The Brookhaven leader., 1889-12-19

eternal, immortal" Through the in.
dulgence of the royal family tho phys
ical life degenerates, and some of the
kings have been almost imbecile, and
their bodies weak, and their blood thin
and watery; but the crimson life that
flowed upon Calvary had in it the health
of i'm mortal God.
Tell it now to all the earth and to ali
the heavens our King, is sick
with His last sickness. Let couriers car
ry the swift dispatch. His pains ars
worse; He is breathing last groan; the
King is dying; the King iG dead! 1t is
royal blood. 1t is said that some re-
ligionists make too much of the hnnaS
ity of Christ. l respond that we make
too little. If some Roman surgeon
standing under the cross, had caught one
drop of the blood on his hand and
analyzed it, it would have been found to
have the same plasma, the same disk,
the same fibrin, the same albumen. II
was Enthusiastically human blood. II
Is a man that hangs there. His
bones ate of the same materia,
10 UlHa His nerves are sensitive
like ours. If it were an angel be
ing despoiled would not feel it SO much
for it belongs to different order of be-
ings. But my Saviour is man, and my
whole sympathy is aroused. can
insgine how the spikes felt-how hot
the temples burned-what deathly sick.
Mss seized the heart-hOw mountains
and city, and mob swan away from His
dying vision-something of the mean
ing of that cry for help that makes the
blood of all ages curdle with horror
"My God! my Godl why hast thou for
saken me?' Forever with all these
scenes of a Saviour's suffering will this
city be associated. Here His unjust trial
and here His death. o, Jerusalem, Jeru,
salem!
But finally am thrilled with the fact
that this city is symbol of Heaven
which is only another Jerusalem. The
New Jerusalem!' And this thought has
kindled the Imagination of all the sacred
poets. / am glad Horatio Bonar, the
SEQ tch hymnist, rummaged among old
manuscripts of the British Museum un,
til he found that hymn in ancient SPELL
ing, parts of which we have in mutilat-
ed form in our modern hymn books, but
tho quaint power of which we do not
get in our modern versions:
Hierusalem, my happy homel
When shall come to thee?
When shall my SORROWS have an end:
Thy joyes when shall l see?
Noe dampish mist is seen i'll thee,
Noe colde nor darksOme night;
There everie soule shines as the sunne,
There God himselfe gives light.
The walls are made of precious stones
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;
Thy gates are of right orient peArle.
Exceeding richie and rare
Thy turrettes and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles doe shine;
Thy vcrrie streets are paved with gould.
Surpassingc cleare and fine.
Thy houses are of yvorie,
Thy windows crystal cleare;
Thy tyles are made of beaten gould,
O, God! that were there.
Our sweete is MKT with bitter gaule.
Our pleasure Is but paine;
Our jOyes scarce last the lookeing on,
Our sorrows stllle RENAME.
But there they lived in such delight
Such pleasure and such play.
As that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.
Thy garden and thy gallant wakes
Continually are greene;
There grow such sweets and pleasant
flowers
AS nowhere else are scene.
There trees for evermore beare fruite
And evermore doe syringe;
There evermore the angels sit,
And evermore doe SINCE.
Hierusalem my happy homet
Would God were in theei
Would God my woes were at du end,
Thy joyes that might see.