nts was the fittest symbol of
God. A circumstance this to which we probably owe the ancient practice
of worshipping the Divinity by fire, and certainly such figures as
these: "God is light;" "He clothes himself with light as with a
garment;" "He dwelleth in light that is inaccessible and full of
glory." This light, said to have been intensely luminous, brighter
than a hundred suns, was not always nor even usually visible;
although, like a lamp placed behind a curtain, it may have usually
imparted to the cloud which concealed it a tempered and dusky glow.
There were occasions when the veil of this temple was rent asunder;
and then the light shone out with intense splendour--dazzling all
eyes, and convincing sceptics that this cloud, now resting on the
tabernacle, and now, signal for the host to march, floating upward in
the morning air, was not akin to such as are born of swamps or sea;
and which, as emblems of our mortality, after changing from rosy
beauty into leaden dullness, melt into air, leaving the place that
once knew them to know them no more for ever. This symbol and token of
the Divine presence was of all the types and figures of Jesus Christ
in some respects both the most apposite and glorious: a cloud with God
within, and speaking from it--going before to guide the host--placing
Himself for their protection between them and their enemies--by day
their grateful shade from scorching heat, by night their sun amid
surrounding darkness.

It was one, and not the least singular of its aspects, that this cloud
always grew light when the world grew dark--the cloudy pillar of the
day blazing forth at night as a pillar of fire. So shone the divinity
in Him who was "Emmanuel, God with us," His darkest circumstances, His
deepest humiliations, being the occasions of His greatest glory. He
was buried, and being so, was greatly humbled; but angels attended His
funeral, and guarded His tomb. He was crucified, condemned to the
death of the vilest criminal, and being so, was greatly humbled; but
those heavens and earth which are as little moved by the death of the
greatest monarch as by the fall of a withered leaf, expressed their
sympathy with the august Sufferer--the sun hid his face, and went into
mourning, the earth trembled with horror at the deed. He was born, and
in like manner He was greatly humbled, and had been, though His birth
had happened in a palace and His mother had been a queen; but with a
poor woman for His