rather than his son; nay, he would have given life itself for his son’s life. For now, when he has learnt at length that that fair and favourite son had fallen by the hand of the martial but merciless Joab, “the king,” we read, “ was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!” Even Caiaphas enunciated the doctrine, though ignorant of its true bearing and unconscious of the great truth it involved, when he “gave counsel to the Jews, that it was expedient that one man should die for the people.” The sins of the whole people laid on the head of the scapegoat, the sins of the individual person transferred to the head of the sin offering,—such acts as these symbolically teach the same. When we turn to the secular classics, we find that one of the sublimest poems and simplest tragedies of antiquity is based on the doctrine of substitution ; it represents a deity suffering in the cause of humanity and on account of favours bestowed on man. Another instance, and one containing the most genuine example of conjugal affection in the old Greek drama, represents a wife giving her life a substitute for that of her husband. §o familiar was this doctrine to the ancients. The great Theban poet, with wonted power, sketches in a few stirring sentences the loyalty and love of the brave Antilochus in defence of his aged parent Nestor, the renowned knight of Pylos. Enfeebled by years and endangered by younger warriors, his horse wounded by the archery of Paris, his chariot impeded, and himself fiercely assailed by the Ethiop Memnon, the old man, in trepidation of spirit, called loudly on his son for succour; nor did he call in vain. Promptly was his call heard and heeded. ‘The faithful son proved his devotion to his sire; he hastened to his side; he defended him from the strong spear of the assailant ; he saved that sire’s life, but not without the sacrifice of his own; he rescued his parent from ruin, but received his own death-blow; he averted the fate that impended over his father, but at the expense of his own heart’s blood. Hundreds of years have rolled away since that deed of daring and devotedness was done, and still it is enshrined in the immortal verse of the Pindaric muse, and the hero’s memory embalmed among the younger men of ancient days as first in affection to his father. Again, we admire the Roman poet’s graphic delineation of the battle-scene in which the gallant son of Mezentius fell. We admire still more the filial affection of that son who, when the deadly blow had been aimed at his father, interposed himself in his father’s stead, received the blow, lost his own life, but saved his father’s. ‘“ By thy death I live, my son; by thy wounds I am saved!” the veteran warrior exclaimed. In like manner the Son of God took the sinner’s place, and stood in the sinner’s room; and in the words of inspiration, the sinner whe trusts in him can say, “ He was wounded for my transgressions, he was bruised for my iniquities: the chastisement of my peace was upon him; and with his stripes I am healed.” For us the Saviour hung upon that cross; for us that frame writhed in agony; for us those limbs quivered in torture; for us that ghastly paleness overspread his face; for us those eye-strings broke in death; for us that side was pierced with the rude soldier’s spear; for us he suffered and for us he died. 4. The power of the cross in conversion. The first convert of the Greenland mission was a robber-chief, called Kajarnak. That mission had long been unsuccessful; the missionaries had been sorely tried. At last, disheartened, they were about to leave the country, when one day the bandit, with his followers, came to rob the mission tent. On entering, he saw the missionary writing, and won- dered what it meant; the missionary explained to him that, by the marks he was making on the paper, he could tell the thoughts that had passed through the mind of a man called John hundreds of years before. ‘“‘ Impossible!” exclaimed the savage chief. The missionary, who was finishing his translation of the Gospel of St. John, read to these heathen Greenlanders the record of the crucifixion as contained in the nineteenth chapter of that Gospel,on which he was then employed. The chieftain and his men were strangely interested in the narrative. At length Kajarnak, with much emo- tion, cried out, “ What had the man done that they treated him so?” The missionary addressed him in reply, “That man did nothing amiss, but Kajarnak has done much wrong; Kajarnak murdered his wife; Kajarnak has robbed as well as murdered}; Kajarnak has filled the land with violence ; and that man was bearing the punishment of Kajarnak’s sins that Kajarnak might be saved.” Tears rolled down the cheek of the rude robber-chief, and he besought the missionary to read him al! that over again, “ for,”
840 THE GUSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MARK. |[on. xv. 1—47. eee