Christ is on a throne of grace.  Our case is brought before him.  The question is asked:  “Is there any good about this man?” The law says:  “None.”  Justice says:  “None.”  Our own conscience says:  “None.”  Nevertheless, Christ hands over our pardon, and asks us to take it.  Oh, the height and depth, the length and breadth of his mercy!

Again, Christ is a near refuge.  When we are attacked, what advantage is there in having a fortress on the other side of the mountain?  Many an army has had an intrenchment, but could not get to it before the battle opened.  Blessed be God, it is no long march to our castle.  We may get off, with all our troops, from the worst earthly defeat in this stronghold.  In a moment we may step from the battle into the tower.  I sing of a Saviour near.

During the late war the forts of the North were named after the Northern generals, and the forts of the South were named after the Southern generals.  This fortress of our soul I shall call Castle Jesus.  I have seen men pursued of sins that chased them with feet of lightning, and yet with one glad leap they bounded into the tower.  I have seen troubles, with more than the speed and terror of a cavalry troop, dash after a retreating soul, yet were hurled back in defeat from the bulwarks.  Jesus near!  A child’s cry, a prisoner’s prayer, a sailor’s death-shriek, a pauper’s moan reaches him.  No pilgrimages on spikes.  No journeying with a huge pack on your back.  No kneeling in penance in cold vestibule of mercy.  But an open door!  A compassionate Saviour!  A present salvation!  A near refuge!  Castle Jesus!

Oh, why do you not put out your arm and reach it?  Why do you not fly to it?  Why be riddled, and shelled, and consumed under the rattling bombardment of perdition, when one moment’s faith would plant you in the glorious refuge?  I preach a Jesus here; a Jesus now; a fountain close to your feet; a fiery pillar right over your head; bread already broken for your hunger; a crown already gleaming for your brow.  Hark to the castle gates rattling back for your entrance!  Hear you not the welcome of those who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us?

Again, it is a universal refuge.  A fortress is seldom large enough to hold a whole army.  I look out upon fourteen hundred millions of the race; and then I look at this fortress, and I say that there is room enough for all.  If it had been possible, this salvation would have been monopolized.  Men would have said:  “Let us have all this to ourselves—­no publicans, no plebeians, no lazzaroni, no converted pickpockets.  We will ride toward heaven on fierce chargers, our feet in golden stirrups.  Grace for lords, and dukes, and duchesses, and counts.  Let Napoleon and his marshals come in, but not the common soldier that fought under him.  Let the Girards and the Barings come in, but not the stevedores that unloaded their cargoes, or the men who kept their books.”  Heaven would have been a glorified Windsor Castle, or Tuileries, or Vatican; and exclusive aristocrats would have strutted through the golden streets to all eternity.