WHAT eye but the Father’s could read the heart of the suffering Son of God melting in the flames of wrath like wax, and yet melted into the intensest devotedness and love “when He offered Himself without spot to God?” (Ps. xxii. 14). Who else could mark His perfect and unswerving obedience to the Father’s will in drinking the cup put into His hand to the last and lowest dregs? Whose but the Father’s all-searching eye could read the zeal for His honour and glory which even then, in the flames of self-devoting love was eating Him up? (Ps. lxxix. 9). As the blessed Lord hung upon the cross, what angelic, still less human eye, marked the breadths, lengths, depths, and heights of that love which passeth knowledge? (Eph. iii. 18-19). Who could view this amazing scene of sorrow and of obedience even unto death, so as to read fully the very depths of the heart of Christ but the all-seeing God? Where were the disciples? Fled. Where his Virgin Mother? Weeping and lamenting at the foot of the cross, a sword piercing through her own soul also (Luke ii. 35; John xix. 25). Where the angels? Wondering in silent awe, as they bent down to see the solemn mystery. Where His foes? Triumphing in mockery and scorn, for their short-lived hour and of the power of darkness had come. Where was the sun? Hiding his face, as if shocked to see his Maker die. Where the solid earth? Rocking to its very base, as if unable to bear the weight of the suffering Son of God. Where the rocks? Cleaving to their centre, as if they could no longer hold the bodies of the saints committed to their charge, but must let them forth to witness the death of their Lord. What eye, then, but the eye of the Father, saw the suffering Son of God in all the depths and fulness of His bleeding, dying love, in all the intensity of His self-sacrificing devotedness, and in the most resigned filial submission unto, as well as perfect execution of His sovereign will?—J. C. PHILPOT.