the throne of grace.

On turning to the subject of our blessed Saviour's supplications in the season of his agony, we perceive that, when under severe distress, our prayer may be for deliverance. Here we see evidently that there is nothing wrong in our praying to have the cause of our suffering removed. We may pray that the cup may pass from us; we may, with St. Paul, "beseech the Lord that the thorn in the flesh" may be removed, that the " messenger of Satan may depart from us." (2 Cor. xii. 7, 8.) It is true, it may please God not to grant our requests. He may see it to be good for our souls, or for the souls of others, that our trial should continue. But still there is nothing wrong in the first instance in our seeking to be delivered.

Our prayers for deliverance, however, will be sinful if they be not accompanied, as our Lord's were, with a spirit of resignation, or at least, a desire for such a spirit. Whatever be the cause of our distress, our supplications for its removal must be mixed up with something of a feeling of submission to the Divine will, or we shall surely fall into sin. "Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done," should ever be the language of our lips, and the fixed desire of the heart.

To this we should add prayer for strength from above. Of ourselves we can do nothing. If we trust to our own power in meeting our calamities and sorrows, we shall certainly sink under them; but if, on the contrary, feeling our weakness, we apply aright for heavenly grace, we shall be sure to receive according to our need. There will not indeed "appear unto us an angel strengthening us," as was the case with our Lord; but as surely as that heavenly messenger came to him, so surely will divine strength come to us; and our Lord's grace "shall be sufficient for us," even under the most severe and trying circumstances which can assail us. (2 Cor. xii. 9.)

Moreover, let it be observed that all these remarks apply with, at least, an equal force to our last great trial. Whatever may be the fortune of our lives, one great extremity must come to all-the hour of approaching death. Through this, sooner or later, we must all pass. And what ought then to occupy us! What can then support us! We turn to our Lord's agony, and the answer again is Prayer. Prayer for deliverance from all that gives death its sting; prayer for strength; prayer for pious resignation. May we in that hour be found so doing! May it then be said of each of us, " Behold, he prayeth!"

2. One other point in our Lord's example on this occasion deserves our especial notice he shews us there that, even amidst our most severe and most overwhelming distresses, we should not be indifferent Paley's Sermons on several Subjects. Ser. 2.

*

to the distresses of others. Throughout the whole of his dreadful agony, from the beginning to the end, he never forgot his disciples. Mark how affectionately he charged them to watch! See how he returned to them again and again! Observe the kind and earnest character of his warnings. Here is an example left us, in which we may, and ought to follow his steps. It is, undoubtedly, no very easy lesson to learn, no natural task to perform; but if we would have "that mind in us which was also in Christ Jesus," we must aim at it, cost us what it will. It is most true that when we are ourselves in deep distress, we are too apt to be swallowed up in self. We do not generally like to have our attention turned to the afflictions of others. We may see this clearly enough in the case of our brethren; and we may, I fear, if we would but do what is much less agreeable-look into ourselves—as readily perceive the same in our own case. There is a natural inclination in the human heart which leads men to dwell upon their own miseries and calamities, and to forget those of others. Let us ever bear in mind that this temptation is continually besetting us; and by the help of divine grace let us seek effectually to overcome it. Let us pray to God to pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of charity, the unfeigned love of God and man, that we may deny ourselves, and endeavour, after the example of our Saviour Christ, at all seasons, to do good unto all men," in all time of our tribulation," as well as in all time of our wealth," nay, if possible, even "in the hour of death."

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In conclusion, brethren, may these our meditations on the agony of our blessed Lord help to lead us all more and more to gratitude to God; to penitence for sin; to prayer for mercy and pardon, for deliverance in life and in death; for spiritual strength, and for resignation to the divine will in all things, as well as to a more deep and constant feeling for, and interest in, the sufferings of others! So may we become more and more prepared, when all the sorrows of this fleeting world are passed away, to enter on those eternal joys which have been purchased for us by the sufferings and death of the Son of God! And that we may all come to this most happy consummation, may God of his mercy grant, through the same Jesus Christ, his Son, our Lord! Amen. D. I. E.

With Observations on the Romish Worship, and the State of Religion Abroad. No. II.

THE METROPOLITAN CHURCH OF ST. GUDULE, AT BRUSSELS. WHATEVER be the feelings with which a Protestant regards the laxity of devotion on the one hand, and the degrading superstition on the other, which characterize the Romish worship, he cannot fail to admire the perfect neatness of the churches, and the exceeding beauty of their decorations. The contrast which they present in this respect with the state of our own churches is sufficiently striking, and we may well take shame to ourselves from the comparison. Even in the poorest villages

the cleanly appearance of the church forms a delightful object of contemplation; and the visiter is forcibly reminded of the terms of warm commendation in which Jerome speaks to Nepotian of the care which he took that the altar of his church should be neat, the walls clean, the pavement polished, the sacristy well arranged, and the furniture in good repair and decent order. To this scrupulous attention, however, there is a considerable drawback, if the stranger happens to be present at the time of divine service. From their arrival to their departure the whole male congregation, and not a few of the females, keep up an incessant spitting upon the floor; nor do the priests themselves refrain from this disgusting habit, even at the foot of the altar. Possibly their filthy contributions may turn to the sexton's account in the daily cleansing of the marble pavé; but the effect upon an English stomach is sufficiently nauseating.

In turning from this remark upon the state of the continental churches in general, to a particular description of the most important of the number, those of Belgium, where the Roman-Catholic religion prevails in the full force of its bigotry and its superstitions, offer no mean claims to our curiosity and admiration. Of Brussels, the capital, St. Gudule is the Saint-Patroness; and to her, in conjunction with St. Michael, the principal church of the town is dedicated. This holy virgin, who was the daughter of a Flemish nobleman, received her education under the care of St. Gertrude, abbess of the monastery of Nivelles. She was born in the year 652, at the chateau of Ham, near Vilvorde; to which, after the death of her instructress, in 664, she returned, and lived thenceforth under her paternal roof. Though but twelve years of age, her mind was already deeply impressed with an enthusiastic ardour for religion, and she had firmly resolved to dedicate herself to the service of Christ. This resolution she faithfully kept; nor did the extreme delicacy of her constitution prevent her from the practice of the severest mortifications. Frequently she spent the whole night in prayer in the little church of St. Saviour de Morzelle; and a legend tells, that in one of her evening pilgrimages to this spot, the wind extinguished her lamp, which was instantly relighted at her prayer. Various other miracles are attributed to her agency; and, among other marvels, it is related that being once pursued by a young gallant, who was enamoured of her, she took refuge within a pillar, which had burst asunder in order to secure her from his violence. Her charity was no less remarkable than her humility; and her ample patrimony was devoted to the relief of the poor, the sick, and the afflicted. After her death, which took place on the 8th of January, 712, the most extraordinary miracles are said (and believed!) to have been worked at her tomb, which was visited by Charlemagne, who founded an abbey in the neighbourhood. During the Norman invasion, in the ninth century, and the consequent destruction of most of the monasteries, the body of St. Gudule was removed to a fortress near Liege; but the convent of Morzelle being subsequently rebuilt, it was brought back, still fresh and incorruptible, to its original resting-place. In 978 it was transferred to the church of St. Géry, at Brussels; and, from thence, in 1047, to that of St. Michael, of which she has since been the joint patroness. There is a tradition that the prince of Charcles, brother of Lothaire, king of France, was extremely curious to see the body; but