y to raise the dead body of his friend, and thus to
comfort the weeping sisters, that "Jesus wept."

Let us more and more love the Christian's grave. Angels love it. Two of
them sat in the tomb where the body of Jesus had lain--they loosed the
napkin that was about his head, and "wrapped" it "together in a place by
itself;" and when Jesus had left the place, instead of following him,
they lingered, to comfort the weeping friends on their arrival at the
sepulchre. Can it be Michael, guardian of the dead Moses and his grave,
on "the great stone" which has been rolled "from the door of the
sepulchre"? Is he thinking how he will one day hear the command, "Take
ye away the stone" which covers all who sleep in Jesus? As the cross is
hallowed by the death of the Son of God upon it, the grave is hallowed
for the believer through the Saviour's burial. There are three places
which must possess intense interest for a glorified friend. One is his
home; another is his seat in the house of God; and another is his grave.
Let us cherish it. We do well to visit such a spot. Sometimes
approaching it with sadness and fear, we go away with surprising peace;
looking back for a last view of the stone, and feeling towards the spot
as we do when we are leaving little children in the dark for the night,
unutterable love, we find, has cast out fear. Those graves are treasures
which heaven has made sure, "sealing the stone, and setting a watch." Of
those who still live, we are not certain that, in the providence of God,
they will henceforth be an unmingled source of comfort; but they who are
in those graves are garnered fruits, are finished works, are each like
the rod of Aaron laid up in the ark, which "bloomed blossoms and yielded
almonds." All else which is dear to us on earth may seem changeful, or
changed; the property may have disappeared, the home may have been
broken tip, the plighted faith and love may have been recalled; the
whole condition of life may have been altered: but we visit that burial
spot, and there is permanence; that fast-anchored isle has defied the
surges and roaring currents; the grave seems beautifully constant; it
has not betrayed our confidence; it is not weary of its precious charge;
it has kindly staid behind to permit and encourage our griefs when all
else may have fled. The winter's snows have fallen, the tempests have
beaten, there; and now, this April or May morning, it is as steadfast
and quiet as when the slum