lead us through life, down to the banks of the Jordan; He will lead us across the dark river into His kingdom. He is a tender, loving Shepherd.

I sometimes meet people in the anxious enquiry room who are nourishing hard, bitter feelings against God, generally because they have been afflicted. A mother said to me the other day, "Ah, Mr. Moody, God has been unjust to me; He has come and taken away my child." Dear, afflicted mothers, has God not removed your children to a pure and happy life? You may not understand it now, but you will by-and-by. He wants to lead you up there.

A friend of mine, who had been in Eastern lands, told me he saw a shepherd who wanted his flock to cress a river. He went into the water himself and called them; but no, they would not follow him into the water. What did he do? Why, he girded up his loins, and lifted a little lamb under each arm, and plunged right into the stream, and crossed it without even looking back. Whenever he lifted the lambs, the old sheep looked up into his face and began to bleat for them; but when he plunged into the water the dams plunged after him, and then the whole flock followed. When they got to the other side he put down the lambs, and they were quickly joined by their mothers, and there was a happy meeting.

My friend says he noticed the pastures on the other side were much better and the fields greener; and on this account the shepherd was leading them across. Our great Palestine Shepherd does that. That child which He has taken from the earth is but removed to the green pastures of Canaan, and the Shepherd means to draw your hearts after it, to teach you to "set your affections on things above." When he has taken your little Mary, Edith, or Julia, accept it as a call to look upward and beyond. You, mother, are you weeping bitter tears for your little one? Do not weep! Your child has gone to the place where there is neither weeping nor sorrow. Would you have it return? Surely, never.

Christ is our Shepherd-faithful and loving. Though sickness, or trouble, or even death itself, should come to our house, and claim our dearest ones, still they are not lost, but only gone before. God help each one of us to have Him as our Shepherd.

If time permitted, I should like to take up the subject of Christ as our Justification, our Wisdom, our Righteousness, the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother; but it would take a whole eternity to tell what Christ is to His people and what He does for them.

I remember when I was preaching on this subject in Scotland, after I had done, I said to a man that "I was sorry I could not finish the subject for want of time." Finish the subject," said the Scotchman, "why, that would require all eternity, and even then it would not be complete; it will be the occupation of heaven."

9. Once more let us look at Christ as our burden-bearer. Oh, I love to think of Him as the bearer of our burdens as well as our sin.

bearer. He carries our sins, although they are more numerous than the hairs of our heads. Great and terrible as these burdens are, God has laid them all on Jesus. That aspect of His burden-bearing we have already looked at in His work as Saviour and Redeemer. I wish now to take up the sweet thought, which has been a great comfort to me.

"Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.' Glorious, is it not, to know we have such a Saviour? Can you feel that He has lifted your burden off your shoulders on to His own shoulder? Then you will feel light in heart.

On one occasion, after I had been talking this way, a woman came forward and said, "Oh, Mr. Moody, it's all very well for you to talk like that, about a light heart. But you are a young man, and if you had a heavy burden like me you would talk differently. I could not talk in that way, my burden is too great." I replied, "But it's not too great for Jesus." "Oh," she said, "I cannot cast it on Him." "Why not? surely it is not too great for Him. It is not that He is feeble. But it is because you will not leave it to Him. You're like many others. They will not leave it with Him. They go about hugging their burden, and yet crying out against it. What the Lord wants is you to leave it with Him, to let Him carry it for you. Then you will have a light heart, sorrow will flee away, and there will be no more sighing. What is your burden, my friend, that you cannot leave it with Christ?" She replied, "I have a son who is a wanderer on the face of the earth. None but God knows where he is.". "Cannot Christ find him, and bring him back?" "I suppose He can." "Then go and tell Jesus, and ask Him to forgive you for doubting His power and willingness; you have no right to mistrust Him." She went away much comforted, and I believe she ultimately had her wandering boy restored to her!

This circumstance reminds me of a pious father and mother in our country, whose eldest son had gone to Chicago to a situation. A neighbour of theirs was in the city on some business, and he met the young man reeling along the streets drunk. He thought, "How am I to tell his parents?" When he returned to his village, he went and called out the father, and told him. It was a terrible blow to that father, but he said nothing to the mother till the little ones had all gone to rest; the servants had retired, and all was quiet in that little farm on the Western prairies. They drew up their chairs to the little drawing-room table, and then he told her the sad news. "Our boy has been seen drunk on the streets of Chicago-drunk." Ab, that mother was sorely hurt; they did not sleep much that night, but spent the hours in fervent prayer for their boy. About daybreak the mother felt an inward conviction that all would be well. She told the father "she had cast it on the Lord, had left her son with Jesus, and she felt He would save him." One week from that time the young man left Chicago, took a journey of three hundred miles into the country; and when he reached his home, he walked

in and said, "Mother, I've come home to ask you to pray for me." Ah, her prayer had reached heaven; she had cast her burden on Jesus, and He had borne it for her. He took the burden, presented her prayer sprinkled with the atoning blood, and got it answered. In two days that young man returned to Chicago rejoicing in the Saviour. What a wonderful thing it is to have Christ as our burdenbearer! How easy, how light do our cares become when cast upon Him!

Do you say Christ is nothing to you? If so, it is only because you won't have Him. He is to all who will accept Him a Saviour from death, a Redeemer from the power of sin, a Deliverer from our enemies, a Leader through the wilderness; He is the way Himself, He is Light in the darkness, He is a Teacher to His people, He is the Shepherd of His flock, our Justification, Wisdom, Righteousness, Elder Brother, Burden-bearer. He is in fact our "all in all."

WHAT SHALL I DO WITH CHRIST?

My text this evening you will find is the 22nd verse of the 27th chapter of Matthew: "What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ? "

You see, it is a personal question. It is not what some one else is going to do with Him, but" What shall I do with Jesus which is called Christ? " He has got Christ on his hands and doesn't know what to do with Him. He wants to get rid of the terrible responsibility of settling that question. He was in the same position as every sinner in London just at this present time. You can't find a man who ever stopped to think at all about eternity, but he wants to get rid of this question. If they could only get Christ out of the way they think they would have a good time of it; they could go on then and enjoy the world, and not be troubled with this question. They would not be haunted with this thought: "What am I going to do with Christ? "

Now Pilate had to settle this question, though he tried hard to get rid of the responsibility. His judgment told him that Christ was a true man, and innocent of the charges brought against Him. He examined Him, and found no fault in Him; and so he said to the Jews: "I will chastise Him and let Him go." A queer decision that to give on the man he had before him, and in whom he said he coul·l find no fault. Pilate's own heart and conscience said the man was innocent, and even his own wife sent word to him, saying, "Have thou nothing to do with this just person, for I have suffered much in a dream concerning Him to-night."

I believe there are hundreds here who would say in their hearts"I ought to receive Christ; I ought to take my stand on His side; I ought to be a witness for Him in this dark world, but I don't like to surrender the attractions of this world." But it is a question that all have got to settle, and it is a question, too, that must be settled by each one individually. We don't come to godly families, or communities, or in a mass, or as a nation. True, there is a time coming when a nation shall be born in a day, but then it will be a matter between God and the soul individually. Every one here to-night must decide the question on his own behalf. I believe there are hundreds of people who would say—If such and such a person would come out and accept Christ, I would come out and do so too. Yes, my friends, no doubt of it; but God does not want that. He wants us each and all to come out alone and stand up for Him in the face of the whole world. If the bulk of the people had been in favour of Christ, Pilate would not have had much difficulty in coming to a decision, and would not have had to ask the question which forms our text. But he wanted to go along with the masses; to be on the popular, or what is commonly called, the "winning side." But that won't do for God.

A great many people say, I am not going to profess to be the servant either of Christ or of Satan. But that is folly. Every man and woman in this house is on the side of the Son of God or of the Son of Perdition. Every one obeys either the voice of the Son of God or the call of the devil. There is no intermediate choice. Every one who has rejected Christ is full of sin. You cannot have the two extremes. You cannot have Christ and Satan. Now it is A FEARFUL THOUGHT that if we are not under the power of Christ, if we have not received Him into our hearts, Satan is leading us down into ruin and death.

Would to God that this solemn question might come home to every heart to-night. Judas decided what he would do with Him; he would sell Him for thirty pieces of silver. My friends, will you join Judas to-night? It is very easy to come here and listen to the preacher and join in the singing, but how many of you who do come are selling Christ every day of your lives. "Well," says the pleasureseeker, "I will not decide for Christ just yet; give me a little more pleasure. If I accept Christ I shall have to give up cards." "I won't come to Christ," says one young lady; "I want the theatre, and if I come to Christ I cannot give it up." And so they go on, refusing to decide at once for the Saviour, lest they should have to give up this or that worldly pursuit. Ah! my friends, it is easy to condemn Judas for selling Christ, but I would like to ask you worldly people here what you are doing with Him. Is He not being wounded in the house of His own friends? How many there are who would be quite willing to take Christ if with Him they could have the honour and applause of men. I do believe that if all of us who profess Christ had been redeemed in His blood, and were like Him,

and were earnest in their professions, a wonderful and mighty work of grace would break out in this great city. Nothing retards the progress of Christ's cause so much as our conformity to the world. O, professing Christian, let this question sink deep into your hearts to-night-"What will ye do with Christ?" Would you join in the cry of the mocking world, "Away with Him! crucify Him! crucify Him!" O, poor backslider, what are you doing with Christ tonight? You that once were in sweet communion with Him in the Church, and, perhaps in the Sabbath school, bringing others to His footstool, and teaching them to accept His love. Bear in mind this question-What are you doing with the Son of God?—is an awful one which comes home to your own conscience to-night.

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"What shall I do with Jesus which is called Christ?" And they cried out, "Away with Him-crucify Him, crucify Him." And the world in our day has not changed, but still cries out, Away with Him-away with Him." It has come down along the ages for 1800 years. Just go and tell the men outside about Jesus, and you will hear them say, "Away with Him." They do not want Him; they would not listen to you; they would pass over to the other side. You go into fashionable society and talk to them about Jesus, and you will soon see how your name will be struck off the list of invitations. They don't want to hear about Christ; the same cry is still heard, "Away with Him-away with Him-give us Barabbas." You may say it was a terrible thing to choose a murderer instead of Christ, but is not the world doing the same thing to-day? Are they not choosing Satan and rejecting Christ just as of old?

Bear in mind the greatest scoffer here is interested in this question. He may scoff as he likes, but that does not alter the facts, because when he comes to stand before God at the last the question will be "What did you do with Christ? What did you do with the Saviour?" That will be the great and solemn question we all must answer at the judgment-seat. God give us grace to answer the question. You had better meet Him here to-night. If you are going to receive Him come out like a man. If you are going to reject Ilim, say, I will reject Him. I do not care how soon you draw the dividing line. Those who mean to accept Him I wish they would come out and speak boldly for Him to-night. Surely, if He has redeemed us with His blood, and brought us into His own kingdom, the least thing we can do is to come out like men and take our stand by His side. Not only every infidel and sceptic who has come into this hall to-night is interested in this question, but every individual, be he who or what he may, has to answer it. I pity the man who goes down to the pit from this England, from this glorious Gospel land where Christ had been pressed on you all. Ah! my friends, England is a land exalted to heaven with privileges, and that makes this question, which every one here to-night has to answer, a still more solemn one. I would like to ask every one of you pleasureseekers, "What are you going to do with Christ? I never knew a