Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1892-07-07

...a, Jesus the God.
Was there anything before or since,
ANYTHING to be compared to this spec
tacle of generosity and woe? Did heart
strings ever snap with worse torture:
Were tears ever charged with heavier
grief? Did blood ever grsh, in each glob-
ule the price of soul? The wave OF
earthly malice dashed its bloody foam
against one foot, the wave Of internal
malice dashed against his other foot,
while the storm of Gods wrath against
sin beat on his thorn pierced brow, and
all the hosts of darkness with cleaning
lances rampages through his holy soul.
Oh, see the dethronement of heavens
king! the conoueror fallen from the
white horse! the massacre of a God!
Weep, ye who have tears, over the lone
illness of bis exile and the horrors OF MS
darkness. Christ sacrificed on the funeral
pvre of a worlds transgression; the
good for the bad, the great for the
mean; the infinite for the finite, the
God for the man. Oh, if there be IN all
this audience one person untouched by
this story of the Saviour's love, show me
where he is that may mark the mon
ster of ingratitude and of crime. If you
could see Christ as he is You would rise
from Your seat and fling yourselves
down at his feet, crying, "My Lord, my
light, my love, my joy, my peace, my
strength, my expectation, my heaven,
my all! Jesus! jesus"
HE HAS DONE ENOUGH.
Oh. can you not love him? Dc you
want more Of his tears: Why, he has
shed them all for you. He has no more.
Do YOU want more of his blood? His
arteries were emptied dry, and the iron
hand of agony could press out nothing
more. Would you put him to worse ex-
cruciation? Then drive another nail
into his hand, and plunge another spear
into his side, and twist another thorn
into his crown, and lash him with an
other fame of internal torture. No,
SAYS some one; step! stop. he shall not
be smitten again. Enough the tears,
Enough the blood. Enough the torture.
Enough the agony" Enough" cries
earth. Enough" cries heaven. Aye
Enough" cries hell AT last enoash.
Oh. look at him. thy butchered Lord,
unshrouded ana ghastly as they flung
him from the tree, his wounds gaping
for bandage. Are there no hands to
close these eyes? Then let the sun go
out and there be midnight. Howl, ye
winds. and howl, ye seas. for Your Lord
is dead. Oh, what more could he have
done for you and FOR me than he has
done? Could he pay bigger price:
Could he drink more bitter cup: Could
he plunge into worse catastrophet And
can you not love him? Groan again. 0
blessed Jesus, that they may feel thy
sacrifice! Groan again. Put the four
fingers and the thumb of thy wounded
hand upon them. that the cash in the
palm may strike their soul and thy
warm life may bleed into them. Groan
again, 0 Jesus, and see if they will not
feel.
Oh, what will you do with such a
Christ as that? You have got to dc
something with him this morning.
What will you do with Jesus? Will you
slay him again by your sin? Will you
spit upon him again: Will you cruelty
him again? What will you do with him
who has loved you with more than a
brother love, more than fathers love,
yea, more than mothers love, through
ali these years. Oh, is it not enough to
make the hard heart of the rock break:
Jesus! Jesus. What shall we do with
thee?
THE SOULS GREAT CHANCE.