their sorrows, and to inspire them with joy-he had blessed truths to announce to them, in relation to another mode of intercourse with the earth and himself, viz: prayer.

66 Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my name." Up to this time, they had not besought God through him, as the Mediator, but they had directly applied to him. But, now, he announces to them the new and animating truth, that, from and after his crucifixion, their requests were to be made to God in his name. Immediately following that event, "I will see you," says he, v. 22; "and in that day," or from that time, "ye shall ask me nothing," but ask the Father in my name. "At that day," and forward, "ye shall ask in my name: and I say not unto you that I will pray the Father for you." In several instances, he had said he would pray for them indeed, he had, on this point, given them already such assurances, that further declarations were unnecessary. "I do not say I will pray for you :" there is no need of my repeating this assurance; and, besides, the Father himself loves you so well, that whatever you shall ask, he will grant you for my sake, and because of your love

to me.

Such was the valedictory discourse of the Redeemer to his disciples, touching their future intercourse with the Father and himself, by means of prayer. And there is not, and there never was, any thing more tender and appropriate, in all the annals of time. Jesus here pours out his whole soul. He opens the bosom of Infinite Love. He gives assurances of the most friendly and animating character. When he had gone up, after his crucifixion, his disciples understood the full import of his gracious words and promises: and they animated them through all their after-trials; in stripes-in imprisonments-in perils by land, and perils by sea-through life, and in death itself.

These directions and assurances of Jesus were not designed to be limited to his disciples, to whom they were

originally addressed, but to extend, in all their significancy and value, to such as "should believe on his name." Jesus is, at this present time, an Advocate and Intercessor in behalf of his people, and will so continue till the work of redemption closes. What a blessed annunciation! What an encouragement to those who feel that their cause is weak-and not only weak, but that they personally have no power to present it! Diffident disciple of Jesus! you have a strong cause, for your cause is the cause of Jesus; and you have a strong advocate, for he has assured you that he will plead for you; and, besides, the Father himself has set his love upon you, and is himself ready to grant your request. On what possible ground, then, can you fail?

LUKE.

JESUS IN GETHSEMANE.

And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done, &c.— Luke xxii. 39-46.

DELIGHTFUL must have been that interview, which we have just done contemplating, between Jesus and his disciples. Doubtless it would have been pleasant to both, could it consistently have been prolonged. But Jesus knew that his hour was approaching. The Prince of Darkness was marshaling his forces. His betrayer had gone forth, and was gathering his assistants in the already-matured project of surrendering him to bigoted and vindictive rulers and priests.

Jesus, therefore, retired from the chamber; and, taking his course across the Cedron, invited his disciples to accompany

him. But his heart was too full not to continue to flow forth in the same tide of holy love. Discoursing to them, as they went, in the same terms of gracious endearment," he took them," it has been beautifully observed, "into a new region of truth; expatiated over fields filled with the products of infinite love; ranged over ground which they had only before beheld dimly at a distance-ground, which brought them within sight of the gate of heaven. He drew them close to himself; unbosomed to them his inmost designs; showed them his very heart, with all their names engraven there, and all their interests bound up and made one with his dearest purpose, and with the glory of the Father."

What more could he say? Nothing. Love-pure, holy, ardent love-could utter nothing more affectionate. But love could do more—and this was the last and kindest effort which even the Redeemer could make in their behalf-he could pray the Father for them. And such a prayer he now offers, as they had never heard; and such as, till then, had never gone up from earth to heaven. We cannot dwell upon it; but it was a prayer, "in which he asked with the largeness and confidence of one who felt that he was entitled to ask what he would; a prayer, in which he pleaded as if he were already standing by the altar of incense,' above, and had actually entered on his office of Intercessor there.'

They had now reached Gethsemane, whither he was designing to lead them. Here was a garden, lying on the western slope of the mount of Olives, and from which the "Holy City" was in full view. He had often been there: indeed, it was his accustomed retreat, when he wished to retire from the world; or, when sad and depressed, he sought relief by contemplation, and intercourse with heaven.

They had been in the garden but a short time, before a

* The prayer, to which reference is here made, the reader will find in John xvii. The fifteenth and sixteenth chapters are occupied with Christ's valedictory discourse, uttered, it is supposed, while on his way to the garden, and was followed by this prayer before he entered.

sudden and surprising change came over him.

That heavenly calmness-that divine serenity which he had manifested during the evening, gave way to forebodings the most painful to agony the most intense. "My soul," he exclaims, "is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me."

The evangelists are remarkable, as is well known, for the simplicity of their narrative. They use no embellishments; they seem intentionally to avoid all emotion, and relate events as if they had no personal interest in them. And yet, from their simple statement, who has not inferred that the anguish and agony of the Redeemer were not most remarkable?

How shall we account for his horror-his dismay—“ his strong crying, and tears?—for that "agony," which brought a bloody sweat upon his body, and which fell in drops to the ground? "In the ordinary course of human affairs, an innocent man, of common fortitude," it has been observed, "resigns himself, with acquiescence, to his fate: his integrity supports him. Hence, many illustrious and virtuous men, in the heathen world, supported by the native fortitude of the human mind, poured contempt upon all the forms of death, and departed with magnanimity and with glory. In the early times of the Christian Church, the first disciples followed their Lord in a path that was marked with blood." Even tender females braved the rage of the enemy, and the fires of the tormentor, and, with triumph, embraced every species of sufferings which human ingenuity could inflict.

But Jesus trembles, and stands aghast! Wherefore this, when his death, though painful and severe, is to prove so glorious-and to be fraught with blessings upon a world, while that world shall last?

There was reason for all he felt, and for all he expressed. He had a cup of suffering to drink, from which he might well shrink. Bodily suffering! that he could endure. The taunts and mockings of his enemies! those he could sustain.

But the assaults of Satan, now unbroken-for it was his hour-who could support them? But, far more than these, a sense of the Father's wrath, added to the crushing weight of a world's entire guilt-such a load was rolling on towards him, and he unsupported-only a few friends around him— and they now-strange to tell!-on the verge of sleep, and soon to be scattered! Who would not be " sore amazed?"

"My soul," said he—and who can wonder at the exclamation?" my soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death." He felt, evidently, that he should not be able to sustain the trial through which he was going to pass. The incumbent cloud had a density and a blackness, which so oppressed his soul, that he verily believed that he should be crushed. Where, then, would be the purposes of Infinite Mercy? What would become of a race of sinners, for whom he was about to die? What a pall would be spread over a world of spiritual darkness! And would not some harps cease their heavenly strains, even in the temple of glory itself!

In such an extremity, what should he do? There was one resort. Though the Father was hiding his face, and was calling unto the sword of his justice to smite, he could and would seek unto Him. Selecting, therefore, his three most confidential disciples, he retires to another part of the garden; where, leaving them, he directs them to tarry and watch with him, while he should proceed a little further, and pray.

Until now, there had been no such spectacle on earth. He, who, but a little before, on the mount of Transfiguration, had reassumed the glory which he had with the Father, before the foundation of the world-He, who had been favored with the presence of Moses and Elias from the mansions of immortality—who had slept in tranquillity amid the storm-who had said to the raging billows, "Peace, be still!"—and who had entered the chambers of death, and called back to life the tenant of the grave!"