ood Samaritan, and in that of the Prodigal Son--in every act and word
of his life, a grace, a mildness, a dignity and love, a patience and
wisdom worthy of the Son of God. His whole life and being were imbued,
steeped in this word, _charity_; it was the spring, the well-head from
which every thought and feeling gushed into act; and it was this that
breathed a mild glory from his face in that last agony upon the cross,
"when the meek Saviour bowed his head and died," praying for his enemies.
He was the first true teacher of morality; for he alone conceived the idea
of a pure humanity. He redeemed man from the worship of that idol, self,
and instructed him by precept and example to love his neighbour as
himself, to forgive our enemies, to do good to those that curse us and
despitefully use us. He taught the love of good for the sake of good,
without regard to personal or sinister views, and made the affections of
the heart the sole seat of morality, instead of the pride of the
understanding or the sternness of the will. In answering the question,
"who is our neighbour?" as one who stands in need of our assistance, and
whose wounds we can bind up, he has done more to humanize the thoughts and
tame the unruly passions, than all who have tried to reform and benefit
mankind. The very idea of abstract benevolence, of the desire to do good
because another wants our services, and of regarding the human race as one
family, the offspring of one common parent, is hardly to be found in any
other code or system. It was "to the Jews a stumbling block, and to the
Greeks foolishness." The Greeks and Romans never thought of considering
others, but as they were Greeks or Romans, as they were bound to them by
certain positive ties, or, on the other hand, as separated from them by
fiercer antipathies. Their virtues were the virtues of political machines,
their vices were the vices of demons, ready to inflict or to endure pain
with obdurate and remorseless inflexibility of purpose. But in the
Christian religion, "we perceive a softness coming over the heart of a
nation, and the iron scales that fence and harden it, melt and drop off."
It becomes malleable, capable of pity, of forgiveness, of relaxing in its
claims, and remitting its power. We strike it, and it does not hurt us: it
is not steel or marble, but flesh and blood, clay tempered with tears,
and "soft as sinews of the newborn babe." The gospel was first preached to
the poor, for it con