_Christ is a fruitful tree_. "The tree is known by his fruit. Men do not gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles. Every good tree bringeth forth good fruit, and every evil tree bringeth forth evil fruit." This is a singular, supernatural tree. Though its top reaches to the Heaven of heavens, its branches fill the universe, and bend down to the earth, laden with the precious fruits of pardon, and holiness, and eternal life. On the day of Pentecost, we see them hang so low over Jerusalem, that the very murderers of the Son of G.o.d reach, and pluck, and eat, and three thousand sinners feast on more than angels' food.

That was the feast of first-fruits. Never before was there such a harvest and such a festival. Angels know nothing of the delicious fruits of the tree of redemption. They know nothing of the joy of pardon, and the spirit of adoption. The Bride of the Lamb alone can say:-"As the apple-tree among the trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow, with great delight, and his fruit was sweet, to my taste. He brought me also to his banqueting-house, and his banner over me was love."

These blessings are the precious effects of Christ's mediatorial work; flowing down to all believers, like streams of living water. Come, ye famishing souls, and take, without money, and without price. All things are now ready. "The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, both new, and old." Here is no scarcity. Our Elder Brother keeps a rich table in our Father's house. Hear Him proclaiming in the streets of the city, in the chief places of concourse:-"Come to the festival. There is bread enough, and to spare.

My oxen, and my fatlings are killed. My board is spread with the most delicious delicacies-wine on the lees well refined, and fruits such as angels never tasted."

_Christ is a tree of protection to His people_. This cedar not only beautifies the forest, but also affords shade, and shelter for the fowls of the air. We have the same idea in the parable of the mustard-seed, "The birds of the air came and lodged in the branches thereof." This is the fulfilment of the promise concerning Shiloh, "To Him shall the gathering of the people be." It is the drawing of sinners to Christ, and the union of believers with G.o.d. "All fowl of every wing." Sinners of every age, and every degree-sinners of all languages, colours, and climes-sinners of all principles, customs, and habits-sinners whose crimes are of the blackest hue-sinners carrying about them the savour of the brimstone of h.e.l.l-sinners deserving eternal d.a.m.nation-sinners perishing for lack of knowledge-sinners pierced by the arrows of conviction-sinners ready to sink under the burden of sin-sinners overwhelmed with terror and despair-are seen flying to Christ as a cloud, and as doves to their windows-moving to the ark of mercy before the door is shut-seeking rest in the shadow of this goodly cedar!

Christ is the sure defence of His Church. A thousand times has she been a.s.sailed by her enemies. The princes of the earth have set themselves in array against her, and h.e.l.l has opened upon her all its batteries. But the Rock of Ages has ever been her strong fortress, and high tower. He will never refuse to shelter her from her adversaries. In the time of trouble He shall hide her in His pavilion; in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide her. When the heavens are dark, and angry, she flies, like the affrighted dove, to the thick branches of the "Goodly Cedar." There she is safe from the windy storm, and tempest. There she may rest in confidence, till these calamities be overpast. The tree of her protection can never be riven by the lightning, nor broken by the blast.

_Christ is the source of life_, _and beauty to all the trees in the garden of G.o.d_. Jehovah determined to teach "the trees of the forest" a new lesson. Let the princes of this world hear it, and the proud philosophers of Greece and Rome. "I have brought down the high tree, and exalted the low tree-I have dried up the green tree, and made the dry tree to flourish." Many things have occurred, in the providence of G.o.d, which might ill.u.s.trate these metaphors; such as the bringing of Pharaoh down to the bottom of the sea, that Israel might be exalted to sing the song of Moses; and the drying up of the pride, and pomp of Haman, that Mordecai might flourish in honour, and esteem. But for the most transcendent accomplishment of the prophecy, we must go to Calvary.

There is the high tree, brought down to the dust of death, that the low tree might be exalted to life eternal; the green tree dried up by the fires of Divine wrath, that the dry tree might flourish in the favour of G.o.d for ever.

To this, particularly, our blessed Redeemer seems to refer, in His address to the daughters of Jerusalem, as they follow Him, weeping, to the place of crucifixion. "Weep not for me," saith He. "There is a mystery in all this, which you cannot now comprehend. Like Joseph, I have been sold by my brethren; but like Joseph, I will be a blessing to all my Father's house. I am carrying this cross to Calvary, that I may be crucified upon it between two thieves; but when the lid of the mystical ark shall be lifted, then shall ye see that it is to save sinners I give my back to the smiters, and my life for a sacrifice. Weep not for me, but for yourselves, and your children; for if they do these things in the green tree, what shall be done in the dry? I am the green tree to-day; and, behold, I am consumed, that you may flourish. I am the high tree, and am prostrated that you may be exalted."

The fire-brands of Jerusalem had well-nigh kindled to a flame of themselves, amid the tumult of the people, when they cried out, "Away with Him! Crucify Him! His blood be on us, and on our children!" O wonder of mercy! that they were not seized and consumed at once by fire from heaven! But He whom they crucify prays for them, and they are spared. Hear His intercession:-"Father, forgive them! save these sinners, ready for the fire. On me, on me alone, be the fierceness of Thy indignation. I am ready to drink the cup which Thou hast mingled, I am willing to fall beneath the stroke of Thy angry justice. I come to suffer for the guilty. Bind me in their stead, lay me upon the altar, and send down fire to consume the Sacrifice!"

It was done. I heard a great voice from heaven:-"Awake, O sword, against my Shepherd! Kindle the flame! Let off the artillery!" Night suddenly enveloped the earth. Nature trembled around me. I heard the rending of the rocks. I looked, and lo! the stroke had fallen upon the high tree, and the green tree was all on fire! While I gazed, I heard a voice, mournful, but strangely sweet, "My G.o.d! my G.o.d! why hast Thou forsaken me? My heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws.

One may tell all my bones. Dogs have compa.s.sed me about; strong bulls of Bashan have beset me. They stare at me; they gape upon me with their mouths; they pierce my hands and my feet. Deliver my soul from the lions; my darling from the power of the dogs!"

"It is finished!" O with what majestic sweetness fell that voice upon my soul! Instantly the clouds were scattered. I looked, and saw, with unspeakable wonder, millions of the low trees shooting up, and millions of the dry trees putting forth leaves, and fruit. Then I took my harp, and sang this song:-"Worthy is the Lamb! for He was humbled that we might be exalted; He was wounded that we might be healed; He was robbed that we might be enriched; He was slain that we might live!"

Then I saw the beam of a great scale; one end descending to the abyss, borne down by the power of the Atonement; the other ascending to the Heaven of heavens, and lifting up the prisoners of the tomb. Wonderful scheme! Christ condemned for our justification; forsaken of His Father, that we might enjoy His fellowship; pa.s.sing under the curse of the law, to bear it away from the believer for ever! This is the great scale of Redemption. As one end the beam falls under the load of our sins, which were laid on Christ; the other rises, bearing the basket of mercy, full of pardons, and blessings, and hopes. "He who knew no sin was made sin for us"-that is His end of the beam; "that we might be made the righteousness of G.o.d in Him"-this is ours. "Though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor,"-there goes His end down; "that we, through His poverty, might be rich,"-here comes ours up.

O sinners! ye withered and fallen trees, fuel for the everlasting burning, ready to ignite at the first spark of vengeance! O ye faithless souls! self-ruined and self-condemned! enemies in your hearts by wicked works! we pray you, in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to G.o.d! He has found out a plan for your salvation-to raise up the low tree, by humbling the high, and save the dry tree from the fire, by burning up the green.

He is able to put, at the same time, a crown of glory on the head of the law, and a crown of mercy on the head of the sinner. One of those hands which were nailed to the cross blotted out the fiery handwriting of Sinai, while the other opened the prison-doors of the captives. From the mysterious depths of Messiah's sufferings flows the river of the waters of life. Eternal light rises from the gloom of Gethsemane. Satan planted the tree of death on the grave of the first Adam, and sought to plant it also on the grave of the second; but how terrible was his disappointment and despair, when he found that the wrong seed had been deposited there, and was springing up into everlasting life! Come! fly to the shelter of this tree, and dwell in the shadow of its branches, and eat of its fruit, and live!

To conclude:-Is not the conversion of sinners an object dear to the hearts of the saints? G.o.d alone can do the work. He can say to the north, Give up; and to the south, Keep not back. He can bring His sons from afar, and His daughters from the ends of the earth. Our Shiloh has an attractive power, and to Him shall the gathering of the people be.

Pray, my brethren, pray earnestly, that the G.o.d of all grace may find them out, and gather them from the forest, and fish them up from the sea, and bring them home as the shepherd brings the stray lambs to the fold.

G.o.d alone can catch these "fowl of every wing." They fly away from us.

To our grief they often fly far away, when we think them almost in our hands; and then the most talented and holy ministers cannot overtake them. But the Lord is swifter than they. His arrows will reach them and bring them from their lofty flight to the earth. Then He will heal their wounds, and tame their wild nature, and give them rest beneath the branches of the "Goodly Cedar."

The following is so characteristic that, although it is in circulation as a tract, it shall be quoted here; it has been called-

A SERMON ON THE WELSH HILLS.

HE once preached from the text, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock."

"Oh, my dear brethren," he said, "why will you pay no attention to your best Friend? Why will you let Him stand knocking, night and day, in all weathers, and never open the door to Him? If the horse-dealer, or cattle-drover came, you would run to open the door to him, and set meat, and drink before him, because you think to make money by him-the filthy lucre that perishes in the using. But when the Lord Jesus stands knocking at the door of your heart, bringing to you the everlasting wealth, which He gives without money, and without price, you are deaf, and blind; you are so busy, you can't attend. Markets, and fairs, and pleasures, and profits occupy you; you have neither time, nor inclination for such as He. Let Him knock! Let Him stand without, the door shut in His face, what matters it to you? Oh, but it does matter to you.

"Oh, my brethren! I will relate to you a parable of truth. In a familiar parable I will tell you how it is with some of you, and, alas!

how it will be in the end. I will tell you what happened in a Welsh village, I need not say where. I was going through this village in early spring, and saw before me a beautiful house. The farmer had just brought into the yard his load of lime; his horses were fat, and all were well to do about him. He went in, and sat down to his dinner, and as I came up a man stood knocking at the door. There was a friendly look in his face that made me say as I pa.s.sed, 'The master's at home; they won't keep you waiting.'

"Before long I was again on that road, and as soon as I came in sight of the house, there stood the same man knocking. At this I wondered, and as I came near I saw that he stood as one who had knocked long; and as he knocked he listened. Said I, 'The farmer is busy making up his books, or counting his money, or eating, and drinking. Knock louder, sir, and he will hear you. But,' said I, 'you have great patience, sir, for you have been knocking a long time. If I were you I would leave him to-night, and come back to-morrow.'

"'He is in danger, and I must warn him,' replied he; and knocked louder than ever.

"Some time afterwards I went that way again, and there still stood the man, knocking, knocking, knocking. 'Well, sir,' said I, 'your perseverance is the most remarkable I ever saw! How long do you mean to stop?'

"'Till I can make him hear,' was his answer; and he knocked again.

"Said I, 'He wants for no good thing. He has a fine farm, and flocks, and herds, and stack-yards, and barns.'

"'Yes,' he replied, 'for the Lord is kind to the unthankful, and the evil.'

"Then he knocked again, and I went on my way, wondering at the goodness, and patience of this man.

"Again I was in those parts. It was very cold weather. There was an east wind blowing, and the sleety rain fell. It was getting dark, too, and the pleasantest place, as you all know, at such a time, is the fireside. As I came by the farm-house I saw the candle-light shining through the windows, and the smoke of a good fire coming out of the chimney. But there was still the man outside-knocking, knocking! And as I looked at him I saw that his hands, and feet were bare, and bleeding, and his visage as that of one marred with sorrow. My heart was very sad for him, and I said, 'Sir, you had better not stand any longer at that hard man's door. Let me advise you to go over the way to the poor widow.

She has many children, and she works for her daily bread; but she will make you welcome.'

"'I know her,' he said. 'I am with her continually; her door is ever open to me, for the Lord is the husband of the widow, and the father of the fatherless. She is in bed with her little children.'

"'Then go,' I replied, 'to the blacksmith's yonder. I see the cheerful blaze of his smithy; he works early, and late. His wife is a kind-hearted woman. They will treat you like a prince.'

"He answered solemnly, '_I am not come to call the righteous_, _but sinners to repentance_.'

"At that moment the door opened, and the farmer came out, cursing, and swearing, with a cudgel in his hand, with which he smote him, and then angrily shut the door in his face. This excited a fierce anger in me. I was full of indignation to think that a Welshman should treat a stranger in that fashion. I was ready to burst into the house, and maltreat him in his turn. But the patient stranger laid his hand upon my arm, and said, 'Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.'

"'Sir,' I exclaimed, 'your patience, and your long-suffering are wonderful; they are beyond my comprehension.'

"'The Lord is long-suffering, full of compa.s.sion, slow to anger, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.'

And again he knocked, as he answered me.

"It was dark; the smithy was closed; they were shutting up the inn, and I made haste to get shelter for the night, wondering more, and more at the patience, and pity of the man. In the public-house I learned from the landlord the character of the farmer, and, late as it was, I went back to the patient stranger and said, 'Sir, come away; he is not worth all this trouble. He is a hard, cruel, wicked man. He has robbed the fatherless, he has defamed his friend, he has built his house in iniquity. Come away, sir. Make yourself comfortable with us, by the warm fireside.

This man is not worth saving.' With that he spread his bleeding palms before me, and showed me his bleeding feet, and his side which they had pierced; and I beheld it was the Lord Jesus.

"'Smite him, Lord!' I cried in my indignation; 'then perhaps he will hear thee.'

"'Of a truth he _shall_ hear me. In the day of judgment he shall hear me when I say, Depart from me, thou worker of iniquity, into everlasting darkness, prepared for the devil and his angels.' After these words I saw Him no more. The wind blew, and the sleety rain fell, and I went back to the inn.

"In the night there was a knocking at my chamber. 'Christmas _bach_!'

{410} cried my landlord, 'get up! get up! You are wanted with a neighbour, who is at the point of death!'

"Away I hurried along the street, to the end of the village, to the very farm-house where the stranger had been knocking. But before I got there, I heard the voice of his agony: 'Oh, Lord Jesus, save me! Oh, Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me! Yet a day-yet an hour for repentance! Oh, Lord, save me!'

"His wife was wringing her hands, his children were frightened out of their senses. 'Pray! pray for me!' he cried. 'Oh, Christmas _bach_, cry to G.o.d for _me_! He will hear _you_; _me_! He will not hear!' I knelt to pray; but it was too late. He was gone."