as if we were the lords, and he the servant. Oh, this love!

Thou Son of the Blessed, what grace was manifest in thy
condescension! Grace brought thee down from heaven; grace stripped
thee of thy glory; grace made thee poor and despicable; grace made
thee bear such burdens of sin, such burdens of sorrow, such burdens
of God's curse as are unspeakable.

O Son of God, grace was in all thy tears; grace came bubbling out of
thy side with thy blood; grace came forth with every word of thy
sweet mouth; grace came out where the whip smote thee, where the
thorns pricked thee, where the nails and spear pierced thee. O
blessed Son of God, here is grace indeed! unsearchable riches of
grace! unthought of riches of grace! grace to make angels wonder,
grace to make sinners happy, grace to astonish devils!

And what will become of them that trample under foot this Son of
God?

Christ is the desire of nations, the joy of angels, the delight of
the Father. What solace then must that soul be filled with, that
hath the possession of him to all eternity.

Who can tell how many heart-pleasing thoughts Christ had of us
before the world began? Who can tell how much he then was delighted
in that being we had in his affections, as also in the consideration
of our beings, believings, and being with him afterwards?

Christ was never so joyful in all his life, that we read of, as when
his sufferings grew near; then he takes the sacrament of his body