mouth.' He uttered not a single sentence capable of being construed into a confession of guilt, or a consciousness of defilement. He often alluded to his poverty, rejection, and sufferings; and oftener still to the subject of sin, in a variety of forms; but he breathed not a word which could be construed into an intimation that he considered himself less than a being of unsullied purity. On the contrary, he challenged his enemies (and he had but few friends) to convict him of a single sin. The prince of this world came, and found nothing in him; no single thought or feeling which responded to temptation, or disposed him for a moment to yield to it. He lived for years, and was actively employed in a world in which every condition has its peculiar temptations, so that of all the myriads who have ever inhabited it, not one has escaped the pollution of sin. But, like the sunbeam, which remains uncontaminated whatever the object on which it may shine, the Savior emerged from this region of guilt, and re-entered the portals of heaven, as pure and unspotted as when he left the bosom of the Father. It was strictly true of him to the latest moment of his continuance on earth; with perfect sincerity it might have been inscribed on his tomb; it might have been shouted with triumph as he ascended to the throne of heaven, he was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.'

·

Besides his purity, we might specify, not merely his su periority to the age in which he lived, but the absolute contrariety of his character to all existing and surrounding influences; the universality of his plans, which distinguished and left him alone in the earth: the reconciliation and union in his character of opposite excellencies, and which formed its perfection and finish. But that which sheds a prevailing hue over the whole character of Christ, and forms its principal feature, is unquestionably, benevolence.

It is that transcendental attribute, which ran through all the rest, adapting, baptizing, and turning the whole into grace. What but this could have induced his purity to tabernacle in the midst of sin? it was by no means an indifferent act to him; he suffered, being tempted,' suffered in proportion to the perfection of his holiness, and the depth of his aversion to sin; but though his residence in an atmosphere of sin was revolting to his purity, though the presence of depravity made his continuance here a perpetual sacrifice, his love induced him to submit, induced him so intimately to associate with the ungodly, that one of his characteristic names became, the friend of publicans. and sinners.'

We have said that his character was not only superior to all existing and surrounding influences, but quite distinct from them. Others are more or less affected by the circumstances in which they are brought up; however superior to external influences they may appear, they cannot escape entirely the spirit of the age; they hold communion, and enjoy sympathy, with those around them. But the character of Christ had in it nothing local, temporary, or common. It appeared in the world entire, independent, and unique. It was formed for a world which had lost the original pattern of goodness, and had sunk into a state of universal selfishness; the whole of his history therefore is a history of the sacrifice of selfish feelings; his life was calculated and constructed on the principle of a laborious endeavorer to imbue the world with the lost spirit of benevolence, to baptize it afresh in the ele▾ ment of love.

The universality of his plans, which left him without any contemporaneous sympathy, must also be resolved into the same principle. He loved man as man, he came to be the light and life of the world. His benevolence could not

endure the thought of a single human being perishing; his heart had room for the whole race; and he could not be satisfied with less than a universal offer of mercy.

And benevolence is the principle which harmonized in him the most contrasted qualities. In his mysterious person it had brought into union time and eternity, heaven and earth; and in his character it blended majesty such as God before had never displayed, with meekness such as man before had never shown. Dignity, in him, was not terror, for he clothed it with a condescension which had before been thought inconsistent with greatness. Temperance and self-denial, with him, were not darkened with austerity, but came softened and recommended by gentleness and suavity. In him were united an indignant sensibility to sin, with weeping compassion for the sinner; the splendors of more than an angelic nature, with the humility of a little child; a resolved perseverance in the path of duty which no array of dangers could deter, with a heart so attuned to compassion that the faintest appeal of misery arrested his progress as with the power of omnipotence, and made him stand still. While he seemed to do every thing for the future, he yet neglected nothing proper to the present; while he held himself ready to embrace the mightiest plans, and evinced a consciousness that he stood related to the whole species, he yet stooped, without trifling, to the smallest circumstance. Like the Almighty Father, sustaining the worlds, yet stooping to succor the falling bird; he one moment conversed with celestial visitants, and the next he listened to the lispings of infant praise, or meekly bore the obtuseness of his disciples. He, who received the homage of angels, and had all their legions at command, sees wealth in the tribute of a sinful woman's tears, and finds the sweetest music in the dying thanks of the guilty malefactor. Having driven demons

from his presence with an awful rebuke, he takes up little children to his heart; and they feel in his looks the security of home, and in his tones an assurance of love which makes them reluctant to leave his arms, even for the welcome of a mother's bosom. Having pourtrayed the judgment of the last day, and clothed himself with thunder as the central object of the awful scene, he follows the first beck of misery, or turns aside to weep over the hardness of human hearts. Having proclaimed himself' the resurrection and the life;' how easily does he descend from his dignity to mingle his tears with the bereaved mourners! Universal philanthropy did not impair his sensibility to the pleasures of private friendships and domestic intercourse; nor did the momentous interests which pressed on his soul in the crisis of the world's redemption prevent him from thinking of his filial relation, and tenderly providing for a mother's comfort. Never was there a character at the same time so magnificent and unlabored; so conscious of greatness, and so unostentatiously simple; so full of inspiration to the good, and so free from terror; so replete with encouragement to the outcast penitent. In his character met the whole constellation of the virtues, each one made brighter by contrast: but one overpowering sentiment softened and subjected them all to itself; one all-pervading law gave unity and harmony to his most opposite actions ; interpreting all his words and looks; preventing him, even in the most critical situations, from being at variance with himself, or falling below his professed object—and that sentiment, that law, was love.

In the history of his miracles, we see almighty power itself consenting to be led by love, and consecrated to its service. Had he only intended to produce impressions of his majesty, or prove the divinity of his mission, he might perhaps have accomplished this sooner by appealing to

our fears in miracles of terror and destruction. But the object he aimed at, and the truths he taught, were both of a benevolent nature; and the miracles he performed in confirmation of those truths partook of the same character. He refused but one application to his miraculous power; when his disciples rashly desired that fire might descend from heaven on their enemies; but he reminded them that he came not to destroy men's lives, but to save them.' On the night of his apprehension, he touched the wound of an enemy and healed it; for with him, power and kindness were the same thing. Wherever he came, disease and suffering fled from his presence. His path might be traced from place to place in lines of life, and health, and joy. Where he was expected, the public way was thronged with forms of helplessness, disease, and woe. Where he had passed, the restored might be seen, making trial of their new-found powers; listeners, formed into groups to hear the tale of healing; and the delighted objects of his compassion, rehearsing, with earnestness, what had passed, imitating his tones, and even trying to convey an idea of his condescending ways. His voice was the first sound which many of them heard; his name the first word they had pronounced; his blessed form the first sight they had ever beheld. And often, at the close of a laborious day, when his wearied frame required repose, the children of affliction besieged his retreat, and implored his help. And did they ever seek in vain! Wearied and worn as he was, 'he pleased not himself;' he went forth, and patiently listened to all their tales of woe, tasted their several complaints, raised each suppliant from the dust, nor left them till he had absorbed their sufferings, and healed them all. He went through the land like a current of vital air, an element of life, diffusing health and joy wherever he appeared. Had the spiritual object of his advent permitted