======================================================================== WRITINGS OF JAMES MEIKLE by James Meikle ======================================================================== A collection of theological writings, sermons, and essays by James Meikle, compiled for study and devotional reading. Chapters: 171 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TABLE OF CONTENTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. 00.00. Meikle, James - Library 2. 01.00. A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors 3. 01.01. 1764 - 1770 4. 01.02. 1771 - 1778 5. 01.03. 1779 - 1785 6. 01.04. 1786 - 1799 7. 01.04. 1786 - 1799 cont'd 8. 02.00. A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul 9. 02.01. 1760 - 1770 10. 02.02. 1771 - 1780 11. 02.03. 1730 - 1799 12. 02.04. 1787 - 1799 13. 03.00. Solitude Sweetened 14. 03.001. On meditation 15. 03.002. Christ the Rock in the weary land 16. 03.003. If God gives Christ, what can he withhold? 17. 03.004. Submission 18. 03.005. Comfortable conclusions 19. 03.006. Resignation 20. 03.007. Feeble nature 21. 03.008. Worldly losses and misfortunes universal 22. 03.009. Providence 23. 03.010. True greatness 24. 03.011. Disappointments 25. 03.012. Experience 26. 03.013. Contentment 27. 03.014. Death 28. 03.015. Communion with God, what it is 29. 03.016. The disposal of Providence always best 30. 03.017. Love in its fourfold extension 31. 03.018. Slander 32. 03.019. Fear and other passions 33. 03.020. Universal improvement 34. 03.021. The soul's enlargement on high 35. 03.022. Affliction the lot of saints below 36. 03.023. Private experience 37. 03.024. All plenitude in Christ, to answer 38. 03.025. Prayer and praise 39. 03.026. On a blind beggar 40. 03.027. Love in saints 41. 03.028. Love in God 42. 03.029. Death 43. 03.030. The death of the wicked 44. 03.031. The Traveler 45. 03.032. Grace in the blush, sin not ashamed 46. 03.033. Going to a fair 47. 03.034. After sickness 48. 03.035. Frames of soul variable 49. 03.036. The unconcerned spectators 50. 03.037. Death a blessing to godly men 51. 03.038. Mercy going before God, makes meeting 52. 03.039. The necessity of afflictions 53. 03.040. Saints unknown, stars unseen 54. 03.041. The excellent happiness of the blessed 55. 03.042. Only a rumor heard of the triumphant state 56. 03.043. Science 57. 03.044. A wicked thing to depart from God in 58. 03.045. Who the great man is 59. 03.046. We should sleep no longer than to refresh 60. 03.047. Our only joy in the world to come 61. 03.048. On the scriptures 62. 03.049. True joy 63. 03.050. One fruit of affliction 64. 03.051. From the depth of afflictions we see stup 65. 03.052. Prayer 66. 03.053. Little known of the bliss above 67. 03.054. The divine lover 68. 03.055. Eternity 69. 03.056. On loving God 70. 03.057. Wrath 71. 03.058. Sensible communion with God sometimes enjoyed 72. 03.059. Brevity of life 73. 03.060. On the last day of the year 74. 03.061. Saints have the greatest reason to rejoice 75. 03.062. Indwelling sin 76. 03.063. Events of providence 77. 03.064. More of God seen in Christ than in all the 78. 03.065. Christ, the study above 79. 03.066. The world asleep 80. 03.067. Still ignorant of God below 81. 03.068. Nothing can purchase Christ from the soul 82. 03.069. Torment 83. 03.070. The soul's growth 84. 03.071. This life a valley of tears 85. 03.072. The madness of the world in their choice 86. 03.073. The approaching happiness of the saints 87. 03.074. What we should expect and wait for 88. 03.075. The spiritual miser 89. 03.076. Contradictions 90. 03.077. The confusion of the wicked at the general 91. 03.078. Mercies abused 92. 03.079. The forgiveness of injuries 93. 03.080. The excellency of religion 94. 03.081. Christ, and none but he, satisfies desires 95. 03.082. The aggrandizing visit 96. 03.083. Causes of humility 97. 03.084. Harmony in God's procedure with the church 98. 03.085. A pleasant consideration 99. 03.086. Crucifixion 100. 03.087. All God's ways equal 101. 03.088. Self-flatterers 102. 03.089. The heavenly vision assimilating 103. 03.090. Still descriptions fall short of glory 104. 03.091. Saints honorable 105. 03.092. Mercies, though apparently delayed, 106. 03.093. The world deeply rooted in the affections 107. 03.094. True riches 108. 03.095. The casting of the scales or balances 109. 03.096. Affliction the common lot of the saints 110. 03.097. The glorious fruits of sanctified affliction 111. 03.098. God his people's inheritance 112. 03.099. Distance diminishes views 113. 03.100. Jubilee 114. 03.101. God's knowledge 115. 03.103. Elijah and Elisha, a dialogue 116. 03.104. The company of the wicked corrupts 117. 03.105. To escape wrath should silence under all 118. 03.106. Adoption 119. 03.107. Connections 120. 03.108. Degrees of nearness to God 121. 03.109. Unbelief 122. 03.110. Our short life should not give much concern 123. 03.111. Faith 124. 03.112. The three-fold state 125. 03.113. Corruption 126. 03.114. Grace 127. 03.115. Love and immortality 128. 03.116. Extremities 129. 03.117. The astonishing portions 130. 03.118. Noah's ark 131. 03.119. Acquaintances 132. 03.120. An argument 133. 03.121. On being ill-used 134. 03.122. The Bible a store-house of instruction 135. 03.123. Assurance 136. 03.124. Our meditations cramped, unless stretched 137. 03.125. How to be rich in heaven 138. 03.126. Revenge rejected 139. 03.127. The coming judgment 140. 03.128. Against murmuring at misfortunes 141. 03.129. A caution against excess of joy in any 142. 03.130. The joy of salvation 143. 03.131. On visits 144. 03.132. The anguish of damnation 145. 03.133. Sovereignty 146. 03.134. The victory of faith 147. 03.135. The necessity of afflictions while we live 148. 03.136. Gibeon making peace with Israel 149. 03.137. On the author's first using glasses 150. 03.138. On casting our care on God 151. 03.139. The affection of a parent 152. 03.140. On being made a noble 153. 03.141. The singular advantages of poverty 154. 03.142. A journey along the sea-shore 155. 03.143. The British state lottery 156. 03.144. On the works of creation 157. 03.145. A prospect of death 158. 03.146. A state after death 159. 03.147. A glance into heavenly bliss 160. 04.00. The Traveler 161. 04.01. Meditations 1 to 30 162. 04.01. Meditations 1 to 30 contd 163. 04.02. Meditations 31 to 60 164. 04.02. Meditations 31 to 60 contd 165. 04.03. Meditations 61 to 90 166. 04.03. Meditations 61 to 90 contd 167. 04.04. Meditations 91 to 121 168. 04.04. Meditations 91 to 121 contd 169. S. CONVERSE WITH THE UNSEEN WORLD 170. S. PASTORAL COUNSELS 171. S. THE TOMB ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1: 00.00. MEIKLE, JAMES - LIBRARY ======================================================================== Meikle, James - Library Meikle, James - A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors Meikle, James - A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul Meikle, James - Solitude Sweetened Meikle, James - The Traveler S. Converse with the Unseen World S. Pastoral Counsels S. The Tomb ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2: 01.00. A PERIODIC INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF TERRORS ======================================================================== A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1764 - 1770 1771 - 1778 1779 - 1785 1786 - 1799 ======================================================================== CHAPTER 3: 01.01. 1764 - 1770 ======================================================================== A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1764—1770 October, 1764. This night I confess before you, who alone has immortality—that I believe myself mortal. Soon the eye which guides, and the hand that holds this pen—shall crumble into dust in the cold grave—and my soul shall go to dwell in the eternal world! Sober removal! Solemn change! Eternal state! Is there not a friend to attend and comfort me through all? Ah! no! My friends, the nearest and the dearest, are at best but compassionate spectators; they may weep at my bedside, but cannot take one blow for me in the hottest battle. Yes, the angels may minister to me on this side the river, and on that side the river—but not one of them can descend with me into the swellings of Jordan. But, O merciful High-Priest! who in my nature has tasted of death to soften mine—you shall go down with me into the flowing stream, and at your presence the raging torrent shall divide. And then, instead of being carried down the stream of destruction—I shall have a pleasant entrance into Immanuel’s land! Woe to him who is alone in the hour of death! When I fight my last enemy—be my shield; when I walk in death’s dark valley be my sun. And then foes and fears shall distress me no more. One may beat a snappish dog with a stick—but to fight an enraged lion, requires other weapons. It is a small thing to lie a few days under a disease—but another thing to die. A cold shiver or two shall enter me among the inhabitants of the unseen world. I start back, and recoil—but the tender thread breaks—and in a moment I die! I see, I feel—that it is not an easy thing to die. Nature startles at death, and the unprepared soul is overwhelmed with a horrible gloom, that increases through eternity itself. Where then, O where shall I find comforts for my last moments? They must come from above, for the world will avail me nothing in that day. I will therefore have recourse to God’s promises, which are exceeding great, exceeding precious, and exceeding proper to every case a child of God can be in; more precious than mountains of gold, and great above conception and thought. November 12, 1764. Since I last was viewing the unseen world, a near neighbor of mine has been carried there without a moment’s warning, or the least intervening sickness—but what he felt at the expiring groan. And though he could say nothing, yet the providence calls aloud to be always ready. Then, I will take hold of the promises, and, by a firm confidence in the Divine Promiser, I shall be like Zion’s stable hill, which cannot be moved by rending winds, and roaring tempests. Have you not said, "I will never leave you. I will never forsake you." Never! what a world of comfort is in this word! I claim your pity, then, through life, your protection in death, and your presence through eternity itself! O God of all grace! I will hold you at your word, when the shadows of the everlasting evening are stretched out on me. December 7, 1764. It is arduous work to die, and yet it is work that must be done. And as the terrors of death will endeavor to make me loose my hold of this and that promise—I will take fast hold of many promises, that I may have strong confidence, and strong consolations, in the day of battle and war. As the love of God, manifested in my dear Redeemer, begins my heaven on earth; so the continuance of God’s love will be the essence of my bliss above. Now, the promise is, that "nothing shall separate from the love of God"—not all the heavy affliction of this life—nor the pangs of dissolution and death—nor the depth of a fallen state—nor the height of Jehovah’s throne, who dwells in light inaccessible and full of glory. Then, seeing it is my heaven to be forever with you—should death terrify me, which, instead of separating from you, brings me to your very throne? But another promise is, that "the Lord is and will be his people’s keeper, and that in all their ways." Then, you will keep me in my going out of this world, and my going in to eternity, which the high and lofty One inhabits. Under the care of such a keeper, what need I fear? Under the protection of such a God, what need I dread?—Again, there is another promise of which I will possess myself, and it is, that "to the upright there arises light in the darkness," and that at "evening time there shall be light." However dark my case may be, I will endeavor to believe the promise. Clouds may hang over my head, storms and tempests may roar about me; but still I am traveling on to everlasting light, to eternal day, and my divine Guide leads the blind by a way they know not. January 1, 1765. It is surely proper for a mortal, on the first day of the year, to think on the last day of his life. I think it affords me comfort to reflect, that with the last year all its toils are gone, and shall return no more; so the weary hireling rejoices to see the shadows fall that shall finish his fatigue. Alas! the year begins with vanity, and ends with vexation! But happy he who can improve both in view of his latter end. Latter end! Ah! how distant is this often from my mind! And yet the time is not far off, when with the prophet of old, my weakening pulse will reveal, "the end has come, the end has come, it watches for you, behold it has come!" And when life expires, and time ends—solemn eternity begins! How shall I enter on eternity, and plunge into the dread abyss? Gladly would I make the tremendous step in his hand whose name is, ’the Everlasting Father’—or Father of Eternity. How shall I fasten my hold, and strengthen my faith, that the dissolving pang shall not loosen it? If you are with me I will fear no evil, I shall feel no pain. Now, I will assemble all the terrors of death, that I may know the strength of my foes, and see what forces will be sufficient to meet this king of terrors—who comes against me with ten thousand at his feet. I see, then, that death is dreadful on these accounts. 1. It separates soul and body, which have been many years in the closest friendship; not to mention the pangs and agonies that may attend my last illness. 2. It raises an everlasting partition between the inhabitants of the world and myself. My dear, my Christian acquaintances, we must talk no more together, nor speak one word, even in commendation of the Plant of renown, in his house below. 3. I must leave my family and friends, however dear—to be exposed to the temptations of sin, the snares of the world, and the cruelty of malicious men. 4. I must also go by an unknown road, to an unknown land, and an unknown company. (Is there not an adventurer who will undertake this journey for me at any sum? No, there is not one!) 5. I must stand in the judgment. And the Judge is not a man as I am—but the great God, before whom the heavens are not pure, and in whose presence the holy angels cover their faces. O! how shall I appear! And yet I must appear—and know not how soon! 6. And to sum up all, when I go from this world, I shall never return. Now God reproves, rebukes, and exercises patience that I may amend; but then my sentence will be irrevocable, and fixed for eternity itself. "When I hear, my belly trembles, my lips quiver at the account, rottenness enters into my bones, and I tremble in myself, that I may rest in the day of trouble." Now, if I can balance these tremendous views, I may gather courage for the decisive hour. And only interest in Jesus can do this. I appeal then to you, O searcher of hearts, that I have taken you for my Savior, and the covenant of your rich grace for my salvation. Sin and hell shall not shake my faith in you, for I desire to act faith anew on you every day, as if I had never believed before. Then, if, on the strongest evidences, after the severest scrutiny, and plainest dealing with my own soul, I shall find I have a saving interest in Jesus, terrors will flee away—and the dark step be converted into a delightful and inviting journey. 1. As to the first, then, though death separates soul and body, it is but for a few years; nor shall my sleeping dust be cast out of his care, who for my sake was laid in the silent grave. My deathless soul at once enters into the presence and into the joy of my Lord—to be later joined by my incorruptible body. 2. And as to the second, all my Christian friends shall shortly arrive at the better country also. We part for a little while—but meet to part no more. But O what a happy change do I make! I leave the church militant to join the church triumphant! I leave the company of men for the society of angels! In a word, I leave the inhabitants of the world, to go into the beatific vision of Jehovah and the Lamb, where, in the highest strains, I shall commend the Plant of renown, and never cease and never tire! 3. Again, third, well may I commit my friends and family, however young, however helpless—to him who rules in eternity and time. A weak faith may doubt—but a faithful God, an omnipotent helper, cannot faint nor fail. His grace is not less sufficient for them, that I am no more, and the intercession of the divine Advocate before the throne is more prevalent, than the tears and prayers of ten thousand friends. 4. Fourth, why should I be afraid of an unknown road, when my dearest friend shall be my guide? Why should I be afraid of an unknown land, seeing it is my father’s country; and all the inhabitants are friends, who will make me welcome to the seats of bliss? There is neither sin nor sinner there. O! why do not I long to be in a world of innocents, when the wicked so abound here? 5. Fifth, the Judge indeed is not a man—but he is God-man. And he who suffered for me on the cross, intercedes for me at his Father’s throne, and carries my name on his bosom, will not condemn me in that solemn day! Though his eyes are as a flame of fire, yet, when wrapped in the Surety’s righteousness, even divine Omniscience shall not see a spot in my soul, nor a blot in my life. He is not a man; indeed this is my comfort, because he cannot change, and will not deny himself. Now, if he acquits in the word of grace, in the promise and in the court of conscience—seeing Jesus my Savior is the same yesterday in the purpose of his love, today in the application of his grace, and forever in the performance of his promise—he will also acquit me in that tremendous day. 6. And sixth, as to returning again to time and the world, did I ever bewail the length of the summer, and long for the return of stormy winter? Did I ever lament my continued health, and cry for pining sickness? So were I once entered these regions of immortal joy, the thoughts of leaving them would be like death. One glance of the heavenly country, would make the world a howling desert. The first sight of Immanuel’s face would make me forget all my dearest friends, and think them none of my concerns. I will never think so little of heaven—as to desire to return to the confines of hell. To find myself before the throne will ravish; but to know that I shall dwell at the throne forever and ever, will fill with transport, and enlarge my joy. Now, if I can lead this lion like a lamb, I need not fear any beast of the field? (that is, if death is no more terrible, of what need I be afraid?) Hence I will study to live so habitually prepared for death, that I shall never be surprised, though my friends and the world may. I may fall in the open field or drop down by the wayside, or die unseen in the silent night; yet I shall not die as the fool dies. "O death! where is your sting? O grave! where is your victory!" Indeed I must die, and must rot—but death shall be my deliverance, and the grave a bed of rest! February 5, 1765. Many things may take place at my death, that may make the world look on it as a melancholy scene. It is possible I may lie on my death-bed, deprived of reason, and entertain my last visitants with nonsense; yes, and possibly enter eternity, not knowing when or where I go. Surely it would be pleasant to employ my last moments in commending precious Christ; but a disordered body shall not make my sympathizing High-Priest forget me. A raging fever may break the frame of my body—but shall not break the covenant of grace which secures my endless happiness. Should I be surprised that my faculties are in a tumult, when the union between my soul and body is dissolving? Disease may fiercely attack my feeble nature—but cannot touch my eternal state. Indeed, such things taking place at death, strongly and vehemently forbid delaying the great work until then, when man may be no more himself—until he is no more. Therefore, in the calm and tranquil day of life, while in the full use and exercise of my reason, I desire to prepare for everything that is solemn in the last onset of my last enemy. But, again, I may lie long on a death-bed, and become a burden to myself and to my friends. Well, who will think much to taste the cup of affliction—who will shortly drink of the rivers of pleasures through an endless evermore? It well befits the heirs of glory, to wait on God all their appointed time, until their eternal change comes. It is an easy task to count my troubles and sum up my sorrows, which diminish every time I number them—until they are finished in the last pang. I may sleep little—but time sleeps less. And with time, all my temporal troubles shall end. My body may suffer long and sore, and toss and tumble, and find no rest, through the severity of my disease; but my God measures every fit of sickness—every degree of pain. And, whatever impatience and unbelief may think, he is compassionate, and will not crush under foot a prisoner of hope. Soon shall my weary dust rest sweetly in the silent grave, and my soul rise to the raptures of the higher heaven! But I may die of some loathsome disease, and lie in such a deplorable condition, that few will think to come near me. Well, the body that has been often defiled by sin, may at last be filled with stench and corruption; yet, being redeemed by the precious blood of Jesus, it shall at last be raised up a glorious body. Why should I care how my clay body looks—which must perish? Why should I care how my countenance is disfigured with pain, when many worthies have been so before me? Job was so changed, that his friends at some distance knew him not. But why mention saints, when it is witnessed of the King of saints, though fairer than the sons of men—that his visage was more marred than any man, and his form than the sons of men! It does not matter much, how dust returns to dust, since (O glorious prospect!) Christ shall change his vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body! Again, death may deprive me of all my near relations, so that in my last sickness I may not have a friend to hold up my head, or sooth my pain. Is it not recorded of the glorious Sufferer, that all his followers and friends forsook him, and fled? Though you should make desolate all my company, yet in your favor shall I find my friends, my home, my heaven. How comfortable to think that those who perish, less deserve the name of friends; and that my best FRIEND is the immortal God, eternal in his essence, and unchangeable in his love! Well may I put up with few friends in this world, who am going to a world of friends, where there is neither sin nor self, feud nor fraud; yes, to a FRIEND nearer, and dearer, and better than them all. April 2, 1765. O how difficult do I find it to bring my thoughts down to the grave—and to welcome my decease! Am I any more impressed with the thoughts of mortality than I was some months ago? And yet, whether I believe it or not, I am so many months nearer my latter end. Surely the tenant that will not think upon term day, seems ill provided for it. And yet, what a fool must he be that will not look forward, when he is warned, and when death is fast approaching? Even so, I have warnings of my mortality daily; not a meal of food—but tells me that the building, which daily needs propping and supporting, will tumble down at last. Not a sleep I take—but might remind me of the sleep of death. Indeed, the difference seems to be, that the sleep in death is deeper and longer than in the repose of night. In the one, my soul is fettered; in the other, fled. In the first, I sleep for hours; the last, for ages. Most people can own their mortality—and I as well as they. But if I bring my confession home, and ask myself, "Am I willing to bid friends and family, cares and concerns, projects and enterprises, pleasures and delights—in a word, life and its joys, time and its contents, the world and its whole—a long and everlasting farewell, and that at a moment’s warning?" Alas! how am I perplexed, and at a loss what to say? I desire to deplore my attachment to time and the things of time, and to cry for that grace by which I will be able to say, I profess I die daily, even to look and wait for death every day. The mirthful and unthinking part of mankind are of opinion, that the thoughts of death pall the joys of life. But this is a vast mistake, for he never enjoys life aright—who is terrified and distracted at the approach of death. Corrupt nature would have all care and concern about death taken out of the way, that they may go merrily to their revels. But the expectant of heaven, would only have the too great fear of death removed. Surely, a right prospect of death heightens the joys of life, and blunts the griefs of life. For if, when the storm beats against me, I can look beyond death, and see an eternal calm; or if, when the sun shines upon me, I can look forward, and see all the blessings of peace—plenty, prosperity, joy, life, light, love, friendship, rapture, and delight—heightened above thought—must not I be happy in any condition and thrice happy in comparison with that state in which I use the enjoyments of life, as a thief would do stolen goods—under continual apprehensions of being seized by the ’constable Death’, of having my joys snatched away, and myself shut up in an everlasting jail. David would not go against Goliath in Saul’s royal armor, because he was not accustomed to it; so, I should be accustomed to the armor I intend to use in the decisive combat with death. And truly nothing will do like a strong, a steady faith in my exalted Redeemer. While philosophical and rational arguments avail nothing to the combatant, like Saul’s cumbrous armor; faith, like David’s humble sling and stone, will lay the grinning giant on the ground. And O to be using it daily at lesser marks—which I cannot lack in a land where I must walk by faith; that I may be expert at last, and, by the Spirit’s aid, sink the stone in the monster’s forehead! How strange is it that the traveler should daily complain of the length of his journey, and yet walking in every bye-way that can sidetrack him, and lengthen his journey! How surprising that he should pretend that he never can be happy until arrived at home, and yet daily setting out for home on the longest road as he can! Alas! even so it is with me; for though I complain of the toils of life, yet where are my sincere longings for the better life? Though I believe I will never be happy until in heaven; yet how long can I be put off without my highest happiness, and completest bliss! I would gladly go to God, yet how astonishing that I would rather chose Elijah’s forty days journey through a dreary wilderness to the mount of God, than his sudden ascent to the throne of God! Now, though by adoption I belong to your family, O Father of mercies! yet while my disposition is such, should death apprehend me, what better would my case be than a runaway son’s, to whom, being brought back by force, his father’s house, though a glorious palace, would in that event become a gloomy prison! Though I cannot say I long for heaven as I should, yet I can say I long for that day, when I shall be able to say—I long, I pant for heaven. Then the enchantments of life, and terrors of death, shall neither detain me, nor deter me any more! May 1, 1765. This day a parent is carried to his long home, who, not long ago, deplored the possible decease of his child. But little thought he, that death’s suspended scythe should, passing by the child—sweep himself away! The tragedy is continued—but the people changed. The tears still trickle—but are turned from the parent’s eye, that being shut in death, and pour down the children’s cheeks. Surely, then, the shortness of my life, and uncertainty of the time of my death—should make me say little of the decease of my nearest relations. When death strikes at a family, and cuts off one member, every member being alike mortal—the infant along with the man of grey hairs—the time that is given to the survivors ought to be better employed than in mourning and murmuring at Providence. May 7, 1765. Death is the woodsman, and the world is the forest; and round about me every day he is cutting down. Now an old tree falls, then a young tree; the fair spreading tree and the barren shrub are laid along the ground. And I cannot long escape, for all the forest must be cleared away. But the tree, in one sense, has the better of me, for it grows up again in the same place it was cut down; O that, in another sense, I may have the better of it, in growing like the palm tree in the paradise of God, and flourishing in a better soil than that in which it fell! August 1, 1765. The value of things are best known by comparisons. Let me, then run a comparison between this present life I now enjoy, in all its best things, as well as its worst things—and that better life I expect after death. In this life I may have at times— 1. A measure of health. 2. Some tainted pleasures. 3. A few friends for a few days. 4. Some acres of ground. 5. Fine clothing. 6. A wealthy house. 7. Bread to eat, and water to drink. 8. A portion of the good things of time. But—in eternity I shall have always— 1. Eternal vigor. 2. Pure delights and holy raptures. 3. All my godly friends with me forever. 4. An unbounded inheritance in the heavenly Canaan. 5. Robes of righteousness and garments of glory. 6. A house not made with hands. 7. The hidden manna, and the river of life. 8. The glorious treasures of eternity. Spiritual Good Things. In this life I may have— 1. Communications of grace. 2. Freedom from the reign of sin. 3. A measure of faith. 4. God in his ordinances. 5. Manifestations of love. 6. Access to the throne of grace. But in eternity I shall have— 1. Eternal glory. 2. Deliverance from the being of sin. 3. Immediate vision of God. 4. Uninterrupted communion. 5. All the transports of eternal assurance, and everlasting bliss. 6. Uninterrupted attendance at the throne of glory. Now, what a wide difference is there between my best state here—and the better, the blessed state above! But how will it still widen, when my worst condition is brought into one side of the comparison! with this melancholy addition, that I am oftenest in my worst state. In this life, then— 1. I often sin against God. 2. I go mourning without the sun. 3. I dwell in the valley of Achor, and my exercise is lamentation and mourning, and my daily attendants are sorrow and woe. 4. Death snatches away my nearest and dearest friends, and with them crops all the joys of life. 5. My knowledge of divine things is very lame. 6. My graces often are baffled by prevailing corruption and a tempting devil. 7. Disease attacks me often, and death awaits me always. 8. I am often too ready to say—what a weariness is it to serve God. 9. I daily see transgressors, and am grieved with self-destroyers. 10. Both vain and wicked thoughts often, alas! too often rise, rage and ravage in my mind. 11. Often my society is among those who seem to have no fellowship with the Father nor his son Christ Jesus. But in eternity— 1. I shall never offend God’s holy eyes. 2. My sun shall go down no more, and the days of my mourning shall be ended. 3. I shall dwell on the mount of communion, and my exercise be praise and worship; and my attendants transport and joy. 4. Jesus, my best Friend, shall forever cheer my ravished eyes, and fill my folded arms. 5. I shall know—even as I am known. 6. All my graces shall wear the crown of perfection. 7. I shall never complain of sickness, being above the reach of sin and death. 8. I shall serve him day and night with rapture and delight. 9. There shall not be one Canaanite in all the house of God. There shall not be one sinner in all the land of glory. 10. My soul shall be swept of all the trash of sin, and all my thoughts shall soar in adoration, and dissolve in love. 11. I shall associate myself with the general assembly and church of the first-born. Seeing the difference is so wide, what a wonder that I am not daily longing for the better! If Joseph’s felicity made him forget, not only his toil—but his father, and his father’s house, surely, when I arrive at the kingdom of my heavenly father, all the tender fondness of friend and brother, of parent and husband, will be swallowed up in nearer relations, and lost in a divine love. Would not the prisoner venture out of a dark dungeon—to the broad day? So, though death be a dark step, yet the inviting glories of an eternal world lie beyond it, the dawning beams of which enlighten the dreary shadow. Heaven has spared me a twelve-month since I began to think on death at set periods. But O, what a small progress have I made! November 9, 1765. This day one of some rank is thought near death, and the relations hasten to their dying friend. And indeed the friendly hand may wipe the cold sweats of death from the pale countenance. But when the chilling fears of death attack me in my last moments, may my sympathizing Savior dispel my fears, dry my sorrows, and strengthen my extreme weakness! When, in the hour of death, all my friends shall stand estranged from me, may I have the presence of that divine FRIEND who sticks closer than a brother; so close, that the stroke that breaks the union between soul and body, shall not divide my soul and him. How am I astonished at the news of my acquaintance’s death! The inhabitant of a populous city dies alone in the open field! though enriched with the nearest and most loving relations—yet neither wife, children, nor servant, are present to support him in his last pangs! though master of a good house, and a soft bed—yet under a stormy sky, and on the cold ground, he breathes his last! Though not used to traveling in the night, yet in a very dark night he undertakes his long, his last journey—he sets out for, and arrives at the eternal world! I see, then, that I may, in the midst of numerous friends, die alone and disregarded. But let me claim you as my inseparable friend, and then, though all my relations were present, I shall have no use for them, or, though absent, shall suffer no loss. All the melancholy circumstances of disease, to the heir of heaven, only enhance the felicity of the better state. Through fire and water the sons of promise arrive at the wealthy place. And, though nature recoils, it is a pleasant flood, which conveys into those rivers of pleasure that are at your right hand. And it is a friendly flame, though nature shrinks at the sight, and friends shudder at the account—that consumes the prison, and carries the soul into the presence of God. January 1, 1766. Though my days be an handbreadth, and my age as nothing in your eye—your eternity satisfies all my desires. January 20, 1766. These few days I have had some severe attacks of pain, whereby I may see that I am like a besieged city, against which the enemy makes nearer and nearer approaches, now opens one battery, then another. And though there be frequent intermissions, yet the siege will not be raised until the city is stormed and taken. But these observations I could not make, until my pain was gone; why then delay the great work until the hour of death? May I never fall in with such extravagant folly. February 1, 1766. David had his last words, and swan-like, sang sweetest at his last. But I know not what may be my last words. Then, since ignorant of my last words, may my last song be a song of triumph over death and the grave. March 1, 1766. One great cause of earthly mindedness is casting ’death’ out of heart and eye. Though we were permitted to dwell on this side the grave forever, what could we do more for the world than we do; or what less thought and concern for the other world could we take than we do? How great, then, is our folly, when we are only sojourners for a day! April 3, 1766. Two days ago I found myself somewhat sick—but O how averse to think of dying! Yet, did I hate sin and love holiness as I ought—I would surely long for that period that would deliver me from the one, and perfect me in the other. And death is that happy period. The prudent warrior, who knows his enemies are determined to attack—will always be on his guard. Even so death, I know, will sooner or later (and the longer the delay the nearer the attack) be upon me in all his strength and terrors; therefore I have much need to watch, that I be not plunged into eternity unawares. One in high life is sick. But disease and death are the same from the throne to the ash-heap; and neither the kind friend nor the careful servant, nor the skilled physician, nor the cheering cordial, nor the fine room, nor the soft bed—can diminish the anguish, brighten the dark scene. But your love, O you best of Friends! can pour in seraphic joys in the hour of death—on the brink of the grave. August 5, 1766. O how little progress do I make toward eternity! Time flies away—but I linger still. May I not at last be surprised? Shall everything about me make haste, but my soul—in preparing for pulling off this body? Soon it will be a burden, and yet how burdensome are the thoughts of getting free of this burden! September 1, 1766. While this month begins with me, an acquaintance has this day begun eternity. O endless eternity! O state unknown! Of what solemn assembly is he now a member! Time, and the things of time, are now of no account with him! September 2, 1766. Again I remind myself of my mortality. And whether I be prepared to meet death or not—death is prepared to meet me! I profess a belief of death, O to practice it too! Then shall my views of a future word be brighter, and present things shall sink in my esteem. Though men should tremble before me, it would not make the king of terrors less terrible. But if God, who does wonders past finding out, smiles on me, I shall smile in the face of death, and laugh at the shaking of his spear. October 2, 1766. If invited to a royal feast, and noble entertainment, I will not much regard the appearance of the messenger sent from my friend, whether pleasant and well dressed—or surly and morose; knowing that the giver of the feast is my real friend, and will make me very welcome. Even so, though death should come in all his terrors—he is but a messenger to call me home. And I am assured of his favor who sends him—and may go cheerfully at his command. October 25, 1766. This day I attended the funeral of one who, returning from a visit made to his friends, expires in the open air, falls from his horse, and embraces the cold ground! Little did the family think that morning, when both the parents set out, that one of them had a very long journey before him—even to the invisible and eternal world! Had an angel whispered in this person’s ear at his breakfast table, "You have but four or five hours to live!" his soul must have felt astonished! The married pair, on whom forty-four annual suns had shone, are separated forever without a fare-well. Though together on the way, the dying person speaks not a word, nor utters a groan. Whatever I do, death attends me! Wherever I go death follows me! Then, my friends be not surprised though I leave you in some such way as this. December, 2, 1776. My kind heavenly father continues my life. O may I prepare for my latter end! In this last month of the year, everything around me proclaims mortality. The flowers have died; the fields are stripped of their verdure, and the trees of their leaves; the day is short and the heavens are black, and the music of the skies is no more. Thus everything points me to my latter end. January 1, 1767. As mortals count their time, I fall asleep in one year, and awake in another. So soon shall the sleep of death transfer me to another world. Alas! that I should think so little on my last concern! January 6, 1767. One may be ready to think, why so much care and concern for a moment, for death is only for a moment. But it is a moment on which eternity depends. While viewing death at a distance, I may be ready to think, with forward Peter, that at my Lord’s call I will venture calmly into the waters. But perhaps, when among the roiling waves I may begin to sink. What then? My gracious Savior will be near and stretch out his helping hand. February 3, 1767. I die little by little—and insensibly pass away. So is the growth of the corn; one cannot perceive it increase at all, yet it arrives at harvest, is cut down, and never more shall clothe the fields. But poor mortals are cut down at all seasons—in the early bud of verdant spring—the blooming summer, or mature autumn. Hence I see, however prepared in other respects, I am always ripe enough for the scythe of death. April 7, 1767. The earth is putting on a new face, and nature begins to smile. But from the womb I am journeying downward, until I arrive at the dark chambers of death. O! then, that, like precious grain, the glory of my resurrection may overbalance all the black prospects of corruption and the grave! One that spends his life in a round of mirth and unconcern, might be ready to conclude, that thinking so often on death must make my life sad and melancholy. But that is not true, for thinking on death is the best balance to weigh either prosperity or adversity in, and helps to keep the soul in an even temper in every state. Therefore, not only the monthly but the daily remembrance of death, is the Christian’s duty, which needs neither divert him from his lawful employment, sadden his countenance, nor sink his spirits. May 5, 1767. When will the day come when I shall look on the approach of death with transport and delight—when I shall view him, not as a tyrant—but as a trusty servant to bring me home? The wilderness may please the beast of prey to range in—but cannot enchant the traveling Israelite from pursuing his journey to the land of promise. I have a fresh admonition of sudden and unexpected death in one, who, in the bloom of life and on a visit to his friends, was hurried into the eternal and unchanging world. May 30, 1767 (birthday). The man who would observe his birthday, should always make the day of death the instructive antithesis. To feast and revel on this day, is more like a darkened Heathen, than a professed Christian. I have seen more birthdays than many of my friends, and now the course of nature forbids that I should see many more. But, were my affections such as they ought, it would afford me joy to find myself so near my native country, and my Father’s house. June 2, 1767. This month brings long days—but my day of life is growing shorter still. O to work hard for eternity, while the day lasts; for there is neither work nor device in the silent grave, where I am going. July 7, 1767. O the antipathy that is between this and the unseen world! Whenever I am much occupied about the one I let go the other. Yet the day is fast approaching, when the things that my soul lusts after shall be found no more. Prosperity can neither lengthen my days, nor shorten my time—which is daily wasting away. August 1, 1767. Why should I take such fast hold of the things of time? If grace loosens not my hold of them—to my comfort; death will—to my sorrow. This day the burial of an infant and of an adult remind me of mine own. O for the art of realizing future things! I believe, and yet cannot believe that I am mortal!—this is no less true than strange. I am persuaded that the greater part of men—the old as well as the young—are arrested by death when least expected. "But God said to him—You fool! You will die this very night." Luke 12:20 August 4, 1767. It should make the Christian serious, to see the greater part of the world thoughtless about death and judgment. In a little while, where will the mirthful world be, who seem to place their happiness in admiring and being admired of one another? However gloomy the hour of death may be to nature, yet may my soul always find delight from the prospect! September 1, 1767. Where are the wealthy men who lived half a century ago? They are now a feast for worms and their names are hardly known in the very places where they made their appearance. Now death is fast approaching to sweep me off, like those who have gone before. Why, then, should I fill my mind with anxious thoughts, or fond delights, which shall dwindle into nothing in the dissolving pang? October 6, 1767. This day has brought me the heavy tidings of a dear, a beloved acquaintance, being hurried into the eternal and unchanging world. Indeed he was ready, which makes all other circumstances smile, though solemn. The high fever was but the fiery chariot to convey him home; the fall which fractured his skull, was but hastening his soul to be crowned with glory. I see that no man knows whether love or hatred will come to him in this life. January 1, 1768. While one year ends and another begins, nothing makes the things of life sit lighter on the soul, than a firm belief of death. Here the sorrows of the galley-slave are finished, and the glory of the crowned head is overclouded forever. Among all the projects of men, none have ever attempted to arrest time, or subdue the grave! The Christian alone has hit upon the wonderful invention, and conquers the grave by preparing for it, and arrests time by improving it for eternity—where hours and days, and years, and ages, are all arrested, and stand still in an everlasting NOW. January 5, 1768. If I should break down my whole life into days, hours, minutes, moments; I find every moment of my life will be comparable to ten thousand ages in eternity. What then, though all my moments were black with misery, since, in lieu of every afflicted breathing, I shall possess ten thousand ages, and infinitely more, of astonishing glory and unfading bliss! January 16, 1768. For these two or three days past, I have labored under a short illness, accompanied with sharp pain. And what are these but the advanced heralds of the king of terrors? a sure proof that neither the enemy nor the day of battle are far off. Let Saul’s unhappy complaint in another case, never be mine in this, "The Philistines are upon me! (Death and judgment are upon me!) and God is departed from me." February 2, 1768. Though disease should not attack me, an accident may hurry me away into eternity. And with accidents I am daily surrounded. Of this I had a double instance, both in the silent night and broad day. My horse stumbling and I, tumbling over his head, might have tumbled into eternity. What a hair-breadth is only between me and death! I am not to distrust divine protection—yet I am never to forget that I am mortal. March 2, 1768. This last month has carried many away in an uncommon manner to their long home. Death, in the freezing storm, and tremendous tempest, has arrested some in their way to, and within a gun-shot of their homes; while neither their endeared relations, nor affectionate friends knew of their distress, or could stir to their relief. But whether in the field or by the fireside, death and I must enter the lists of battle. And in no war is it more advantageous to be ahead of the enemy, by being first in the field; which is only done by a due preparation for the final battle. It is much better to go forth like an undaunted hero—like a believing Christian—to the combat against this disarmed bravado, crying, "O death where is your sting?" than to be dragged, (for meet we must,) like a desponding unbeliever, to his cruel paws. May 30, 1768 (birthday). There is a time to be born, this I have had. And a time to die; this awaits me—the when, or how, or where, I know not. What will riches do in the hour of death for me? Only hinder me. What will a fine house do? Nothing, really. What will character and name do? Only spread the report of my decease. But what will a reconciled God do? He will turn the shadow of death into the morning, and make me triumph over the last enemy! June 7, 1768. Few are my days. And, alas! the few are ill improved. A spendthrift of time is the most inexcusable of all spendthrifts. One may waste his money, and a friend may leave him more—but I cannot do so, with my time. July 7, 1768. For these two days, how have I been chastened with pain, and the multitude of my bones with strong pain! Thus, whether I will or not, I am reminded of my mortality, and also admonished to improve health while continued. For what can I do when struggling with disease, and groaning through pain? July 8, 1768. This day shall be memorable to me, not only for the load of distress it brought along with it, but for the unwelcome news it wafted to my ears—of the death of an acquaintance. Our profession was the same, and we had no great difference in our ages or our health. Only on July 6th he could walk in his garden—when I was confined to my bed. But this morning he is no more—while I remain in the land of the living. July 17, 1768. The illness, after an attack of eight days, is mercifully removed. But it will return again, and one day or other overcome me. August 2, 1768. What alarming thunders in the natural heavens have I heard this day! O that they may remind me of that tremendous day, when nations, tongues, and tribes, shall be convened before the bar of God! O to be at peace with the Thunderer! then shall everything speak peace to me, even the stones and beasts of the field; yes, though the thunderbolt should dash me among the dead, yet on the wings of the ethereal flame shall my soul soar away to the land of peace! September 6, 1768. Nothing is a stronger proof of corruption being prevalent, than being delighted with a state of imperfection. Ah! then my own mouth condemns me; for what can be more imperfect than a state of sin and death? And, alas? how am I delighted therewith! I find vanity in the gayest things of time, and am sure that the several objects of carnal desire shall perish in the hour of death. But the immortal part triumphs in the happy prospect of an happy eternity. It is common to bewail one who dies young. But if he dies in Christ, whatever loss it may be to his friends, to others, to the church—it can be none to himself. Did I know the sweet employment of the redeemed in heaven, I would long to join the divine assembly. Had I any spiritual taste of God’s love, I would long to be drenched wholly in the overflowing ocean above! October 7, 1768. What a thin partition is between time and eternity! And what window can let me look into the eternal and unchanging world! Every providence, every disappointment, bids me fix my eye on a future world; the death of every acquaintance affords me a prospect into eternity. Yes, the headache, or any touch of pain in my own body, are as so many chinks to peek into the eternal world. October 15, 1768. Yesterday a young girl, in the bloom of youth, was carried to the house of corruption. Neither the affection of a parent, nor the endearments of a suitor, could avert the fatal blow. The afflicted lover attends the dying bed, witnesses the expiring groan, where all his pleasing prospects dissolve into disappointment and pain. And from the enchanting scenes and airy dreams of love—she awakens in the eternal, changeless world! Let lovers, then, amidst their excessive fondness, and delightful views, remember the hour of death, and the world to come. And whenever I die, may I go to a dearer beloved, and nearer relative, than any I can leave below. January 28, 1769. This day a traveler, who on a visit to his friends was arrested by death, is carried to the house appointed for all living. What has transpired with him in these few days! Yesterday he set out on his journey, traveled sixteen miles, and fell down by the way-side, without friend or companion. The cold wet ground was his bed, a January sky was his covering, and the weather-beaten heath his pillow! After passing a tedious night in this deplorable situation, on the second day he is found chilled with cold, yet breathing. He is carried to a hospitable house, where, in spite of all endeavors, he expires. And on this third day he is buried. Who can tell where I am going to die? whether in the fiery flame or the flowing stream, whether on the frozen field or friendly bed? But it matters not how, or where, or when. If I die in Christ, I shall die in peace, and live in glory! February 16, 1769. Anger, malice, and envy—are not suitable for the bosom of mortals. How mad to plan out the period of revenge! for before it approaches, the fierce pursuer is no more. Hence God is said to laugh at the wicked plotting and planning his mischief, because he sees that his day is coming, that shall hinder the execution of his well-laid plots—and fix his awful state in endless woe. Nothing, then, should dwell in my bosom—but the immortal graces; faith which shall rise into vision, hope which shall grow into fruition, and love which shall dwell before the throne. May 30, 1769 (birthday). This morning of my birthday has proved the day of death to a near neighbor of mine. And neither a scattered family nor a disconsolate widow, could detain him another day. What nearer could death come to remind me of my mortality, unless he had laid his hand on some of my family or myself? How deep am I rooted in the earth! On every birthday, on the beginning of every month, by every providence, I would fain get myself loosed from this perishing world—but still I take root again. Nothing but heavenly grace in exercise will loosen my affections from the earth. June 20, 1769. This day a young man is buried, whose last words were lamentable. "Hell," said he, "is begun! O! death, death, death is nothing—if damnation were not at its back!" Indeed he was in a very high fever, and at times delirious. But this was truth with a witness! October 3, 1769. What multitudes of mankind from every station have fallen in the conflict with this dread king of terrors, since I began to view the solemn period! Now, a thousand worlds are not worth a straw to them. Why, then, should I let the world so far into my heart, which, when my heart-strings break, will deceive me forever? How are my departed and dearest acquaintances employed this night? and how shall I be employed when I enter the eternal and unchanging world? If I expect to join in the hallelujah of the higher house, it well becomes me often to chant a stanza of the sacred anthem, "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain!" And the oftener I sing the sweeter—until I rise to join the song above, that is inimitable below. December 5, 1769. Man has not so many teachers in anything as about his mortality. And the child of a span long is as good a teacher, as the man of letters or of grey hairs. But of nothing is man more stupid, (I speak from mournful experience,) than about the mortality of the body, and the immortality of the soul. Hence so much care about the transient state, and so little concern about the world to come! But in a little while, dust must return to dust, while the immortal soul flies away to the eternal and unchanging world. O state unknown! yet certain, and fast approaching. January 2, 1770. The more ’new years’ I have seen, surely the fewer I shall see. My short life is well represented by a sand-glass, whatever adds to the one end, diminishes from the other. Why, then, should my worldly cares so greatly increase about a life that is hastening to its end? It is an awful thing to be more and more glued to the world—the nearer I am to be taken out of the world! February 1, 1770. What a strange antipathy is there between time and eternity! They cannot mingle more than light and darkness. Time may be lost in eternity—but time and eternity cannot measure the same duration. So it is with the things of time—and concerns of eternity. When the one has much place in the soul—the other has little reception there. If I am full of cares about time—I cannot have a proper concern about eternity. And if duly taken up about eternity—I will not be distracted with carking cares about time. February 6, 1770. Death makes a solemn change, in a fourfold respect: 1. The person’s self. 2. The person’s place. 3. The person’s company. 4. The person’s employment. First, With respect to the person’s SELF. The soul leaves the clay tabernacle, and takes an eternal farewell of time. The body, lately beautiful and beloved, is laid in the bed of corruption. Second, With respect to the person’s PLACE. Death, in a moment, translates from this world, to the invisible and eternal world. And, according to the state of the departed, they either dwell in the paradise of God—or are plunged into the pit of despair! Third, With respect to the person’s COMPANY. Here I tremble to think on the innumerable multitudes of specters with whom the lost soul must mingle! with whom my acquaintance, who was buried yesterday, is already mingled! where the epithets of honor that lately distinguished them take place no more! Here on earth, we lose and find friends and companions. But there our society is eternal. O happy saints! O happy sons of God! who, when separated from the potsherds of the earth, rise to the church of the first-born, associate with the angels of light, and dwell in the presence of Jehovah and the Lamb! But O thrice miserable sinners! who at the hour of death must part with all that is dear to them, and in a moment be classed with millions of agonized human specters, with legions of blaspheming fiends, and that forever and ever! Fourth, With respect to the person’s EMPLOYMENT. Here on earth, we trifle about dust and atoms; there we are taken up with eternal things. Here the ungodly are mirthful, jesting, and merry—but there they are sad, and tormented with inexpressible anguish. Again, here the heirs of heaven often go mourning and afflicted—but there they lose their sorrows, and forget their woes, amidst the hosannas of eternal glory! March 1, 1770. The way to prove my own readiness and resignation to die, is by my cheerful submission to the decease of my nearest and dearest friends. Now my nearest relative on earth is dangerously ill—but how I hold the grasp, plead and implore, that her days may be prolonged, and the disease mercifully removed. March 6, 1770. Still my dear friend struggles for life—but knows nothing of the danger, being insensible to everything around, human and divine. O that the soul may be secretly supported, refreshed, comforted, by the eternal Spirit of grace! And may I, and every spectator, learn to improve time and opportunities better than before; for often the same cup has changed hands, and the last have drank deepest. March 7, 1770. O how am I now distressed for the death of a dear sister! You have made desolate all my family, for I alone of all my family survive. O that I may not quarrel the conduct of the unerring providence of my all-gracious God! Now it touches me, and I am troubled; yet I dare not sorrow as those who never looked for the event, as those that have no hope. Nothing but a firm belief of the invisible world—while affection and submission struggle together—can make us let our friends go there, where we expect in a little while to arrive. Moreover, I cannot but observe, that on that very day (that is, the first Tuesday) of the month on which for some years I have contemplated my latter end—the melancholy scene was realized in my sight upon my nearest friend. April 3, 1770. How soon do the impressions of a friend’s death wear off our minds! and how little impression does our own death make on their minds! Surely, O grave! you are the land of deep forgetfulness. But he who was once dead, and is now alive—well remembers all his dead members. June 5, 1770. Alas! a person may grow formal in anything, yes, even talk and write of death as a matter of course, without any just concern. But proper views of death will make impressions which the world and all its vanities will never be able to shake off. To die with this world seated in my mind, and rooted in my affections—is sad and melancholy. But to live with the eternal world in my view, and the affections set on heavenly things, is beautiful, and fitting for the expectant of eternal glory. When I put far away the day of death—I am ready to welcome earthly vanities to come near. But the nearer the future realities of the invisible world come, the further will I chase away, the vanities of this transitory life. September 4, 1770. No disappointment, and no malice from one perishing creature to another, need give much pain, because an end will be put to all, in a little while. But O the endearing condescension of the mighty One, to call worms and potsherds—his jewels, his crown, and royal diadem! May all my desires be heavenward and Godward—and my soul shall be filled with joy. December 4, 1770. How apt am I to forget that I must die, and how seldom do my thoughts dwell on that momentous change that must pass upon me! There is something fearsome and solemn in the thought, that my invisible, immaterial part—dismantled of its flesh—shall take possession of the invisible world! There we shall have no tongue, and yet we shall sing his praise! There we shall have no eyes, and yet we shall see his glory! There we shall have no ears, and yet we shall hear the endless hallelujah! There we shall have no features, and yet we shall know and be known to one another. To go into such an unknown, unintelligible state, to mingle in such an invisible society—would terrify and trouble me, did not I know that I go to God, in whose presence I shall find everything familiar, pleasant, and divine! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 4: 01.02. 1771 - 1778 ======================================================================== A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1771—1778 February, 1771. Last night a person was removed by death, who, though feeble and infirm, had fond expectations of recovery, and strong desires to live. O what is it in this world, that is so bewitching; and what in the eternal world that is so forbidding—that we recoil from that, and cleave to this? If life is sweet, and if a man will give all he has for his life, should not living in the presence of God be a thousand times more welcome? It is a moving spectacle to see malefactors, being banished to foreign climates, taking the last look of their native land, with weeping eyes, wringing hands, and broken hearts. But it is a joyful parting, when some illustrious and agreeable stranger is taking his last farewell here of all his friends, being recalled to his native country and his prince’s court. With heartfelt joy, he loses sight of the shore, to reach the nobler climate. Let me never look, then, on the approach of death, like a rebel banished to some inhospitable isle—but like a son going to his native country, and his Father’s house. March 5, 1771. This day is a mournful remembrancer to me of the death of my dear sister. A melancholy twelve months has not blotted out my loss, though I see that the dead go to the land of forgetfulness. But, amidst my sorrow, I sink into the same situation. Sorrow for our departed relations is the most irresistible, and yet the most unreasonable of all sorrow. It cannot profit the dead—but may hurt the living. It characterizes the heathen, who sorrow as those who have no hope. But is foreign to the Christian, who has a future world always in view, and eternity at hand. With my better informed part, I triumph over grief—but my human feelings still deplore my loss. When sense looks beyond the grave, it sees nothing but inscrutable mysteries, and appalling prospects—and it succumbs. But when faith looks beyond the grave, it sees all things amiable, inviting, safe, and tranquil, in his unchangeable love—and it triumphs. O, then, for a steady faith for that important, that approaching hour! May 1, 1771. It is common to complain of the troubles of life, yet they are kindly designed to loosen our affections from the world. If our life were all clear sunshine, without care or confusion, jar or contention, disappointment or pain, how would we be glued to the world, and cemented to the things of time, since amidst all the disasters which occur, we are still so attached to the transitory things! "God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness." Hebrews 12:10 (NIV) May 7, 1771. On this day, when many miles from home, I had a warning of my own death in the dying aspect of an acquaintance, a correspondent. He is done with this world, and so weak that he cannot speak of the other. When my situation shall be the same, let this Monthly Memorial witness for me that I have expected it. And that I have now and then thought on a future state, and the world to come. May 30, 1771 (birthday). Why do I mention my birthday but to remember the day of my death? And it is remarkable, that the wisest of men, and an inspired writer, makes no account of the whole human life—but of these two grand events—to be born, and to die—as all the rest are either so short, or so trifling, that they deserve no notice. By the first, I am served heir of future worlds, and the universe combined against me cannot defraud me of this inheritance. And by the last, I am put in actual possession of eternity itself—where the contest of monarchs for kingdoms, appears as the struggles of school-boys for toys and trifles; and where the kingly scepters and crowns of gold are utterly despised by all the immortal multitude, in either state—for there is a state of endless felicity, and of eternal torment! O to secure my interest! ascertain my state! June 6, 1771. Many things we should place over against one another; as death—in opposition to life; judgment—to all our actions; the dark grave—in opposition to our grandest mansions; our soul—in opposition to all our acquisitions; eternity—in opposition to time; heaven—in opposition to earth; and God—in opposition to all finite existence. And then we will be at no loss to know our duty. June 15, 1771. This day an uncommon and melancholy providence sends a promising boy and an affectionate father to the grave together! The strippling, though heir to an estate, fevers and dies. The fond parents are overwhelmed with sorrow, yet the sorrowful father writes the burial-letters. But who should think that he should accompany him in the coffin to the house of silence! His life seems to have been bound up in the life of the lad; for, after putting the lifeless, yet beloved clay into the coffin, he faints, perhaps from some insupportable pang of grief, and excess of sorrow—which cut his heart strings in two! I sympathize, I feel for the survivors. The tender mother laments the loss of her son—and no husband to comfort her! The inconsolable widow laments her dead husband—and her son is not alive to allay her sorrow! The tender-hearted children are lavish of their tears for their brother—but have no kind father to sympathize with them. They are swallowed up of sorrow for their departed parent—but their brother is dead, and cannot sympathize with their mourning! What should any man, what should I, expect in the world—but disappointment, lamentation, mourning and woe? How sudden, how irresistible—is the call of death! Here one must not wait to bury his oldest son, dispose of his other children, or comfort the wife of his bosom! October 23, 1771. No man knows whether love or hatred will be in store for him. But to the saint, everything comes in love. How am I kept still alive, when, lo! a laborer in God’s harvest is carried hence in the very bloom of life! A desolate congregation, a disconsolate widow, and helpless orphans, make the scene very mournful! But his disembodied soul has no connection with terrestrial things—it is full of glory, full of God! Ah! what worldly enchantment holds me, that I am not more conversant with the invisible world? November 5, 1771. When I hear of the death of a saint of God—or when I think of my own death—why do I grow pale? To go home to his native country, and his Father’s house, to meet with all his dearest friends, to enter into a palace, to receive a kingdom and a crown, to put on immortality, and be clothed with glory—must give us an idea of grandeur and felicity! Now, all this ensues on the death of the righteous, and may make us rather bless his situation, than bemoan his death! February 20, 1772. Several of my acquaintances have commenced members of the invisible world, and their last possessions below are a few feet of putrefying earth. One of them dies on a visit, and in two hours. Another sleeps out of life, yes, so to speak, sleeps himself awake through the night of time, into the broad day of eternity. While others, by acute diseases, are stripped of their mortal state. It seems essential to death to come upon all man-kind unawares with respect to their friends, if not with respect to themselves. Let the friends of a dying person wait on him, and expect his death every day, yet when his death comes, it will be at an hour that they looked not for, at a moment that they were not aware. March 3, 1772. The truth of the above appears in a young hopeful person, who gets only a broken shin. But that brings on a fever. And the fever ends in an unexpected death. What am I to expect in the world but lamentation? The more comforts I enjoy—the more crosses I may expect. The more friends I have—the more funerals I attend. Why should I dwell on my sorrow? Why repeat, that on this very day two years ago, I lost a dear friend! Silence. And rejoice, O my soul! that your Redeemer lives. April 7, 1772. How are my departed acquaintances this night employed? Just as they were employed below. The soul that delighted himself in God, maintained communion with God, panted after likeness to him, and longed for the full enjoyment of God—is this night ravished and delighted in his beatific presence, maintains the most intimate and nearest communion with him, expands in his similitude, and, in his enjoyment of God, presses on and aspires eternally after more and more of God. But the ungodly, in none of whose thoughts God was, who slighted his love, and trampled on his law, and in everything fled from God—is this night filled with tormenting anguish, horror, and remorse, is made to drink of the wrath of the Almighty, and is eternally separated from God, and from the glory of his power. Heaven and hell are begun in time. If, then, on earth I have not my heart in heaven more or less, I may be assured that I shall never be personally there. And he that ripens not for glory, must be fitted for destruction. And to such, death is death indeed. May 30, 1772, (birthday). On the day that I was born, there was joy in my father’s house. But on the day that I must die, there shall be sorrow in mine. But whatever sorrow there may be in my family, and among my friends—may there be joy in my soul, even joy unspeakable and full of glory. Many feast their bodies on their birthday; may I feast my soul, in the faith of being admitted to the marriage-supper of the Lamb! I am entered on another, and, for anything that I can tell, perhaps the last year of my life. O! then, to live every way like one upon the confines of eternity! On this very day I attend the funeral of a person but a little older than myself. And before I myself am much older—others must attend mine. June 2, 1772. What satisfaction can I find in a round of vexation and vanity? and what else can I expect in the world? Though I should never rest until death, yet death shall bring me to my everlasting rest. And by a strong faith thereof I enter into this very rest. Sin, the greatest of all evils, does the saint many good offices, among which this is not the least—to reconcile him to death. For when he finds his enemies often assault him, and he himself often hurried into acts of rebellion—must he not long to pass over Jordan, that he may never more offend his rightful Lord and best Friend? July 6, 1772. O that spirituality were my element! then it would be no pain to think on death, as the door to eternal glory. The fish cannot live on land, the land-animal cannot live in the water; what supports life in the one, is death to the other. An angel could not live on earth, a devil could not dwell in heaven, nor (O strange! O true!) a worldly man! Everything seeks its element, and tends to its center. O that sacred love were my element, and God my center! then shall I breathe in the one, and soar towards the other. October 6, 1772. From this world, which has much occupied me this morning, I retire a few minutes, to think on death, and glance at the world to come. For what do I bereave myself of rest? Could I add kingdom to kingdom, unite empire to empire, and bundle all the scepters of princes, kings, and emperors together, and possess myself of them—what would this do for me in the hour of death, or in those solemn moments when I must stand at heaven’s tribunal? Nothing, or worse than nothing—even an addition to my guilt, an aggravation of my sin! October 12, 1772. This is a melancholy day to an affectionate father, and fond mother, who send to the house of silence, their little family. The two boys, though different in their ages, in one day are laid in one grave. Many a year the married pair longed for the blessing of the womb; it was obtained—but now all their joy perishes in the untimely tomb. They never had more children, and probably never will have more; therefore they must be sorrowful to their very soul. O then, to take God for our all, that we may be comforted against grief on every side, and enriched against every loss below! November 3, 1772. I am pained at my very heart to hear of the death of a dear acquaintance! Indeed, he is gone from the service of the lower sanctuary, to join the triumphant song of the higher house. But why am I surprised that a journey comes to an end—that a traveler arrives at home? What, then, is life but a journey—and the living but travelers? O to believe this, and to have my eye on my latter end! December 2, 1772. How must our dead friends who are gone to God, to glory—pity our ignorance in lamenting them as cut off forever, from every desirable enjoyment—when indeed they are only carried to be possessed of their utmost wish, and to be blessed above their widest hope! This is the case with my dear acquaintance; he is above all sorrow, and satisfied with the abundance of every good, even with the exuberance of God himself. January 6, 1773. It is often fatal to grow remiss in important points. So has an army been many a night under arms, and kept the strictest watch—but growing at last secure, has been surprised and overthrown. Some die so openly profane, that hell, in the eyes of the world, opens her flaming mouth to receive them. Others descend by a back passage to the pit. In like manner, some, as it were, steal incognito to glory, while others rise in the broad day, amidst a cloud of witnesses, to bliss. Oh! to carry as much of heaven in my life, as to let the world see that I am traveling heavenwards. And as much of death in my meditation, as will remind me that I am traveling to the tomb! February 2, 1773. If I am traveling to the land of promise, to the Canaan above—it will afford me comfort, that I have gone so many days journey through the desert, and am now almost within sight of the better country. April 1, 1773. The whole employment of a well spent life should be to prepare for death, and improve for eternity. If, then, I have a mortal life, why am I thus glued to the things of time? And if I have an immortal soul, why am I not more enamored with the realities of eternity, with the joys of heaven? May 4, 1773. As this is the month in which I was born, it may not be improper to ask myself a few questions: 1. How many years have I lived in the world? 2. Can I say that I find myself either more willing or more ready to leave it, than I was many years ago? 3. Do I relish earthly things less, and heavenly things more than formerly? 4. In a word, do I believe myself really nearer death now than ever? If the spirits of just men made perfect, and holy angels, be my friends; if heaven be my home, and God be my Father; why do not I long to see my friends, to arrive at home, and to be admitted into my Father’s house, and into my Father’s presence? May 30, 1773 (Birthday). While I would sanctify this day, being the Lord’s, it may be proper to put myself in mind, that as children are born in every day of the week, so we may expect to die on any day. But O to be the happy person, who, whenever death comes, may expect to enter on an eternal Sabbath of rest! Death may deprive me of the ordinances below—but then it shall bring me to the temple above, and to the more spiritual worship of the inner house. If my life be hid with Christ in God, then the very prospect of death, which shall usher me into his heavenly presence, shall be like life to my soul. June 12, 1773. There are two seasons in time in which the whole world are put on a level, the hour of birth, and the hour of death. Thus one of some rank among men, pants in his last pangs like one of the common people, and gives up the spirit like any other son of Adam. Though death is of great consequence to every person, yet, with few exceptions—what a trifle is it to the rest of mankind! What a faint impression will it make, and how soon will the event be forgotten! for how should those remember that monitor of mortality—the death of their acquaintance—forget that they themselves shall die? And it is nothing to the other parts of creation though all the human race should fall into the grave! I look through the window, and see that the lilies in the garden hang not their head, though their master is no more, nor the tulips lose their sparkling variety of colors, though their proprietor is pale in death. And yet, surprising to tell, precious in God’s sight is the death of his servants, his saints. How should I dwell now in the day of health at the throne of grace, since I may be so fast held by death for days before my death—that I may not be able to pour out a prayer! July 9, 1773. Why do not I rejoice at the thoughts of death? Shall it not be the day on which I am discharged from all my burdens, freed from all my foes, crowned with my highest expectations, and carried to the very throne of God? November 2, 1773. However terrible death may be in itself; yet what a change does redeeming love make therein to the saints; for at this solemn hour, they are only said to fall asleep! When the sick or fretful child, which has long kept its mother in motion and pain, falls asleep—she encourages its tranquility, and rejoices in its repose. Why should we then disquiet ourselves so much when our friends fall asleep in Jesus? December 7, 1773. God keeps the time of our decease hidden from us, that we may be prepared to meet it every day. But because we know not the precise time of our departure, we put out of mind that we shall ever die, and become oblivious to death. Thus, we counteract the kind design of Providence How shall all heaven dilate my soul, in the very moment I shall enter into the invisible world! A change—sudden, sweet, transporting—shall pass upon me—and earthly cares, and worldly concerns, and carnal delights, and temporal pains, and corroding sorrows, shall never more be known. Such views may balance the fears of death. And make me meditate on the decisive moment with composure and peace. May 30, 1774 (Birthday). How short is the span, and how brittle is the thread of life, the experience of numbers can tell. Two days ago, a person sits down without any complaint of sickness or pain, and expires without a groan. And who can tell but my death may be as sudden and unexpected? Should not such events be caveats against reveling and feasting on our birthday? May the day of my death in all respects be better to me than the day of my birth! In a word, I must either bless God for being born again—or curse the day that ever I was born! July 1, 1774. One thing that renders the disembodied state solemn, is appearing in the immediate presence of the great God. Now, were my soul sweetly and intimately acquainted with God, and admitted into heavenly communion with him, I would have no pain nor perturbation at entering on the nearest presence of my dearest Friend—death would change my place, not my company. August 2, 1774. As a person may have the form of godliness without the power; so may I have the form of remembering my latter end, without a right practical remembrance of death. To say something of mortality by rote—and to believe myself a dying man—are quite different. O to have such a belief of death, as to make me walk circumspectly whatever I do, every day moderately careful for the present world, and earnestly careful for the world to come! September 6, 1774. A prospect of my latter end may make me less careful about all intervening concerns, of whatever importance. The king needs not to be much in love with a crown, nor the slave much loathe his chain—if both are to be removed tomorrow. October 4, 1774. Cares without, and corruption within, make my situation here but melancholy. Yet, like the worst of all slaves, I am in love with my chains, and solace myself in my bondage. November 1, 1774. Coming home from a long journey—let me remember, that I have a much longer journey before me. My present journey has been to no purpose, and might have been avoided. But that journey cannot be avoided, and, I hope, shall be to the noblest purpose, in winging me home to my native country, and my Father’s house. Why does my heart not beat with joy, at the thought of my eternal home? December 1, 1774. O king of terrors! what havoc have you made, what numbers led to prison, since I appeared in life! If thirty years measure the life of man, I have seen the world wholly swept, and well near half spent again, of all its inhabitants! For though numbers, as I have done, arrive at forty-four, greater numbers die at fourteen. And should hundreds see sixty years, thousands never see six moons. Or, should one now and then see ninety or a hundred years, yet greater numbers never see the sun at all. But, O death! however you may appear to the wicked, know that you shall only perform the drudgery of a conquered, a captive king, to all the saints of God; even draw them in their clay chariot to the gate of glory, and open the chariot-door, that they may step into the immediate presence of God. December 6, 1774. This day death has brought to the house appointed for all living, a youth, who two days hence, was to have presented his sister to her bridegroom on her wedding day! How is sorrow, and mourning, and woe—inlaid and wrapped through all the affairs of human life, that we may never forget to be serious, even when permitted to be most cheerful! The friends, if they have any feelings of humanity, must make but a mournful appearance on the wedding day, since so near a friend is no more. January 2, 1775. Not a year ends, or begins—but with lamentation, mourning, and woe, to many. And this should moderate the mirth of all, since the lot of one may be the lot of all. The case of the young man who was interred two days ago, rouses up all the tender feelings in my soul. In his last illness, he has the use and exercise of his reason, and is extremely solicitous about his eternal state; begs his friends to hold up his case to a throne of grace; cries out, that he is willing to be an eternal debtor to free grace. But withal deplores that he has not the least assurance of the dreadful step! What diligence, what care, can be too much, to make our calling and election sure, and make us go triumphing off the field of battle! February 5, 1775. When I see a person wasting under an inveterate consumption, I am ready to say to myself, how soon must that soul mingle in the eternal and unchanging world! But is not every man—am not I—as surely under the sentence of death as he? A few weeks, and a few years, make no difference to candidates for eternity. Therefore may I say, how soon must every man, how soon must I—mingle in the eternal and unchanging world! And what proofs of this just now surround me! There an infant, that can scarcely be said to have seen the sun—dies, unseen, in the silent night. And there a sister, that a few weeks ago performed kind offices about her dying brother, is laid in the house of silence. And there one acquaintance, who had betrothed one of his children, cannot remain to see the nuptials solemnized. And there, another acquaintance is hurried off by a few hours illness, and leaves a young family and a bedridden widow. These are lessons from every quarter, from every situation of life—they are loud, and are all directed to me. O to hear them for my good! March 7, 1775. This is the melancholy day that robbed me of the last of my near relations. But were I assured that all my dear friends were sometime very soon to make me a visit, and have nothing terrifying in it—but converse with me a few hours on the most pleasant and improving subjects, how would I forget my mourning in expectation of the longed-for meeting! Well, then, though they shall never return to me—I am certain that I shall go to them; and as certain that, when we meet in the heavenly presence, we shall be better company to each other, than we ever could be below—and the perfections and love of God shall be our inexhaustible theme through endless day! March 24, 1775. A few days ago, my horse being frightened, jumped from under me, so that I fell to the ground, and fell on my forehead; had it been on a stone, or with greater force, it might have been a mortal blow! Wherever I go, or whatever I do, there is but an hair-breath between me and death! But happy I, if I be still nearer to your love than to death itself. April 2, 1775. There is a time in which we account ourselves young; and there is a time in which we ought to think ourselves growing old. What is in youth—that we are so fond about it? What is in old age—that we are so averse from it? It is life we seek in the one—and death we shun in the other. But in every period of life we may die, though in old age we must die. From this time, then, I will look upon myself as in the afternoon of life, and as uncertain when my sun may set to rise no more. But, O! that then a better day and a brighter sun may arise on me—never to be obscured, never to set again! May 2, 1775. As I would wish to enjoy the society of saints and angels after death, so would I eagerly wish for the company of saints in life. Death can never hurt nor separate the happy members that are united to the glorious Head. Twenty years ago, I was full of plans and schemes about my future life. But should not my care, concern, and anxiety be diminished now according to that great deduction of years? for while I know not if there remains a year or two to plan for, I am sure there are twenty years gone that I shall never have more concern with. May 30, 1775 (Birthday). This day, one in high life is to be laid in the silent grave; while another lies silent in death. Now distinctions cease forever, and the disembodied soul of a king carries no nobility with it into the eternal and unchanging world. O! then, to put on the righteousness of the Savior, by which I shall shine when the sun and moon are extinguished. Many a birthday have I seen; it would be folly to expect to see many more. But may I see a better day—when days, and months, and years are no more. It is a work sufficient for our whole life—for every moment of our time—to prepare aright for death. And yet any other trifle easily gets the ascendency. If in the course of the week, one were to secure to himself as much money as would comfortably sustain him as long as he should live—with what constant care, unabating eagerness, and vigorous anxiety, would he attend to the acquisition! But when eternal happiness is to be secured in a few years, months, or days of an uncertain life—what madness is it to neglect the golden opportunity until all is lost! June 6, 1775. A deceased person has left immense riches to a near friend. Some envy, others wonder, and all talk of it. But what can the bequeathed wealth do for the survivor? Alas! the shining heap cannot—procure health, banish sickness, give peace of mind, secure against anguish and disquiet, defend against the wrinkles of old age, or bribe devouring death! What advantage then, shall the obtaining of this vast wealth do to the possessor--who also in a little while must be stripped of all by death? How happy, then, to have my treasure laid up in heaven! For death, instead of tearing me from my possession like the men of the world--shall bring me to the full enjoyment of my everlasting all. July 4, 1775. Such, by nature, is my attachment to life, such my aversion from death, though I cannot always live—but must at some period die—that it is highly needful periodically to fix my meditations on death. He is in a melancholy case—whom the prospect of death makes melancholy. But thrice happy he who rejoices in view of death. What are riches, honors, titles, family, and friends, pleasures and delights—in the hour of death, in the day of eternity? Again, what are poverty, disgrace, disappointment, solitude, pain, and anguish—in the hour of death, in the day of eternity! Then, whenever the vanities or vexations of time, swell and appear big in my eyes, I will look to the hour of death, to the day of eternity, and see them decrease and forever disappear. August 1, 1775. How am I like an old tree, that, while near the time of being felled, strikes its roots deeper, and spreads them wider, and thus takes a faster hold in the ground—which it must leave so soon! O to have the carnal mind removed, the affections set on things above, and this world kept under my feet! Just now, since I began to write, a letter has arrived, informing me of the death of a friend. And this is giving me a recent instance of the truth which I would gladly imprint on my mind—that I am but a sojourner below. O to be much conversant about that world where all live unto God, for in this present world we die to one another very fast. Those who today mourn over a dead friend—in a little while die themselves, and transfer their lamentations to the disconsolate survivors. Hence, mourning shall never be out of the world, until suppressed by deeper astonishment at the resurrection of the dead, and the coming of the Judge. How mournful the condition of my friend! The husband has lost the wife of his youth—the wife of his bosom. And his children have lost the knees that dandled them, and the breasts which nourished them. So must all the tender relations be torn asunder by the iron hand of death. O! then, to have a relation that will bid defiance to death itself! September 5, 1775. A right belief concerning death will moderate every passion, and every expectation. Why should we excessively love—what we must loose so soon? Why should we greatly fear foes or afflictions—which so soon shall be no more? Why expect any felicity on this side the grave where death renders every joy uncertain? But the unchangeable God—we should reverence with filial fear, love with glowing ardor, and in his plenitude expect all satisfaction. November 12, 1775. How miserable would our life be, if often visited with sickness, or attacked with such acute pain as I felt last night! a pain so intense, that I cannot have a full idea of it now that it is gone. What language, then, can describe—or what thought comprehend—the wretched state of those who feel pains infinitely more excruciating, and tortures more infinitely agonizing than anything in time—while the soul, in every power and faculty, feels anguish and distress, torment and despair in a superior degree to the body? And alas! how many are rushing to this dreadful state! O for gratitude to my kind deliverer! And O to improve the rosy hours of ease and health in preparing for the world to come! January 2, 1776. The year is ended—and another begun! So must my life end—and I enter on another state! O to begin the heavenly state in time! O to bring eternity near by faith and meditation—since it is drawing nearer every day! The patience of God is not exercised, and the kindness of Providence is not poured down—to make me forget that I must shortly go hence, and be no more seen—but to bring me nearer to himself, with whom I would hope to dwell forever—even when I am traveling on the way. April 2, 1776. Last night, four hours sleep departed from me by a slight pain in my head. What then, thought I, must their situation be, who are tormented through the endless night of wrath! who cannot wait for the morning-light, because the day is fled from them forever! O it is sad to take up Saul’s complaint at our latter end! "Health has departed from me; time has departed from me; opportunities are past; friends and I must soon part forever; the Philistines are upon me; sickness is upon me; anguish has come upon me. And, which sums up all—God does not favor me—but is about to depart from me forevermore." May 7, 1776. Amidst a world of uncertainties which daily beset me, of this I may be sure—that death will certainly come upon me! And since I cannot shake myself free of vanities and vexations—death will come and set me at safety from them all. Death is a change that is daily realized by many in the world—and yet is a stranger to the meditation of the greater part of the world. May 30, 1776 (Birthday). It is the custom of people in high life to feast on their birthday. May I also feast my soul in view of that state of eternal glory, towards which I hope I am going! This is the day which brought me into the world, and that day is fast approaching that shall bring me into the eternal and unchanging world. The day of my death is solemn—and cannot be avoided. Here I accuse myself of the most consummate folly, that I am so concerned about a few earthy trifles—when my future state is so near, and a whole eternity is before me. To grow in grace, and ripen for glory—should be the main employment of a life that is daily drawing nearer to its end. I adore the providences of this last year. I accept of the chastisements, and mourn over all my sins and shortcomings. June 4, 1776. Death, in some respect, comes on all men unawares—but the saint never shall be greatly surprised. He is like a man about to go on a sea voyage—who, while waiting for a fair wind, entertains himself agreeably, contracts acquaintances, and mixes with company. But when the wind is favorable—he is suddenly sent for—he springs to his feet, bids all his friends adieu, and with alacrity hurries aboard. Thus I know I must die—but when, I cannot say. I expect it some time—but may meet death at a time I did not expect it. O to be watching for the heavenly morning, as the sentinel watches for the morning light! July 2, 1776. What a poor thing is funeral pomp! The silent grave devours up all! But what a sweet thing is sound hope in death, and consolation in my last moments! As my last moments are daily approaching—O that they may be my best moments, and bring me to my endless rest. July 16, 1776. When any of our friends die—at what pains are we to hope they are in heaven! How fond are we to believe that their heart was good, and their grace was real—that though we saw their failings! We collect everything good about them, to render it probable that they are in heaven. From all which, what I would infer is this—why should not every man, why should not I, give all diligence to make our own calling and election sure, while alive? It is sweet to have the evidences, scriptural evidences for heaven, in our own bosom, shining through our life, and dropping from our tongue in our last moments. We wish to hope our friends in heaven when they are dead; why not to secure heaven for ourselves while we live? If it is comfort to us to think that our friends are in heaven—should it not be our consolation to see ourselves going to heaven? August 24, 1776. I see some men, though arrived at the verge of life, and emaciated with disease—still fond to protract life—which, if much longer protracted, must become a very burden. This folly I condemn in others. And when I arrive at the same period, which is fast approaching, I wish I may not be guilty of it myself. Had I bright views, through a strong faith of the heavenly glory—I would rather long to die, that I might be forever with Christ—than to dwell enthroned on this earthly ash-heap, where crowns totter, scepters break, and war and confusion overwhelm the nations, and where sin and corruption make continual inroads into my soul. October 1, 1776. As our harvest-work is over—and our cares subside. And when all the fruits of the field are gathered in—our whole concern is turned into another channel—to prepare the ground for another crop. Just so, since much of my time is over—why is not my concern about the things of time greatly lessened? Since eternity is the approaching period—why do not I make provision for a world to come? Again, to weary reapers, what can be more agreeable, than a soft bed and a sound sleep at night? Such is the death of the happy soul who dies in Jesus—his toils are finished, and his weary dust shall rest until raised up immortal. November 5, 1776. How soon must life—and all the scenes of life—come to an end! But, happy is the heir of heaven—since all the fullness of God, since all the glories of eternity—are his when time is no more! I wish to enjoy God in his gifts, in his creatures, in his ordinances, in his graces, and in his Christ here. But in his glories, in his Son, and in himself hereafter, in the highest degree of perfection. December 3, 1776. When I come to a bed of languishing, may my comforts flow rather from the prospect of a better life, than from my hopes of recovery. But this I see, that he who is not serious in the hours of health, may be sad and sorrowful—but will not be serious in the day of trouble—at the hour of death. To live careless about our soul, is the way to die under stupidity of soul. Conscience may sometimes be awakened, yet the man die unconverted. O to be kept from a false hope—or faithless fears! Then shall I rejoice in the prospect of death. This day the man who once was my bitter enemy, is in trouble: but I behave as he were my brother. And, before him who searches the heart, I desire to send my prayers to the throne of grace for him. He who rejoices at the calamity of his enemy—has a disease in his own soul that may cause him to mourn. December 19, 1776. It is a melancholy day for this sad family. O that it may be a day of reflection with all! For to trifle on the brink of eternity is dreadful! And where—but on the brink of eternity, does every living man stand? The widow and her daughters weep in the house, and the boys weeping attend the coffin—as their husband and father is lost in death. Nothing but a lump of insensible clay is before us. But O happy orphans, whose father is God! and happy widow, whose Judge is the Lord! December 22, 1776. Shall I be more astonished at the stupidity of the dying sinner—or of his surviving friends? Here an intimate acquaintance of mine expires, and his relations say he has gone straight to heaven! And yet, O strange! though convinced that his death was at hand, he drops not a single word in commendation of Jesus! He has nothing to say in praise of free grace. He asks not one prayer to be addressed to the throne of grace for him. He has no complaint of indwelling sin, or the errors of his life. He has not a word of godly advice to give to any around him. This man has no fears--nor any exercise of grace, or actings of faith. He is never observed to be in prayer--and yet fears nothing! December 31, 1776. Last night pain admonished me—that my life, like this year, must have its last day. But what must the anguish of a soul in pain be, when it may not complain, or has none to complain to! Death lays the saint as well as the sinner very low. But there is a noble balance here, for when my mortal frame is almost dissolved—my heavenly state is well near begun. When my friends, sad and disconsolate, cover my dust in the grave—my soul, glad and triumphant, is crowned with unfading glory. You, my friends, may weep on my account—but it should be for joy at my felicity, and not for sorrow at my departure. If the dying saint was never in such a deplorable state, as at the time of his death—he was never in such a happy state, as at the time of his heavenly exaltation. Then, though there may be a mourning and lamentation in my house on the day of my death, there shall be joy and acclamation in my Father’s house! In the hour of my entering into heaven, and in the general hallelujah—I shall forget all my sorrow, and be filled with unspeakable joy! The sorrow of relations must diminish, (the sooner the better,) but my joy shall be on the increase through eternal ages. January 1, 1777. I have begun another year. Yet I cannot be certain of another day! I have a whole eternity before me--and to prepare for that, may well employ all my time! Death in itself is a melancholy time to all. But the death of some has something in it very afflicting to friends. Thus my acquaintance, alone in his room, and come to warm himself at the fire is seized with a fainting fit, and falls into the fire, where he is roasted to death before any person enters the room! And who but the poor mother who had suckled him comes first in—and finds him in this deplorable situation! What she feels, I own I dare not attempt to put in words. Alas! who can tell in what manner I must die? O to die in Jesus, and I shall be safe, whether drowned in a stream, or devoured by the flame. January 13, 1777. What sad aggravations have the sorrows of some! My school-fellow and friend, who has been many years far abroad, and by his fond mother long expected home—ah! poor mother, how often has your imagination, with heart-felt joy, anticipated the happy meeting, arranged the kind embraces, and the mutual endearments, with all the subsequent scenes of happiness on the reception of your son! But while the happy day is expected, the mother receives no letter from her dear son. So she writes, chiding the ungrateful silence, and at the same time breathing motherly affection. Well, what is her answer? None! Instead, news comes from that country informing the mother that her son has died! O how many arrows must pierce the tender heart! She, like the mourner of Nain, is a widow, and has lost her only son. Then, may the compassionate Savior, though he raise not her son now, yet comfort and support her soul, and say, Woman, weep not. April 1, 1777. Whatever disappointments Christians may meet with in time; death will not disappoint us at the end. And we may think less of all lesser disappointments—in view of this great and eternal change. I have lessons of mortality every day, and admonitions to remember the world to come—and yet how little do I think on these things? This is a lamentation, and shall be for a lamentation. May 1, 1777. The more pleasures we possess—the more pains we may expect. He that has the dearest relations to heighten his bliss—may fear the severest anguish in losing them. Just so, this day my near neighbor and dear friend—who has one son that shines in the world, and trades to foreign lands—gets the melancholy news that he has died! The affectionate mother, who longed to embrace her son, whom she had not seen for many years, and whom she had expected very soon to see—is crushed in the most tender manner, and is drowned in mourning and woe, while the father feels all the severity of a manly grief. But the invisible world calls off my attention from lesser things, to ask the state of his soul. O! then, to die in Jesus—and all shall be well. May 24, 1777. Some men are threatened with death through some severe disease—and a compassionate God sometimes pities them as his creatures, not as his children, and girds them anew with strength, as he did Cyrus of old—though they have despised him. But it is melancholy to see the unrepentant sinner go to the very gates of hell, hang over the pit, and very near plunging into it; and yet, when pulled back by the hand of God, run on to perdition and woe! May 30, 1777 (Birthday). This day, coming from a long journey—I have arrived at my ’home’—or rather ’inn’—where I only lodge a few nights on my journey to my ’long home’—the silent grave. Now as a traveler is thankful—though not over solicitous for a good night’s lodging—so I desire to thank God for the conveniences of life which I enjoy—while I would wish to fix in my mind, that I must soon remove from everything below. But O what a noble habitation is the heaven of glory, the temple of God. July 1, 1777. I have now finished a part of my house that has long stood unfinished. But I desire to remember, that death can as easily find his way into my house now as before—and that, though snatched away from it, I shall neither be surprised nor disappointed. Not surprised, for I dare not boast of tomorrow. Not disappointed, for I shall lose an earthly cottage—and find a heavenly palace! In the mean time, I bless God for my habitation here; and much more for the hopes of a better habitation hereafter. August 5, 1777. I desire to believe that I am daily approaching the eternal and changeless world. And that I may, at any time—be summoned to the solemn tribunal of Heaven, to give an account of every word I speak, as well as every work I do. Alas! what inattention to the truths of God stares me in the face! And O, to live as a dying man—and for eternity! September 2, 1777. The daily disappointments I meet with in the world should loose me from the world, and prepare me to leave the world. O to believe that everything below is vain—and to long for the better, eternal country! To him who is to bless me at the end of my journey—well may I commit the guidance of my journey. And though some parts of the road are rough, I will walk cheerfully on it, not because I do not feel pain—but because my heavenly Guide is pleased to lead me along it. October 1, 1777. A young man, while marrying a wife—has lost a parent. How is his joy over his bride, mixed with sorrow for her who bore him! One day the son is married; the next day the mother dies; and on the next day the old woman is interred in the churchyard. This is a scene exquisitely mixed, and extremely moving. October 7, 1777. Vexation and woe are inscribed on human life. Here the children lie on sick-beds—but their moans and complaints do not disturb their poor father, for he has just fallen fast asleep in death! The poor wife is just recovering from a fever—to do the last kind offices to her husband and her sick children—of whom some are so concerned about their own decease, that they have scarcely time to mourn for their departed parent. Amidst the sick groans of his little family—he yields up his spirit and is no more. November 4, 1777. Four weeks ago, the aged parent lost his son, and attended him mourning to the grave. Now he has lost his wife—but being in a fever, and having lost his reason—he cannot be persuaded that she is dead. He seems also on the very verge of the invisible world! O the sad disasters—the heavy crosses and calamities that waylay us in our journey through life! But happy if they all end at death—and happy is that soul which is prepared for death, and pants for heaven! December 2, 1777. Thousands are apprehended by death unawares! O to be prepared for death! O to be ready to move to the eternal and unchanging world! O to go hence with cheerful alacrity—like one going home to his father’s house, and to his dearest friends! If I would be thus prepared, I must not have two homes—but I must account myself a stranger here on earth—and heaven must be my home! January 6, 1778. We may end the year in overindulgence—and begin it in vanity. But we should end it as we would wish to end our life—and begin it as we would wish to begin eternity—that is, with God. In this—how faithful am I? but O to be wise in all time coming! March 3, 1778. Time is one of the talents put into every man’s hand, and is more precious than we are well aware of. To prepare for death, and to improve for eternity—may well employ our time though ever so long. O! then, how may my heart weep to think how much precious time I have trifled away! O to be wise in all time coming! Lawful recreations are allowed by God. But in this, how soon may we go beyond what is lawful! Too much pleasure in them, too much time spent about them—spoils all. When our amusements become a part of our employment, or call us away from something more necessary or noble—it is high time to drop them altogether. April 4, 1778. The eye of clay, as it were, sees better and shines brighter—in the youthful spring of life. But there is a period, when I must daily see worse and worse, until my eyes are closed in death. Now, when minute objects are beheld with difficulty—may faith, the eye of my soul, see heavenly objects with delight. April 7, 1778. Our life may be happy in the enjoyment of the good things of time. But we can never be truly happy, until we can hope to be more happy in the days of our death, than we have been since our birthday. O how near am I to the day of death! Should not I, then, let go the things of life in view of eternity? May 5, 1778. Is it possible that a man may live until he forgets that he must die? Yes! The greater part of the world has forgotten it! Alas! how often am I likely to forget it myself—and that amidst all the admonitions of my own mortality—and in the frequent deaths of acquaintances and friends. May 30, 1778 (Birthday). I have seen many birthdays—but am uncertain if I shall ever see another. There is one day which is awaiting me—a solemn and most important day—which shall change my company, my state, and my employment. Every event, the nearer it comes—is the oftener in our meditation. But death, which is the cardinal, the crowning event—often comes like an enemy—by surprise—and seizes us while we think it to be at a very great distance away. July 7, 1778. Confined to time and sense—I lose the sight of the future, eternal state—though it should be my whole concern. But O to have my views widening for eternity, all my powers opening for glory, and my whole soul panting for God! If I have a monthly interview with death, I should also take a monthly farewell of everything below. Farewell, then—all that I possess—all that I expect to possess in time. But welcome all the treasures of eternity—all the fullness of God! August 2, 1778. The shorter my time grows—the brighter should be my views of eternity. I should feel the less for troubles or disappointments, as the very sphere in which they move (time) is soon to be removed. What sparkling glories cheer me—while eternity opens before me, with all the unspeakable joys of paradise! What can one feel in time, that has such a prospect! O to live in view of that eternal and changeless world where I shall shortly be—and possess whatever I can wish or desire—and more than I can conceive! August 27, 1778. Alas! from the nearest friends rise the sharpest sorrows and griefs. A woman, long renowned for piety, meets with some worldly losses, (what else should we expect in this perishing world?) and turns peevish, repining, and discontented. The poor husband shares in the misfortune—but keeps his temper, while she sees everything going wrong, loses all peace of mind—and hangs herself! O how changed the scene! In that house pious acquaintances used to meet for prayer. But now Satan walks along in triumph. In whatever form death may come to me or mine—let not Satan be the attendant. September 18, 1778. A man may have few comforts—and many sorrows. And he that has many comforts—must have some sorrows. Thus the parents carry their young child in perfect health to bed; and in the morning the mother rises and leaves it, as she thinks—fast asleep. But how surprised, when, after a good interval, she looks, and finds the infant stiff in death! I sympathize—but cannot conceive the astonishment, the terror, the grief and anguish—which must overwhelm the mother’s soul! October 6, 1778. Why do I have loads of cares on my mind—when in a little while I and they must part forever? Why must I be so concerned about the trifles of this life—if the land of glory is before me? O to be weaned from this world, and to have my affections set on eternal realities! Whatever is my lot in this present world—it quiets and comforts me that I am under the government of the God of heaven. November 3, 1778. He who has appointed the bounds of my life, has also regulated all the changes thereof. O what tranquility and comfort may it yield me, that my lot is at his disposal—into whose hand I shall commit my soul at death! Nothing that can take place with me, can prevent or postpone my death. But death may prevent many things that I either expect or fear; therefore, I should never be too anxious or too fond of anything below. December 1, 1778. How various are my cares? How many are my enterprises? How constant my strugglings? How numerous my fears, about a life that is short and uncertain! It is only natural to be wise for this present world—but to act the arrant fool about the eternal and changeless world to come. O to believe, that as sure as I am now alive—in a little while hence I shall be dead! O to believe, that as sure as I dwell now among men—I shall go in a little while, to dwell in the eternal and changeless world! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 5: 01.03. 1779 - 1785 ======================================================================== A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1779—1785 January 5, 1779. One year is ended—and another year has begun. So, soon shall my life’s short year be finished—and eternity begin. O that my heart could leap at the thought of eternity. What proof shall I give that I am born from above, if I have no desire to arrive to my native country, to my father’s house? I must depart hence, for this present wilderness-world is not my rest. But why is it that I am so averse from entering on my everlasting rest, and joining the heavenly throng? An acquaintance who has been long in trouble, is this day a lifeless corpse, and a near neighbor appears nearly to be so. And I cannot promise myself another night’s lodging in this inn, that has entertained me for many years. O to meditate much! O to converse often with the invisible realities of eternity! Thus shall I shake myself free from encumbrances of time, and long to set out for the eternal and changeless world. January 26, 1779. How low may I be brought at death, like my dear acquaintance, who cannot speak! He attempts it—but the word dies away before it can be understood. O! then, to speak much for God while I can be heard. And that my soul may speak to God in aspirations of faith and love, when I can no more converse with men; for God can hear me, and be near me to the very last. February 2, 1779. My neighbor is now no more, and in a little while my neighbors shall also say of me—’he is no more!’ I cannot positively say where he makes his eternal home—for the state of the dead is only known to the living God. But this I can say, that in a little while I, my very self, shall arrive at my eternal home. O to prepare, O to improve for that fixed, for that final state! March 2, 1779. Still some are dropping into the grave, to keep us always in mind of our latter end. But some sail with full assurance to glory. We see a saint laid on a bed of languishing, and confined there for weeks, months, or years; we see him also suffering great sicknesses, and tossed with sore pain, and are ready to wonder at the conduct of Providence. But O how one moment of the heavenly glory balances all! In these ’ages of uninterrupted bliss’, all the ’moments of misery’ are forgotten. It does not matter how low I am brought at the hour of death—since I shall be exalted to super-eminent glory. Verily, the sufferings of this present time, the anguish of a sick-bed, and the pangs of death, are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed in us. O for steady views of that triumphant heavenly state, while traveling through this land of trouble and anguish! April 6, 1779. Amidst the uncertainties through which I press, death will not disappoint me. And the certainty of my approaching death may make me smile in the face of all intervening trials and tribulations. When wisdom and kindness characterize the conduct of my friend—it would be unfair to complain of him; how much more so, then, to arraign the providence of God, when infinite wisdom and tender loving kindness are conspicuous through the plan—and will finish the scene in my happy death, and triumphant entry into the world of bliss! May 4, 1779. Every time I add a line to this Monthly Memorial, I should do it as the last, for some line must surely be my last. O! then, to write a hearty farewell to time, and all the things of time—and a cordial welcome to eternity, and the timeless unchanging world! May 30, 1779 (Birthday). This Memorial, since begun, has seen fourteen birthdays—and who can tell but I may soon enter on my eternal inheritance and bid farewell to all below? Now I should work hard, because the day is far spent, and the night is approaching. And I should walk fast, because my sun is low. June 1, 1779. There is but one change of great import—death. There is but one thing needful—salvation. Now, if salvation is secured, my change will be pleasant. And all intervening vexations will disappear. I am so near the eternal world, that I ought to give myself very little concern with this perishing world—where I am so soon to be no more. June 26, 1779. A minister of the gospel, an eloquent preacher, is called to his eternal home. In prospect of his approaching change, he built nothing on what he had taught to others, on his high attainments, on his sweet experience; but discarding them all—he came as a needy sinner to an all-sufficient Savior. He held firmly to the gospel of free grace—which was his confidence for eternity. August 4, 1779. A belief of death, and the subsequent eternal realities—is a noble balance for everything in the world. Nothing need exalt, nothing need depress—that soul which in a little while, is to bid farewell to everything below. September 1, 1779. This day a near neighbor lies a lifeless corpse. And tomorrow my wife arrives home. In my house there is festivity in every face, and cheerfulness in every heart. In my neighbor’s house there is sadness in every countenance, and sorrow in every heart. I well remember his bridal day—and may see his burial too. Just so, many who see my bride brought home, may see us both carried to our long home. A scene so mournful, sent so near to me, is a caveat against excess of joy in a scene so delightful to me. September 2, 1779. This day the bell tolls for the interment of my neighbor—now his state is fixed for eternity! O to remember this in the midst of all my mirth and rejoicing! When our life draws near its end, one day spent in vanity will gall us greatly; nor will it excuse me to neglect closet or family duties, that it was my wedding-day. I must not forget God, or myself—because my house will be crowded with cheerful guests. September 7, 1779. I am entered into another relationship—but I am not out of the reach of death. Death will tear asunder every tie, and separate the nearest and dearest friends. But if united to Christ, it will not separate from him! December 7, 1779. This day an acquaintance is to be interred, whose last illness lasted only a few hours. O how sudden was the call to appear at the great tribunal! He cannot wait to send for wife and children, brother or sister. But the first news of his sickness is—that he has died! O! then, as I am walking on the brink of eternity, may my meditation soar toward eternal things, and may my latter end never be out of my mind. Again, if my friends go abroad from me, or I go abroad from them—if death arrests us along the way, let us not be greatly surprised. But if we meet together again in safety, let us be thankful to the kind Preserver of our life. December 16, 1779. Some days past I have been tossed with pain, and then how long did the nights and days seem! But I reprove myself for not being filled with gratitude, while I enjoy health of body, and serenity of mind. It is folly to wait for the short winter-day to begin my journey in. Just so, to defer being serious about eternal realities, until my body is broken with disease, and my mind is distracted with melancholy—is folly and sin. January 1, 1780. I have ended one year, and begun another. But O to loose my grips on temporal vanities—and fasten them on eternity! It cannot be very long before I join the heavenly multitude! I confess that my cares grow. But I may cast, not only a few—but all my cares, upon him who cares for me. May 2, 1780. Approaching death has some thing solemn in it. But it surely need not much worry me to leave my clay cottage—and go to dwell in a splendid palace; to drop an house of mortality—and go to dwell in a house not made with hands. May 30, 1780 (Birthday). The day of death to the saint shall be the birthday of his soul into the glorious eternal world! O! then, how happy am I, if this event, which is so melancholy among the ungodly, shall be my better birthday, and join me to the general assembly and church of the first-born. Four days ago a man is abroad on business, and the next day is a corpse. A sudden call! On the first day, he does his earthly business—and next day appears before the Judge of all the earth! O! then, to be waiting for death, like one who watches for the morning-light, that I may commence my heavenly journey to my Savior’s throne. July 4, 1780. Amidst the kindness of my Heavenly Father, who has been pleased to send a living child into my family, I desire to remember that the mother who bore it, that myself and the child—are mortal, and that I may expect death to come the oftener into my house. O! then, to prepare for death, not only in myself—but in my nearest and dearest friends. August 1, 1780. My gracious God has been pleased to send trouble, first on the child, and then on the mother—to keep us mindful that they are mortal. I am now a broader mark for the arrows of death; while she who is my other self, or she who is part of myself, or my own self—may be shot at and fall. But if none of us are hurt by the second death, it will not matter much who dies first. Yet he who can preserve one alive, can with equal ease preserve any number. October 3, 1780. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made, and I shall be wonderfully raised up anew in the resurrection. My substance shall not be hidden from you, when I am laid up in secret in the silent grave; you will still have a concern for me, though concealed in the lowest parts of the earth. My members shall be written in your book, though being dissolved into dust; yet, by your divine power, they shall be fashioned anew, and put on perfection and glory. How precious are these thoughts of your kindness unto me. O God! How great is the sum of them! February 6, 1781. This day I would desire to take farewell of everything below—for the day is fast approaching that I must part with all below. I have friends that are near and dear, and pleasant; and to lose them, or leave them, I confess, must give me pain. But there is a nobler and higher relation, in which I would wish to lose all inferior ties, and with fortitude meet final death. For if I and mine belong to the household of God—I can suffer no loss, though death should tear my family to pieces, and not leave one alive. April 3, 1781. Some time ago death had carried off all my near relatives. And now, when kind Providence had given me new relatives, death is thinning them very fast. My wife’s father’s cousin is to be interred today, and her own cousin tomorrow; her affectionate mother is lying on her death-bed, and my wife herself labors under a dangerous disease. In the midst of all, I desire to have my eye towards the Lord of life. April 5, 1781. My mother-in-law has gone to her rest, and O how sweet the heavenly rest is, to one who has had a toilsome time below! No more solicitude or care about family affairs—no more tempestuous passion, or mental tumult—no more anxious concern about the things of time! O happy change! O triumphant state! But, alas! that saints, eminent saints, should be so silent on the borders of eternity, and so full of fears and doubts—as if religion were just a ’golden uncertainty’, a delusive dream. Indeed, she had the sweet assurance of heavenly bliss. May 1, 1781. Some days ago, a son, who promised to be a comfort to his parents, is carried off by death! How sad the stroke, for, besides him, they had neither son nor daughter! O divine sovereignty! God often passes by many a large flourishing family, and takes a poor family’s all—and still does no wrong! God can do what he pleases with his own—and none may find fault with him. In another home a child falls into a well—and perishes! And next day, in another quarter, a child falls into a kennel—and also perishes! O the severe reflections! O the tender feelings of these poor parents! But in everything sovereignty must be adored. My wife still labors under her illness—a long lesson of our mortality. August 7, 1781. I have a remembrance of my own mortality still in the continued distress of my dear wife. O how averse to think of parting with my dearest friend! But part we must, one time or other, though I hope we shall meet when time is no more, to part no more forever. September 4, 1781. In the present harvest work, I see a lesson that the world shall have an end. That the angels, those heavenly reapers, shall reap the whole field. The righteous, like the good grain, shall be laid up in the heavenly granary; and the wicked, like the worthless tares, cast into everlasting flames. September 21, 1781. My wife, who has been long in distress, has delivered a dead child. And though the infant’s eyes have never seen the light, yet its soul has a full view of the eternal world. And though the little boy is buried with very little ceremony, yet the immortal part has made its solemn appearance at the bar of God, and entered as fully into eternity, as the oldest person who ever died. O how short while in being—before his state is fixed forever! October 2, 1781. A monument of death in my own house—one of my own children—should be a lasting remembrance. Let this be fixed in my mind—that it cannot now be long until I arrive at my fixed state. October 8, 1781. My dear wife, who has long been in bodily trouble, seems now on the borders of eternity. For a husband to lose his dear wife, is the sharpest affliction that can befall him. But it is a sweet reflection, that such a near relation is going to such a triumphant state. As my grief may have an excess in it—as my loss is very great—I will bring an excellent antidote against it—even what she shall be and enjoy in that heavenly state. 1. Then, though she has been long detained from public ordinances, yet there she shall be so perfect, that she shall need neither sermons nor sacraments—because God and the Lamb are the temple there. 2. Though a sickly body was her burden here—yet there she shall see the face of God, and serve him with heavenly alacrity and immortal strength. 3. Though her prayers sometimes astonish me, (as it was her custom to pray nightly with me) yet there her views shall be seven times brighter, and her praises seven times sweeter than they were below! 4. Her society shall be those who, like herself, have come out of great tribulation, washed their garments, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, and are forever before the throne of God. Neither sinner nor imperfect saint shall be there. 5. She shall be so full of God and of glory, that to lament her loss would be as unfitting—as it would be wicked to envy her felicity. To see our friends advanced to such heavenly honor and unfading joys—is worth the tears, the prayers, the fasts, the wrestlings, and supplications of our whole life. Now, when my nearest friend is going to the actual enjoyment of it—is it not a contradiction to be dejected or sad? How soon is she to be, like the angels of God—above sin, and above sorrow! And could I see the glorified soul of my dear wife, I would take it for the spirit of some being more than human. And O the heavenly employment she enters into, on the back of all her dying pangs—and is ravished with forever in the divine presence! October 10, 1781. For some days my dear wife has not spoken a sentence, nor lifted her eye—so that she has now no more to do with earthly things. O! then, to improve—time while it is mine—health while it is mine—speech while I can move my tongue—sight while I can lift my eye. October 14, 1781. Yesterday, in the hopes of a glorious resurrection, I buried the dust of a dear and beloved wife—but have not words to express my sorrow. October 22, 1781. On a looking back, I find that my wedding and a neighbors’s burial were on the same day. The reflections I then made are now, alas! realized. And it is some satisfaction, that amidst the scenes of mirth, and seasons of joy—we did not forget our latter end. November 6, 1781. Two weeks ago, I took off a poor patient’s leg, with a view to preserve his life and recover his health. The operation was painful and much dreaded—but now seeming to do well, is approved of. Infinite wisdom, then in the death of my dear wife, has noble ends in view—to wean me from the world—to loosen my affections from the creature—to preserve the graces in my soul alive—to prepare me for death—to ripen me for glory. We make a bouquet of flowers, and enjoy them for their beauty and fragrance. But they soon wither, lose their beauty, and begin to decay. O! then, that our faith may smell as these flowers of paradise—the perfections of God—the love and grace of the Savior, the stability of the covenant, etc. these are flowers we may carry with us down to the chambers of death, and prevent ourselves from suffering in the putrefaction of the grave. November 22, 1781. There is one error that universally prevails, and that is—to hide from mortals their mortality, and that even within a few days of their death! The cause of this conduct is the natural desire all men have for life—and the natural horror against death. The patient is deceived on all hands, and, what is odd—he does not wish to be undeceived. The physician misleads him with false hopes of recovery; the friends conceal their fears and their tears from him; every good symptom is magnified, and every symptom of danger is concealed or diminished. And thus he is buoyed up with hopes of recovery, and hindered from thinking seriously on death—until the disease seizes on the brain, and deprives him of reason! Now he can neither speak nor think of death—that solemn change which is to rush him into eternity! Thus I have dealt too much with my dying friends, and thus my friends may deal with me when dying. But, O! to be so habitually prepared for death, that I may not be surprised when it comes. And though nature may shudder and shrink in prospect of death, yet let faith in him who died for me, and now lives for evermore, triumph over this king of terrors! November 28, 1781. If the saints in glory know one another, as no doubt they do—there I shall see my dear wife—whose death I now lament—looking vastly lovely with heavenly beauty. Not the beauty which can be ravaged by sickness, or lost in death—but the beauty of holiness. And as I shall then be more susceptible of the charms of heavenly beauty, I shall love her in another manner than I did before; and not only her—but all my other glorified friends, and all the redeemed. December 4, 1781. I desire this day again to recall my thoughts to serious and solemn things—for this purpose I am afflicted—to this end God sends death into my family. And will I yet say, in the hand of him who slays my dearest comforts—that I am immortal? I shall soon go to my deceased friends—they shall never return to me. And I know not but, like some of them—I shall be deprived of speech at my death. O! then, to recommend true religion by my daily walk and conversation. December 22, 1781. For some days past, I have had a violent pain in my back—a disorder new to me. I could not stoop. I dared not laugh nor incline to either side. Yes, it would even awaken me out of my sleep, when I attempted to move. But, alas! instead of expecting death, which every disease is a reminder of—how did I hold fast my life, and anxiously wish to recover! Had I such a share in my prince’s favor, that he had promised to send for me soon to dwell with him in his palace; would I not look like a madman if I was afraid that every letter that I received from him contained an order to come to his palace—and wished it might rather be about anything else? The application is easy. O! when shall I long to change my dwelling, and to come home to my Lord and Savior! My pain is greatly removed. And O! that my stupidity may not remain. January 1, 1782. Though I have ended the last year with grief and mourning, I would wish to begin the new year with God, and plead for the comfort of his Holy Spirit while below. I reprove myself for one thought—that death deals with saints as an angry sovereign—when it only brings them to their Father’s house. Of old the prophets used similitudes, and our Savior himself taught by parables; then, let me use a simile familiar to all— A man receives a farm from a great king, which lies on the confines of the country, and therefore exposed to the frequent incursions of enemies. It is situated on the cold mountains, so it is continually harassed with storms and tempests. Also, the soil being barren, the crops are small. The water is brackish. The comforts of life there are few. Also, from the unwholesome marshes around it—sickness is prevalent in his family. But the king, being gracious to him—has promised him another farm, pleasantly situated in the heart of the country, where an enemy was never heard of. There tempests never blew. There a river of the most wholesome water nourishes his fields, and trees of every fruit adorn the banks. There health and long life characterize the climate, and the increase of everything exceeds his expectation. So that he has not only all the conveniences—but all the comforts, and all the luxuries of life. Besides all this, the mansion of the king stands in the neighborhood, where he is invited as often as he desires. Now, in the mean time, the king intimates to him, that his wife and some children must come to the new property; and when the king thinks it proper—he will send also for him; which he assures him will not be long. Well, the wife and children are taken to the new property. But what would his neighbors think—should they find him in tears at the event? especially those poor tenants, who, having displeased their king, were in a short time to be sent to the most inhospitable climate, where eternal tempests dash, and enemies of the most savage disposition dwell—and without any hopes of ever changing their situation! February 5, 1782. I confess I am still much in the dark about the state of disembodied souls. But I know that the communion between God and the departed saints shall be most intimate and uninterrupted. Though I have visual demonstrations of death daily; yet the eternal and unchanging world is an unknown world to me—were it not for Scriptural revelation, and faith in that revelation—where what is told is not so much to satisfy curiosity, and remove all doubts—as to support the soul, and exercise faith. And may not my soul be supported in view of death, when told—that death shall not separate from God’s love; that in his presence there is fullness of joy, and at his right hand pleasures for evermore; that the saints shall be set down with the Lamb on his throne, that his servants shall see his face, and his name be on their foreheads, and thus, in the enjoyment of all possible happiness, shall be forever with the Lord? April 2, 1782. When one who is going home to his father’s house, sees that his journey is nearly finished, he may address himself thus: "As I am now not far from home, I need not have much concern about anything that can befall me. A bumpy road, or a boisterous day, shall not discourage me—for I have but a little way to go. It gives me no anguish that my pocket-money is almost spent—for I am so near my father’s treasures. Nor shall the unkind usage I may meet with in my journey, from friends or foes, embitter my spirit—for I shall soon enjoy the endearments of the best of fathers. And though some of my dear companions in travel, whose company sweetened the way, have been called away from me, I will comfort myself against sorrow, because I shall have the sweet society of my father’s whole family shortly." Just so, I apply all this to myself, and am silent—for fellowship with the heavenly multitude, and communion with God and the Lamb—will counterbalance all afflictions in this world! May 30, 1782 (Birthday). While I confess myself mortal, I also desire to acknowledge the many undeserved mercies I enjoy. How is it that the eternal God should care for a clod of dust? Yet, since he has given me his Son—what will he withhold? I lament my attachment to the things of time, and yet I would not wish that the shadow should go so many degrees back on the sun-dial of my life. June 4, 1782. My birthday from my mother’s womb, brought me only into an infantile state. But I have another birthday before me, the day of death—which shall usher me into the world of perfect men. As the mother’s sorrow is forgotten for joy that a child is born into the world; so the sorrows of death, and the pangs of death, shall be lost in the joy of a soul entered on the triumphant heavenly state—the state of glory! June 14, 1782. My child is this day distressed with the measles. And, as a parent, it is natural that I should have my fears that she may die. But, as a Christian parent, how should the salvation of her immortal soul lie near my heart? Death now may deprive me of a pleasant pretty child—and fill me with sorrow. But the second death is misery in the extreme—and calls forth sorrow beyond description. O that her soul may live before you! In the mean time this is my comfort, that my God is the supreme disposer of all things, and will either give me himself along with my comforts, or himself in place of all my comforts. June 21, 1782. It has pleased the Father of mercies to recover my child—but I would wish not to forget that she is mortal. And above all things, still to plead for her immortal soul. It is good to give all things into God’s hand, who will deal well with his people, and make them sing of his mercy. August 7, 1782. Why am I so averse to die? Why not leap for joy at an invitation to go to my Father’s kingdom, and my Father’s throne? The troubles which attend me and the sins which attack me—make me weary of this life. And the joys that await me--make me long for my heavenly home. O! it is a sad proof that I know not—the emptiness of the creature, nor the sinfulness of sin, nor the nature of the heavenly bliss, nor the excellency of communion with God--that I do not loathe this life more, nor long for my heavenly home more. November 6, 1782. The children of Israel seemed to have a mighty bar at last to their entering into the promised land, even Jordan overflowing all its banks? but when the priest’s feet, who bore the ark of the covenant, touched the waters, they divided and left their channels dry, so that they had as sweet and safe a passage here as any part of their whole journey. Just so, though death is terrible to me, terrible to nature; yet Jesus, my great High Priest, who carries the ark of the everlasting covenant—can make death as safe a passage to me as any in all the course of my life. December 3, 1782. The words of dying men have some weight with their friends. And if heaven would please to open my mouth on my death-bed, O how much I have to speak on God’s behalf! but if tongue-tied in pious matters all my lifetime, can I expect a miracle at death? And indeed, what am I now but a dying man—only not confined to my room or my bed? and so I should open my mouth on spiritual themes. January 7, 1783. The heir of an eternal world should not care much about a world which passes away. And such oceans of bliss, such rivers of joy and spiritual delight, such wonders of glory, and overflowings of love—shall be revealed to, and pour in on the soul, on the back of death, as shall quite blot out the remembrance of all the trifling distresses of our transitory life. January 16, 1783. A few days ago, I rose in the night, and was seized with such a fit, that I thought I would immediately expire. In a minute the sweat broke, I returned to bed, and had no more illness. What an alarm had my death been both to my friends, and to the family where I was. Shall God speak once, yes twice, nay often, by the death of others, by the decease of my own dearest friends, and by such an attack as this—and I not be instructed that I am mortal? March 4, 1783. This very day I labor under an illness—and every disease is an entrance to the grave—so not only the return of the day—but what I feel on the day, is a remembrance of my death. But with what folly am I chargeable, who, from the entrance to the grave, instead of looking into the ’house of silence’—am looking on this side, and that side, to the flowery bank. Indeed I have a dear child, that is but an infant, and who, in the event of my death, must become an orphan. But well may I commit her to my heavenly Father’s care, who can do for her what no parent can. I may teach and instruct—but he only can teach to profit, he can give grace in the inward part. I may feed and dress the body—but he can array in the Surety’s righteousness, and make her soul to feed by faith on the heavenly manna. And if thus clothed, and thus fed, it matters not how coarse her food, and how tattered her array—in other respects is. April 1, 1783. I have often condemned in old men their fondness for life, and their averseness to death. But, as Eliphaz said to Job, "Now it has come upon me, and I faint; it touches me, and I am troubled." To talk with death at a distance, and to welcome him when he seems far away—is a kind of farce. But when laboring under some disease, and laid on a sick-bed, then to welcome death would display the fortitude of faith. My heavenly Father has recovered me from my last illness. O to have this plague of mind removed—A loathing of the heavenly felicity, and a delighting in the things of time! May 6, 1783. So vast is the heavenly bliss that the saints enter into at death, that it is surprising that any, who have the sweet assurance thereof—should be averse to leave a vain, a weary and a wicked world, to enter upon the full, the eternal enjoyment of God. If my faith had bright views of the celestial glory, and some foretastes of the joys of his right hand, instead of bewailing my wrinkles and my grey hairs—I would rejoice in seeing myself in the better country, and my Father’s house! May 30, 1783 (Birthday). How mistaken is the world in their estimate of things! Many keep their birthday with great pomp and festivity—while the prospect of their death spreads a gloom on their whole soul. Would not I take them for madmen—who would dance for joy at a ship, in which they were to sail, being launched into a stormy ocean, and exposed to tempests every day, and be dejected and sad when the ship appeared to make her destined port her desired haven? Just so, has not my birthday ushered me into a world of woe? Do not various storms agitate the sea of life? And yet how averse to enter into the port of Death, where the weary are at rest? July 1, 1783. All nature is but a reminder of my latter end. The sun which shines so bright in a cloudless sky, sets and proclaims, "So, mortal, you must set in death." The fields which are covered with a luxuriant crop, are announcing the approach of harvest, when they shall be made naked and bare. And every night my sleep is the image of death, and my bed of the grave. And yet, in the midst of all, I am apt to forget my mortality and my approaching change. August 5, 1783. He that is only a wayfaring man, and far on his journey, need not be much concerned for his accommodation for the few last nights—since he has almost arrived at home. This is the very case with me—I cannot be far from home. O that heaven may be my home! and the sooner there the better! October 7, 1783. The prospect of approaching death should cut off all my superfluous cares. When my journey is but a step or two, why should a load of solicitude about it weigh down my mind? O how soon must I take farewell of all below! Did seven years of toil and labor, sweat and fatigue, seem but a few days to Jacob for the love he had to Rachel? And should not my love to my incarnate God, and the prospect of uninterrupted communion with, and full enjoyment of him—make a few weeks, days, and hours of sickness, and death, as nothing? November 4, 1783. The king of terrors approaching to destroy my mortal frame, the Judge standing at the door to sit in judgment on me, and eternal ages opening before me—are views which might fill my soul with terror and despair. But if faith can see ’death’ only as a servant bringing me home, the ’Judge’ as acquitting and bestowing the crown, and ’eternity’ as an endless summer of love and light, communion with and fruition of God—then may my soul be filled with transport and joy. December 2, 1783. If I am an expectant of glory, I should, like Elijah, walk in constant expectation of my change. I am assured that the time of my death is not now far distant! It does not matter whether a fiery chariot in a few moments, or a fever in a few days, or a consumption in a few months—wafts me away from the company of my friends, and from the endearments of my nearest relations—since it shall join me to those who dwell in the heavenly presence, always beholding the glory of God, and singing the praises of redeeming love. January 6, 1784. What amazing changes take place in the natural world! Storms and tempests distress the country; deluges of snow threaten the death of man and beast; and in some places it is impossible to travel from town to town. But the road to death is still wide open, and the high-way of the king of terrors can never be blocked up. March 3, 1784. In comparison of eternal realities, what are the things which we meet with in the world—but mock pleasures, or mock pains? Not one of them can pass the door of death, or attend me to my eternal state. Why then am I such a fool as to grasp at shadows—or to be cast down at transient afflictions? April 6, 1784. It is a melancholy sight to see any person evidently dying—without one serious thought of death. But this rises from a sight equally melancholy, so many people living—without one serious thought of God. But the prospect of a blessed eternity, is the best cordial against the troubles of life. O sweet period! when sin shall vex no more, when tempests shall yield to an eternal calm! April 22, 1784. How melancholy, when we dare not follow the soul of our dead friend to his final state! or how stupid to believe him gone to bliss—merely because his lifeless carcass lies at rest! What trifles are crowns and thrones below—compared to the salvation of an immortal soul! Yet for what trifles will we go to the ends of the earth, curtail our life, and cast our soul away! April 29, 1784. Might we suppose the soul of a lost sinner, permitted to spring from the bottomless pit and attend his own funeral; well might he be surprised to see among his friends so much care about his perishing dust, where there had been so little care about his immortal soul. How astonished to see so much gaiety in the countenances of all his acquaintances, who seemed to have forgotten that they were attending a funeral! And even to his near relatives might the agonized soul cry out, "You seem like those who are going to a merry dance—while I lament day and night in the dirges of the damned! Is the death of a son, a brother, a friend—so soon forgotten by you? Has a change so solemn, a state so terrible—no deeper impressions on your minds, O monsters of cruelty? Have you no fearful forebodings of following me to the same place of torment—where I must dwell, and roar, and blaspheme, and howl forever?" May 30, 1784 (Birthday). I acknowledge the heavenly kindness that I am still alive. And all my soul is filled with joy, that my Lord rose victorious from the dead. And in virtue of his resurrection, I may cheerfully welcome death and the grave, because, being united to him, I shall rise to a glorious immortality, and an eternal Sabbath of rest. June 1, 1784. It is pleasant, in such declining times—to hear of a young person dying in Christ. But it is said that I, an old person, should be averse to die. It is sin which makes death terrible and frightful, and darkens the heavenly state. For did my faith see the glories, and believe the bliss of paradise—I would leap in prospect of going there. June 29, 1784. Some weeks ago, the mother of a large family lay so ill of a fever that all hopes of life were lost. Her son, who was eighty miles away, hastens to see his dying parent—but expects, before he can arrive, that she shall be no more. But to his sweet surprise, she is getting better, and her affectionate husband is overjoyed at her recovery. The youth, with cheerful step, returns to the place of his employment, until a second sad message calls him to see his father in his last moments. But before he arrives, his father is no more! He mingles grief with his disconsolate mother, and piously proposes to come and carry on his father’s business, and rear up the younger part of the family, and nourish his mother in her old age. After going away to settle his affairs, he returns to settle in his mother’s family. But O! adorable Providence, whose path is in the mighty waters, and whose footsteps are not known, the fever, that had afflicted the family, seizes him. And tomorrow he is to be laid by his father’s side! Well, one prop after another may be removed, one comfort after another may perish—but still God lives, and is the widow’s judge in his holy habitation. In this providence, God says, "Let the widow trust not in a son—but in me." September 7, 1784. In the midst of my various views and lawful schemes, O to remember that I am mortal! and not now far from the house of silence; and that the heavenly bliss will not be heightened by all the enjoyments of time, nor impaired by all the crosses and disappointments below. What traveler can pursue his journey by walking backwards? So, if my affections be still towards the world, I will but make poor progress heavenward. O to come up from the wilderness, like the spouse, leaning on my Beloved, looking towards the land of promise, and longing for the heavenly rest! October 5, 1784. While I am in the world, I must be laying lawful plans and schemes for futurity, and yet I cannot know what a day will bring forth. I will therefore lay my account with two things: 1. That all my plans may be frustrated. 2. That death may take me away from all. And in neither shall I be disappointed—for while I attend to the affairs of life, which is my duty—I desire not to forget that I am not far from the eternal world—and that God is the sovereign disposer of all things in this world. January 1, 1785. On the first day of this new year, I would wish to put pen to paper, to impress myself with a belief, that I shall shortly put pen to paper no more. O how foolish, that while my years diminish, my earthly cares should multiply. Hence let me cast all my concerns into the hands of a gracious, wise and powerful Governor—and possess my soul in patience. January 4, 1785. How inconsistent in a disciple of him who died, and rose, and revived, that he might be the Lord both of the dead and the living—in an expectant of immortality—to recoil from death, to cling to life, and quarrel with his physician for not recovering him! This I have seen. O to be able to act the noble opposite—to part pleasantly with my dearest relations, to leave life with mental serenity, and my ravished soul feel a holy impatience to fly to the embraces of my Savior! February 1, 1785. When a ship has set sail for some far distant shore, though she sees no signs of land, yet, by the time she has been at sea—she can know assuredly, that she cannot be far distant from her desired haven. Just so, though I know not the hour of my departure, (nor would I wish to know,) yet, when I reflect how long I have lived, I may be assured, that death cannot be very far away. May 30, 1785 (Birthday). I mention my birthday only to keep me in mind of the day of my death. Some have been dead before they were born—but never one was born alive but had death to meet with. At the burial of a friend, too often we behave as if we had nothing to do with death and eternity; the very occasion of our meeting is forgotten in our conversation. And were it not that the family were in mourning, we would seem rather convened for a wedding, rather than a funeral. Now, since we behave so in health, no wonder that in our last sickness we have not a word to speak in honor of true religion, or about a world to come. O my soul! Do not be united to their trivial assembly. June 7, 1785. Of late, many people have gone from this country to settle in the American colonies. But not one of them, without making inquiry about, and obtaining some knowledge of, that colony to which they were to go. How terrible if I go into the eternal and changeless world—without the least knowledge of it! And, alas! How many die who have never had one serious thought about a future state, or in the least prepared for their change! August 2, 1785. When I have thought and thought again on death, I remain much in the dark about the disembodied state. But I have no complaint, for the darker the scene, the stronger must be my faith. And the stronger my faith is, the more God is glorified. No matter how, or when, or where death take place, since the promise secures the heavenly presence to the valley of death. No matter how tremendous and unknown the regions of eternity appear—the promise secures that I shall be forever with the Lord. And with equal confidence and faith, may I leave my family behind on the divine providence and protection, having clusters of promises made on my behalf. November 2, 1785. Every change of lot is bringing me so much nearer my great and final change. When kind Providence builds up a family, let it not be forgotten, that death will pull it down—by removing pleasant children, or tearing asunder the nearest connections. But, if I and my family be taken by adoption into God’s family, every change shall be to the better, and death itself perform the office of a friend. And the person who first leaves the earthly stage may address the survivers in the words of the divine Redeemer, "I go to my Father, and your Father; to my God, and your God." December 6, 1785. Let me remember that every change is bringing me so much nearer the great and final change which awaits me. If the bride forsakes her friends, and her father’s house—to dwell with her bridegroom; and if the bridegroom rejoices over the bride—how cheerfully should I forsake my dearest friends below, to dwell with my heavenly Beloved—ravished and astonished that such a glorious bridegroom will rejoice over me as his bride, his spouse! Here discord may embitter the husband and wife, and death must separate them at last. But in the heavenly state, discord is never known, and the mystical marriage is for eternity! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 6: 01.04. 1786 - 1799 ======================================================================== A Periodic Interview with the King of Terrors by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1786—1799 January 3, 1786. A few days ago, a poor man (rich in this world—but poor for eternity) was carried to his long home—to the house appointed for all living. After the confused merriment of a fair, and the company of jolly companions in an ale-house—he is summoned to the great tribunal. On his way home he fell into the waters of a small river—which wafted him to the ocean of eternity! And in a moment he lost all that world, for which he had toiled so much, for so many years. O that from his eternal folly—may I learn spiritual wisdom! February 7, 1786. My body is ripening fast for the grave—but my soul is but slowly ripening for eternity! How terrible to misspend time, to sport with death, and to trifle with eternal things! O how sad is it, that the longer I live, I should grow more unwilling, and less ready to die! March 22, 1786. O how short is the race, and how pleasant the death of some! In the bloom of youth, and but a few months as a pastor, while the hopes of friends and flock are opening with every pleasant prospect—behold, behold, a whole heaven of glory opens and takes him in! And so sure is his hope, and so bright his views—that he forbids his friends to pray for his recovery! Last time we were together, was at the Lord’s table. And when we first meet again—it shall be at the marriage supper of the Lamb! April 4, 1786. Though I have now lived so long that I cannot expect to live much longer; yet, alas! how backward am I to believe my approaching end! O to have my love to the world slain, my carking cares and concern about created things diminished, my views of heavenly glory brightened, and my affections set on high! May 2, 1786. If anything could make a man immortal, would not every endeavor be used to obtain it, and crowns and kingdoms be bartered for it? A saving interest in Christ, then, is both immortality and heaven and glory. Though death comes to the sinner in every ghastly shape, in every terrible appearance; yet to the Christian it performs every kind office, scatters all his anxieties, finishes his cares, delivers him from all troubles, sets him above temptation and sin, and translates him to everlasting bliss! August 1, 1786. Death puts all men on the same level. For distinctions drop in death, and rank and wealth enter not into the eternal and unchanging world. As a mortal man, I am walking on the brink of eternity! But as a member of Christ, as an heir of God, I am in eternity already, being raised up from a state of spiritual death, and made to sit together with Christ in heavenly places; why, then, should I in the least be afraid of natural death? September 5, 1786. It is common to look towards the day of death with a sore heart and a sad countenance—as the most melancholy event that can take place. And, indeed, to the greater part of mortals it is such—because then every created felicity is finished, and eternal anguish is begun. But if it is to me the day in which I shall not only be brought out of prison, delivered from every trouble, from temptation and sin—but in which I shall be brought into the courts of God, be crowned with immortality and glory, made perfect in holiness, and ravished with the full and eternal enjoyment of God—should I not rather sing for joy at the approach of death—than be overwhelmed with sorrow? November 7, 1786. Life and health continued to me and mine, I acknowledge, and would sincerely have my heart filled with gratitude. O! in such a long and pleasant seed-time, may I sow to the Spirit, that of the Spirit we may reap life everlasting. December 21, 1786. Some days ago, an acquaintance of mine leaves his wife and family in the morning—but returns no more. I saw him that day mingle in a great multitude—but that night he joins the millions that inhabit the invisible world. His day began with going to a market—but ends in his funeral; for he is not only deprived of life by the river—but buried below the stream. The horse that carried him to business, carries him to his final end! The widow and her children search all night by the banks of the river—but in vain—the corpse is not found. Well, the soul is in eternity, and the body shall be raised at the last day. O that the day of death and the day of judgment were oftener in my mind—when I go to a market as well as when I go to a funeral. January 9, 1787. Being far from home on the first Tuesday of this month, I desire to remember on the second my latter end; and with all to consider that death will never call and find me away from home; or, in other words, that wherever I am death will find me out. A life spent in sinning makes a hopeless death. We mourn for dead friends, why not mourn for those that are spiritually dead—dead in trespasses and sins? With how little concern do we change the calendars on the commencement of the new year! And, alas! even so do we spend our years as a tale that has been told. April 5, 1787. This day I have seen an old acquaintance on a sick-bed or on a death-bed; and though arrived at the age of threescore and ten, yet as anxious to recover, and as fond to live, as if in the bloom of life! At this I seem surprised. But am not I myself arrived at a greater age than thousands that die around me? and am I willing and ready to depart? O henceforth to be waiting for my final and eternal change! May 1, 1787. How near is death many a time, and we think not of it! A healthy and young daughter cares for her aged and dying father. Yet, after a very short illness, dies on the same day as her father, is carried in the same hearse, and buried in the same grave; and thus literally attends her father to the chambers of death. May 30, 1787 (Birthday). When I consider how many birthdays I have seen—I may expect the day of my departure to be at hand. But, O! happy if it be a departure from sin—to perfection in grace, and full possession in glory; a departure from earthly cares—to uninterrupted communion with God! June 5, 1787. Because I have lived a long time here, shall I never expect to be called hence? Nay, I may expect to be called home shortly. O to live so that, when death comes—I may have nothing to do but die! August 6, 1787. It is no wonder that the traveler who has nothing in his own country but poverty and enemies, has no desire to return home. But he who has a fine palace fitted up for his reception, and who, on his arrival, may enter on the possession of a kingdom, and has every endearing relation waiting to give him a hearty welcome, and congratulate his return—and yet can loiter in dreary wastelands, amidst unfriendly people, secret enemies, and open foes—without a longing hope for home—will not every wise man count him a madman and a fool? Alas! then, out of my own mouth am I condemned—who have dwelt so long on the confines of hell, and so much of hell within, without longing for the heavenly state! November 6, 1787. Whether the seasons be good or very bad, whether Providence smiles or frowns—death approaches. And in the hour of death it will not be of much concern, whether our life has been prosperous or adverse. But to meet with death unstinged, and to see him who was once dead—but is now alive, and lives forevermore, waiting to receive me to his glory and presence—will make me forget all my afflictions. A belief of death as near at hand, and heaven on the back of death—may support under all present disasters. December 4, 1787. Death takes all his prisoners by surprise. If we have any degree of health—we expect not to lose it. If we are in sickness—we expect to recover. Thus we always expect to escape death. But, die we must, in spite of all our vain hopes. And O to die in hope of being forever with the Lord! As I should daily set my own death in view, so should I expect the death of my dearest relations. But the hopes of their felicity would turn my sorrow into joy, and dry up my tears. January 1, 1788. I would wish to begin the year with a view of the end of my life. I have assuredly begun the one—and shall as surely end the other. And now I may look on myself as standing at the very door of the house of death. O that I may be also standing at the gate of the New Jerusalem, that when the door of death shall open for my lifeless dust, the door of heaven may open for my immortal soul! February 5, 1788. I know not how long I shall live. I know not how, when, or where I shall die. I know not the length or the kind of my last sickness. But this one thing I know, that after I die, I shall cordially approve of every step of holy providence in my life, and of every circumstance about my death. March 4, 1788. Every day saints and sinners are carried to their long home. But O! the happiness of the one, and the misery of the other, are so vast—that all the bitterest afflictions of time are lost in the felicity of the godly; and all the good things of time are wholly forgotten in the anguish of the damned. When death comes into a family, and carries off father or mother, sister or brother, son or daughter, or the dear wife—how familiar to us for a while are the thoughts of death! Now, death comes every day into the family of mankind, and carries off every relation. And though the sorrow cannot be so sharp, yet the instruction is equally strong—to remember our mortality. April 1, 1788. It is owing to corruption in the sinner, and carnality in the saint, that death is such an unwelcome guest. For the man who has his heart in heaven, will not fight against the messenger which comes to carry him to heaven. May 6, 1788. Now I see the fields putting on verdure—but by autumn the crop shall be cut down, and the fields made quite bare. Just so, the human race may all expect to be cut down by the scythe of death, and that at all ages—the infant, as well as the man of grey hairs. O to look forward to the heavenly state, where death is known no more—but where the saints shall flourish for evermore! Friday, May 30 (Birthday). I cannot complain, with Jacob, that I have not attained to the years of my fathers, for this day I am as far advanced in life as my dear father was when he finished his course. When I look to my concerns in life, it appears needful that I should be spared a little while. But when I look to the sovereignty and sufficiency of God, I say—here am I, let him call me when he pleases. July 1, 1788. A few days ago, a child was added to my family; and this day one is taken from the number of my friends, and laid in the house of silence. The decease of my relation, who was about my own age, seems to say—Arise and follow me to your long home. And the birth of my boy seems to add, Retire to your long home, and make room for me! Admonished thus on every hand by old and young—let me earnestly prepare for my approaching departure. August 5, 1788. All that is frightful about death flows from our being sinners. For if we were not sinners, we would not be afraid of death, which is the wages of sin. And if we were not carnal, we would not be so reluctant to change this poor earthly state—for the glorious heavenly state. Then the saint, according to his growth in grace, and fitness for glory, will long for his change, and triumph over his last enemy. Alas! then, how little of the saint do I find in myself, who am so lost in the cares of this life, and so unwilling to go hence! December 2, 1788. Emptiness is written on riches in many respects, but in none more than this—that the greatest wealth cannot defend the possessor from death. But the favor of God is life in death, and light in darkness—though I should have a small portion of earthly things. December 24, 1788. How pleasant the death of some saints! My dear acquaintance in his last illness, does not wish to live; he seems both ready and willing to meet his final and eternal change. And, indeed, well may the guest go to the banquet—when the king invites him! Well may the child go home—when his Father calls him! January 1, 1789. Many of my dear acquaintances are this day in the house of silence—and it is all eternity with them. I know that I am also near the end of my life. O why should I be in the middle of my concerns and cares? if I am near death—I should often think on death. If I am near eternity—I should be weaned from the things of time, and my meditations should be much on the eternal world. And if I am near heaven—my heart should be in heaven. March 4, 1789. The spring advances—but it is winter with me! O that in old age I may flourish like the palm-tree, and be verdant like the cedar, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God, and a world to come! April 7, 1789. I have had many years to prepare for death. The mercies of my life are many and sweet—but let me remember the day of death—that it is fast approaching. I should also remember the days of darkness—that they shall be many. Can it be believed that there should exist such infidels with respect to death—where death makes such havoc every day? But if I had a solid abiding impression of my approaching death, (how near none can say—but I can say it cannot be very far away,) the things of time would not be so important in my eyes, and the world to come would find proper room in my heart. O to rise superior to the trifles of time—and be daily laying up my treasure in heaven! May 5, 1789. Why should I be anxious about the future, either with respect to myself or my family—since I cannot be assured of a single day? But O how vast, how constant, how heart-felt should my care and concern be for myself and them, in view of eternity—where very soon some of us—and in a little while all of us, must arrive! To lose a fortune, an estate, a kingdom, a world—is but a trifle. But to lose the never-dying soul is ruin, is misery, is bankruptcy—through eternity itself! May 30, 1789 (Birthday). This day I acknowledge the kindness of God, in sparing me so long, until, according to the common computation of thirty years to an average life span—the world is nearly twice swept of all its inhabitants, and fifteen hundred million souls have entered on their eternal state—since I was born! Have not, then, thousands fallen at my side, and millions dropped down around me? O what a glow of gratitude should warm my bosom! But if I shall never be hurt of the second death, what a flame of love should kindle through my soul! June 2, 1789. How pleasant to see one from a deathbed mounting to glory! But how sad is the latter end of the ungodly! They look backward—and there is nothing but remorse! They forward—and there is nothing but horror and anguish! August 4, 1789. While I live in the body, I am absent from the Lord. And, alas! Why so careless about communion with God, or arriving at the heavenly presence! Then, if death brings me home and presents me in the heavenly presence—it will do me a great kindness. But O to be preparing for the glorious change! Everyone who hopes to arrive at heaven—should have his heart in heaven. September 1, 1789. Many wait for the morning-light, I am waiting for the evening-shadows—for the shadow of death. But it is in hope of a following morning without a cloud, and of a day which shall never decline. If I am assured of such a heavenly morning, of such a glorious day—it does not really matter if the intervening days of darkness and nights of sorrow are many. If I can rejoice in hope of the glory of God—I need not tremble in prospect of death. October 5, 1789. A few days ago, a servant was taken sick, and next day, while being carried home to her father’s house—expires by the way! The sky is her roof, and a poor cart is her death bed—and no attendants in her last moments but the boy who guided the horse. Yet in the silent grave none shall be able to distinguish her dust—from those who have died in kingly courts or royal palaces. How trifling then all the things of this world—riches, honors, pleasures, great influence, and numerous friends, and affectionate relations—which can do nothing for us in the eternal world to come! It does not matter whether we breathe our last at sea or on land, in the open fields or in our father’s house—so long as death brings us home to our heavenly Father’s house. November 3, 1789. How trifling are all the things that we can lose in this world—compared with the world to come! If the earth must employ our hands, yet heaven only should have room in our hearts. Yet how often do I give my heart to that which deserves only my hand. When a traveler has almost completed his long journey—how foolish would he appear, if during the last few days of his journey, he made himself uneasy by an anxious solicitude how to finish them, though in safety he had traveled almost sixty days before; instead of being taken up in thinking on his glad arrival, and cheerful welcome home? Just so, I am near (I know not how near) the end of my journey of my pilgrimage below, therefore the cares of the world, the affairs of life, should not be heavy on my mind—while the bright glories of the eternal world open in my view! December 8, 1789. I believe that both the hour, the place, and manner of death—are fixed in God’s unchanging decree; and that whatever my dangers are—my safety is secured. He who dies in Christ need not care whether he be drowned at sea—or buried in a grave. January 1, 1790. With what indifference do I let go a whole year! I change the figures with the same unconcern as I go from one chair to another in the room! But O how deep a year’s account at the bar of God in the book of conscience! Accountable for—365 days—52 Sabbaths—such a state of health—such a multitude of common blessings—family blessings—food and clothing—such opportunities and calls to private and secret prayer, etc. Then what must be the account of my life, a life so long, that I cannot expect it should be much longer! O to improve what little remains—like one who must soon render an account for all. April 6, 1790. My heavenly Father has kindly given me another son. And, as a dying person, I may say, that if he departs before me—he shall increase my mourning. Or, if he survives me—he shall increase the number of my mourners at my decease. But as a Christian parent, I devote him to God to serve him while he lives, and at death to enter into the full enjoyment of the heavenly bliss. What comfort is it to a parent advanced in years, and who knows not the day of his death—that my heavenly Father lives, and will be a Father to the fatherless! May 4, 1790. Though every creature avoids death—yet death hunts the whole creation, man and beast—and shall pierce each one with his venomous dart! But how melancholy and mournful the death of some! My female acquaintance, surrounded with fears, and harassed with faithless forebodings about the loss of relations, and provision for helpless children, in defiance of the laws of heaven, and the law of nature, takes away her own life, and rushes without thought on the eternal state. What must the first reflection of such a soul be in the eternal and unchanging world? Here thought succumbs, and conception fails. If I have a genuine hope of eternal salvation, I need not fear about temporal provision. The power which has saved me, can be at no loss to support me. Ah! the mercy which has redeemed me, and gives me grace and glory—cannot be exhausted by giving a few of the good things of time. September 14, 1790. The memory of some after death is a stench. But the Christian shall never die. By the memory of his holy life, he speaks even when his tongue is silent in death. And being united to the Lord of life, he shall never feel the sting of death. If such be my happy situation, death shall do me no harm. October 5, 1790. The young child walking under the tender eye of its mother, may suddenly fall—but she takes it up in her arms, embraces and caresses it, so that the pain is lost, and the fright forgotten—in the endearments of so near a relation. Yes, its fall issues in more abundant felicity than it had before, when only under her affectionate eye. Just so, if I am a child of God, though death trips up my heels, and I catch a severe fall in this dark valley—yet shortly my heavenly Father will take me up in his everlasting arms, embrace and caress me so kindly—that I shall forever forget the fears of death, and the pangs of death. And I shall find myself enriched by my loss, for I shall only lose dust and muck, trash and trifles—but find all the riches of glory, all the fullness of God. December 9, 1790. It is a serious thought to think, that I, who am now entertained with the kindness of my dear wife, with the endearments of my children, with the correspondence and acquaintance of friends and kind neighbors—must shortly change my company, and find myself in a world of spirits. When my clay tabernacle, like the earthen pitchers in Gideon’s army, is broken to pieces—then the heavenly spirits, like so many luminaries, shall shine around me. And God, the fountain of essence, and Father of spirits, will blaze fully on my soul. Now as such a change will come, as such an event must take place—I would wish it not to come unlooked for, or to find me unprepared for it. January 1, 1791. When I consider the flight of time, I see that all created things must soon be concealed in impenetrable darkness—and then the worldling’s heaven must dissolve in smoke. But as the rising sun gilds the tops of the mountains, so at this period the heavenly glory shall spread a beauty on all around, and then the heaven of the godly shall unfold with every felicity that finite souls can enjoy, or God can bestow. January 4, 1791. Winter with its storms is a picture of human life. And days, however dark and stormy—pass away. Just so, life, however much afflicted—will come to an end. Now, if the end of life is the end of all my afflictions, I am one of the happiest people alive. O how pleasant to meet an unstinged death—and to have the hope of heaven on the back of death! February 27, 1791. What a sudden and astonishing transition awaits me—from time to eternity—from the material to the spiritual world! Today engaged in the affairs of life, and conversing with my friends; and tomorrow surrounded with millions of spirits, associated with angels, and employed in everlasting concerns! It will therefore be my wisdom daily to take farewell of the things of time—and get more and more acquainted with the eternal state. July 20, 1791. To dwell at a distance from God—to have the world rolling in our minds—and creature concerns engrossing our thoughts—is not fitting for an heir of God, an expectant of eternal glory. And such a situation may make us long for the happy hour of our departure, when we shall flee into the immediate enjoyment of God, and in our adorations rise to the ardor of angels, and the glow of seraphim! Had I any right apprehension of the eternal enjoyment of God, I would meditate more on it, and long more after it; and, in the midst of all the troubles of life, rejoice in the prospect of it. December 20, 1791. Now, the last of my grandfather’s family is gone to their long home; and I cannot say how soon I must go to my eternal home, who have long been the last of my father’s family. But this I see, that old and young, rich and poor, great and small—die, and disappear forever! What comfort to have genuine hope for our friends at death! What would we think of those who had lost their nearest and dearest relative, carried off by ruffians, and yet felt no disquiet? What would we think of those who could feast cheerfully at their sumptuous table, while their friends were destitute of all the comforts of life? What would we think of those who could sleep pleasantly on their downy beds, while their friends were denied the least slumber, by the torturing hand of their cruel foes? What would we think of those who could quaff and carouse with sparkling wine, while their friends could not procure a drop of water for their scorched tongue? Now, to apply—where are ruffians like the infernal fiends? Where is a state so utterly destitute of all comforts, as the state of damnation? Where are tortures like the torments of hell, and of damned devils? And where—but in the burning lake, are sufferers so completely miserable, who cannot command even a drop of water to cool their tormented tongue? And yet the death of those sinners, who lived without God, and died without hope, makes no impression on their surviving friends. January 1, 1792. The last year ended with the cares and toils of the week, this year begins with the rest of the holy Sabbath. And as my present life has been, and is a scene of troubles and anxieties, (not that I complain,) so let my life beyond the grave be an eternal Sabbath of rest. Moreover, as I may be assured that this life will end; so may I have the sweet faith that such a life will then begin! O for a glance of heaven, a glimpse of glory—and I shall not shrink from death, or be dismayed at death, but long to be forever with the Lord! January 5, 1792. O now to have a real belief of my approaching end! And indeed, for what purpose would I live much longer? To see earthly good is not worth the while, and I cannot expect to see spiritual good in perfection—but in the light of glory. As for family concerns—my faith can commit them all into the hand of an omnipotent, all-wise, and gracious God. January 28, 1792. It is the duty of every living man to acknowledge the goodness of God in continuing him in life, and crowning him with blessings. And still more of the Christian to have his heart full of gratitude—if enabled to live a life of faith on the unseen Jesus and his graces, like the fire of the altar, always burning heavenward. But O what glowing gratitude, joy, and rapture—will fill my whole soul in heaven, to find myself enjoying a life of communion with the glorious God—and that through all eternity. February 7, 1792. The day is fast approaching, when I must take farewell of all created things, and enter on my eternal state. And though I have been these many years seemingly preparing for death, yet death may at last come upon me unawares. And the reason is, though I believe that death is on his way, yet I put him still at some distance—a week, a month, or a year—when in truth I should expect him every day, and so like the apostle, "die daily." I would wish to be like the cautious soldier, who, while in the enemy’s country, though he may sit down at times to rest himself, yet never takes off his armor; and so, whenever the foe appears, springs to his feet, and is ready for battle. March 6, 1792. How near am I to the eternal world! So why should a world, a vain world that passes away—give me any vexation? How soon may I mingle with holy angels and spirits of just men made perfect! To enter there with my arms full of earthly cares, would make me appear a monster indeed. O! how sad to see some going into the eternal state without a serious thought—but their sins going before them to judgment! April 21, 1792. Though I am traveling through an enemy’s country, beset with dangers, and surrounded with difficulties; yet, owing to the wisdom and the omnipotence of my heavenly guide—I am always safe, and shall finish my course with joy. And when my race is ended, I shall obtain the crown. O how comforting is this—when I see so many who started fair for the heavenly prize—stumble and fall in the race, have their bones bruised or broken, and don’t know whether they shall ever rise again, or run any more. But, O! though now near the ocean of eternity, and the center of everlasting rest, alas! how slow is my motion heavenward, how torpid my love, and how languid my desires after the eternal enjoyment of God! But, O happy day! when, in the blissful state, I shall approach nearer and nearer to God. And the nearer I approach, my motion towards him shall be swifter and swifter. And the more I know and love him, my soul will be enlarged and capacitated to know and love him still the more. July 4, 1792. It is said of the saints in the future state—Neither can they die any more. In the faith of that triumphant state, I will submit to diseases and death. And O, how low a poor mortal can be brought before death! To visit a hospital may every way humble me, and convince me of this. But after death I shall die no more. I do not understand this merely negatively—that I shall never more feel pain, or diseases, or death. But positively, that I shall be possessed of the most vigorous immortality, and enjoy a life of the most uninterrupted communion with God, of unclouded glory, and inconceivable bliss! July 14, 1792. What a sudden and surprising change shall the saints undergo at death! From the deepest abasement—they shall be raised to the highest perfection of glory! From a long and lingering death—to life everlasting! It does not matter, then—when, how or in what manner I die—if I die in Christ. July 28, 1792. How uncertain my present life! How near to a future state am I at all times! But how happy—if the day of my death, is the day of my glorification! Then, though the call may be sudden, my passage shall be sweet, and I shall forget, not only my afflictions—but all present things. Crowns and kingdoms will be as trite as the sports of children, and the amusements of school-boys. Two days ago my youngest child seemed to be dying. I resigned her to God, and he has graciously recovered her. But henceforth I would wish to remember—that all my children are walking on the very brink of eternity, and may be called there in a moment! But O may it be the eternal enjoyment of God! August 7, 1792. I had the near prospect of death in my own family recently. But the God of heaven prevented my fears. Blessed be his name! "The time of my departure is at hand," said an apostle. I say the same. And O that I may finish my course with joy! September 4, 1792. When a person, through old age, begins to decline—how do all his acquaintances console with him! But we may rather congratulate the saint who thus is on his near departure to his native country, and his Father’s house. September 30, 1792. The children of Israel were typical of all the children of hope. They were not only delivered from the iron furnace, the brick-kilns, and the cruel task-masters—but were brought into a land flowing with milk and honey, blessed with the liberty of a free people, allowed to sit each man under his vine and his fig-tree, and none to make them afraid. Just so, the saints are not only preserved from going down to the pit, delivered out from the lowest hell, forever set free from the anguish of damnation, and the agonies of consummate despair, and the power of darkness forever bruised under their feet. And they are also planted in the heavenly Canaan, in the full possession of all good, and in the beatific vision and full enjoyment of God and the Lamb. Thus the poor sinner has one hell in the punishment of sense—while the billows of divine wrath roll over his soul forever. And another hell in the punishment of loss—in being banished forever from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power. But the saint has one heaven in being rescued from such a hell; and another heaven in being raised to such a glory, and possessed of such inconceivable bliss! November 6, 1792. It is now time for me to be taking farewell of the things of this life, since some of my dear acquaintances, by their death, have bid their last adieu to me. O now to get my mouth opened in commendation of Christ and true religion, since I may be deprived of the use of speech in my last illness! While I would wish to lose sight of the things of time, I would wish to get better and better acquainted with the heavenly state, for every expectant of heaven should study to have his heart in heaven. December 5, 1792. Everything is melancholy in the sinner’s prospect of death. But the saint has a noble counterbalance for everything distressing in death. Indeed the saint at death loses all his friends. But he mingles in the heavenly multitude. His body is laid in the grave, and crumbles into dust. But Jesus is the resurrection and the life. In a word, he can call nothing in the world his own—but takes an everlasting farewell of all below. But he is forever with the Lord—and this is all in all. January 1, 1793. Whatever I do—time flies away! And, O! how soon must years, and months, and days—be mine no more! How sad to see men, because privileged with a new year—forget that there is a future eternal world—and that they are hastening fast to a future state! I cannot say that I shall see another new year—but I would wish to have my anchor fixed within the veil—and then whatever storms may blow, or trials come—my soul shall be safely towed into the heavenly harbor! February 4, 1793. This day my youngest son is dangerously ill with a fever. And I would desire to act faith on the one hand, that he may recover; and submission on the other, should he be taken away. You know the affection of a parent, and permit me to apply the comfort, "Like as a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear him." Now, a father pities his children in distress, still more than when in health; so let your compassion be extended according to my affliction. When I reflect on the endearments of my child, my passions struggle, and my affections are stirred. But when I consider your wisdom, your goodness, and your unchangeable love, I would wish to be all silence and submission. February 5, 1793. My dear boy is still alive—but I have given him away to God. And when he has no more connection with me as his earthly parent, may he be admitted into the presence and enjoyment of his heavenly Father. If in this life only I had hope for myself or child, I should be miserable. But the faith of a happy immortality wipes the tear from my eye, and sorrow from my heart. February 11, 1793. After continuing some days in such a state, that all who saw him, looked on him as past recovery, it pleased a gracious God to rebuke the fever, and restore him to health, and this day he is doing better. O to make a right improvement of such kindness! February 24, 1793. With what surprise will I lift up mine eyes on the heavenly glories, and gaze with wonder on the ravishing displays of infinite perfections! It is my shame and sin, to know so little of that triumphant heavenly state that I am so soon to enter upon. And the reason is, the things of time so engross my thoughts, that heavenly things are strangers there. O to be crucified to the world, and to get the world crucified to me! It will be sad, and unfitting for an heir of heaven to die with the world in my heart, and die shortly I must. I have nothing to do with such a load of cares, since allowed, yes, called and invited, to cast them all on God. But, my whole soul may open to the joys of heaven, and the eternal enjoyment of God. March 5, 1793. I adore divine sovereignty; for since my boy began to recover—a near neighbor in the vigor of life, the head of a family, is taken away by death! O that my child may live to serve God! and may I never forget that I cannot now live long! August 9, 1793. A neighbors of mine has got such a sudden call into the invisible world, as calls aloud for me to be always ready! He visits an acquaintance, and stays until ten o’clock at night; returns home, goes to bed—and early this morning he mingles in the eternal and unchanging world! O to be wise, then, and to do everything as it were my last action, and to have nothing to do at last—but to depart and be forever with the Lord! As interested in the affairs of this life, as connected with dying creatures, I may be surprised. But as an heir of God, as an expectant of glory, I shall never be taken unawares by death, being in a state of immutable security, and dwelling under the wings of the Eternal. October 6, 1793. Sometimes I have promised myself, in such an ordinance, and at such a season, that I should enjoy communion with God: the season has come, and I have been disappointed. But I have one sweet prospect, that there is a period not far distant, when I shall enjoy full, and free, and uninterrupted communion with God. In the heavenly state, I shall not be vexed with one distracted thought, not a meditation shall be barren of God. January 2, 1794. When heavenly wisdom has pronounced all to be vanity, I expect to find abundant vexations in this world. But when the days of my mourning are ended, in the state of glory, I shall find superabundant consolation. March 11, 1794. O to prepare for death in good earnest, for death is a matter of the greatest importance! Mistakes in every human thing can be mended, or ended in death—but a mistake concerning eternity is fatal. When I hear some talk of death with so much ease, of whose state I have mournful forebodings, I am afraid I also deceive myself, and will go down to the pit with a lie in my right hand. But I beg the Searcher of hearts to try me, cast out every wicked thing in me, and lead me in his way everlasting. April 1, 1794. I have long been conversant in this world—but it is now high time that I look forward to a world to come. I may expect changes here—but the prospect of my last and eternal change may silence me under all. If the heavenly glories blazed in my eye as they ought, if uninterrupted communion with God was esteemed by me as it should be—the prospect of my departure would fill me with unspeakable joy. But I am carnal, sold unto sin, a slave to sense. But he who is the author, is also the finisher of faith. And this is my comfort. April 23, 1794. Friends and acquaintance are dropping into the grave around me, and call to me—"you must follow soon!" But what shall I say of a departing soul? It is easy for friends to believe their deceased relations have gone to glory, if they had anything of the form of godliness. Yes, it is easy for a soul to deceive himself, and to have false hopes of heaven, when not far from hell. A partial reformation, honesty, and sobriety, and a performance of some duties—though the heart is never changed—fosters the delusion. However he may shine in the eyes of some men, still he is a stranger to the plagues of his own heart, is a stranger to communion with God, and knows nothing of living by faith on the Son of God. On the brink of eternity, let trifles never raise my spirits—but only the near prospect of the eternal enjoyment of God. And when I come to die, if I have the use of my tongue, let me not be ashamed to speak of true religion, and for God. May 6, 1794. I cannot but be much astonished at that fatal stupidity in which some men die. But since the scripture pronounces the sinner spiritually dead, why should I be surprised to find him insensible and thoughtless on the brink of hell? Nothing less than the Spirit of God can convince us of our sin and misery. And where his divine power is never felt, no wonder that the soul be insensible, under a weight that might grind the creation to powder! Therefore, to see so many people enter on their eternal state, without any concern at all, is rather a proof of their desperate situation, than of their triumphant entry into glory. But the day is not now far distant, when I must enter on my eternal state! O that I may not die with the foolhardiness of the worldling—but with the humble faith of the Christian. And knowing in whom I have believed, and to whom I have committed the keeping of my soul—smile in the face of death itself. May 18, 1794. On my entrance into heaven, I shall find a sweet change, not only of my state—but of the frame of my soul. Every faculty shall be full of God, and every power of soul shall center on God. What a pleasant prospect is this, to the poor saint who is daily harassed with worldly thoughts, and a wandering heart; and at his best times sorely buffeted by the grand enemy! But rest on the back of such toil, and victory on the back of such a conflict—will be doubly sweet. And of such a rest, and such a victory, every saint may rest secured. May 30, 1794 (Birthday). Every birthday brings me nearer to the day of my death. But how sad, if still the soul and the affections are indifferent, or averse to the state of glory! O to know something of looking for, and hastening unto the coming of the day of God! Let me be loosening my affections from the creature more and more—as I am nearer and nearer my last farewell of all created things. June 3, 1794. The shortness of life, and the certainty of death—take off something of the bitterness of some afflictions that befall us in life. But O! the blessed prospect, of an eternity of glory—and that almost at the door—may make us sing through the whole valley of woe! July 1, 1794. To be guided by the heavenly counsel through life, and afterwards received to glory, makes our pilgrimage pleasant, and our death comfortable. But to have the creature only for our portion, and time to measure the duration of our felicity, gives us a melancholy life, and a miserable latter end! August 5, 1794. Two days ago I was seized with an illness, which detained me from our sacrament. And every illness, however trifling, is a forerunner of the grand attack, which shall end in death. And thus I am reproved for not improving, and highly esteeming, former opportunities. I am called to gratitude for so many opportunities, and for such a good state of health so long enjoyed. I am admonished to embrace every opportunity to commemorate my Savior’s death, and nourish my own soul. I am admonished to go about every day as it were to be my last. Nor can I say how soon the time may come, when I shall be no more able to attend the public ordinances. But here is a counterbalance to all that can happen in time, that it cannot be very long until I shall worship day and night in his temple. And, being fixed as a pillar there, shall go out no more. September 7, 1794. My heart this day is filled with gratitude to my Divine Preserver. And when a few days more are given, how should they be spent in preparation for death, and improvement for heaven! Two days ago I received a kick from my horse, which had very nearly proved fatal. But God keeps my bones, that not one of them is broken. October, 1794. He who gives his people an easy death, can bring them in safety through all the storms and tempests of life; for in the roaring of the sea he rules, and stills the swelling waves. October 7, 1794. Afflictions, uncommon and trying afflictions, may do us much good, by loosening us from the world, and making us welcome the hour of our departure. It gives me some comfort, that my journey through the howling wilderness, the thorny path, of life, is another month shorter, and that I shall shortly reach the promised land. October 24, 1794. Though I should not wish for death out of a fit of discontent, or for heaven only because greatly afflicted on earth—yet when surrounded with distressing spectacles of sin, when griefs, heart-piercing griefs, pour in on every hand, when people we care for are under the dominion of Satan; and afflictions, like waves of the sea, dash on us from every quarter—then the faith of the eternal enjoyment of God will support the soul under all. December 2, 1794. To what purpose is long life, unless we live to God, and do good in our generation? O! with what awful wastes of time do I charge myself! O to work hard in the evening of my life, for the night is fast approaching, wherein no man can work. Whether we die young, or whether we die old—nothing should be left for a death-bed—but to die. The experience of thousands confirms this. And to be prepared for death like a Christian, (but O how little is this thought of, and sought after!) is a nobler attainment than the conquest of kingdoms, or the dominion of the universe! January 2, 1795. Yesterday, being the first day of the year, my neighbor of long standing was removed by death. We all expected the event—but death is a change that baffles description, exceeds all our conception. Lately he had none around him but friends and acquaintances, now he mingles with an innumerable multitude. From the midst of all his temporal concerns, he is carried to the tribunal of the great God, to have his state fixed for eternity. And O the wonders that must arise around him! Indeed he wished to meet death, as conquered by his Savior’s death. And no other way can we look this king of terrors in the face. January 6, 1795. The mercy that has supported me so long should be the theme of my song, and the support of my grey hairs. And though the dead cannot praise you among the living here, yet the soul of a departed saint can praise you better than below; can praise you with full bent of soul, with every power enlarged and elevated, without sinning and without ceasing. Worldly people may make a figure in the things of time. But when I look into eternity, I find an amazing reverse of circumstances. The most afflicted saint in this world—is happy above conception in eternity! The most wealthy sinner in this world—is miserable beyond description in eternity! What then are a few moments of sorrow—compared to an eternity of communion with God and the Lamb! February 5, 1795. This day, oppressed with a great cold, I find my lungs stiffened, and not able to perform their functions with ease as formerly. But, alas! while I am thus admonished of my departure, how do I cleave to life, and long to continue my pilgrimage below! Yet strength in time of need, and grace for a dying hour, will make death easy at last. March 4, 1795. From a most dangerous situation, in which I continued for two or three weeks, I am now greatly recovered. But I am ashamed before my heavenly Father, that I should in the least dispute his holy will. O how rich is his grace, and how tender his love! He has kindly restored me to health; may I never forget my resolutions, nor the reason why I wished to live a little longer. I see that past attainments can do nothing in new difficulties. I must daily and hourly receive grace from Christ for what I may be daily and hourly called to. April 7, 1795. When good Hezekiah was in the near prospect of his death, he turns his face from all his courtiers, and towards the wall; so, in view of my departure, I should bid farewell to all, not only to my acquaintances—but to my nearest relatives, to my dear wife and children. And while I foresee a separation among all these, I from them, or they from me; may I have an interest in the best of friends, from whom even death shall not separate me! May 30, 1795 (Birthday). This day I acknowledge the goodness of God, who has preserved me so long alive, even until I am old and grey-headed. I also desire to look on myself as on the brink of eternity, and that I must soon associate with the heavenly world. But while my friends and relations may cause me sorrow upon sorrow, not one of all the heavenly assembly shall cause me to feel the least pain. June 4, 1795. I am admonished of my death every day, while my acquaintances, and all younger than myself, are carried off the stage. A moment is little to a year—but sixty or seventy years are less to eternity. While I am in the valley of tears, it is much that I am not always mourning—but have now and then a song in my mouth, while Providence deals kindly, and a gracious God soothes my fears. August 4, 1795. The fear of natural death has been distressing to some who were ripe for glory, and panting for God. But he who takes away the sting of death, can support under the pangs of death. And though the battle should be severe, it will be but short, and faith may well support the combatant. But, above all things, having such a Savior on my side, from whose love death cannot separate, may fill me with Christian courage in my last conflict. September 1, 1795. Death closes the campaign to the Christian soldier, and even sets him at eternal rest from all his foes and all his fears. Just so, this king of terrors, under the direction of the king of glory, is the Christian’s best friend. October 6, 1795. The Governor of heaven has been pleased to bestow summer-days on the end of harvest this season, which is an uncommon kindness. So when death, which is commonly a day of trouble and distress, a day of clouds and thick darkness, comes upon me, who can tell but my kind Lord may make my day bright with his heavenly beams, and so shed his love abroad in my heart, that I shall walk singing in the solitary valley, and shout, "O death! where is your sting? O grave! where is your victory?" December 1, 1795. How many people die, who never have one serious thought of death! But a leap in the dark here is dreadful, and to die in uncertainty is truly terrible! A strong faith in him who can forgive all my sins—who is the resurrection and the life—and who can take away the sting of death—can alone support me in prospect of death, judgment, and eternity! March 1, 1796. Well may the grave be called the land of forgetfulness. How soon are our godly neighbors and dear relations forgotten! But it does not matter to them, for they are happy in the company they enjoy, and in the communion they maintain with God in Christ Jesus forever. April 5, 1796. Threescore and ten years measure the life of old men, (for millions die before the age of seventy,) then how few years am I short of that number? Another inspired penman bids me not to boast of tomorrow, because I know not what a day may bring forth. Then, I see that eternity is at hand. But how happy, if death delivers me from all evil, from sin, and from Satan—and puts me in possession of heavenly glories, and eternal communion with God! May 30, 1796 (Birthday). This day again I acknowledge the divine kindness, which has preserved me so long in being. And I desire to fix it in my mind, that the time of my departure cannot be far away. O that I may walk as an heir of heaven, as a candidate for glory! I commit all my concerns to him who is the living God, when I am no more. And I approve of his all-wise providence with respect to the time and manner of my death. June 7, 1796. Like Isaac, I may say, "I am old, and know not the day of my death," but, like Job, I will say, "All the days of my appointed time will I wait, until my change comes." O to be meditating more on the heavenly state, on the glories of the unseen world, as I must soon take farewell of this poor world! July 11, 1796. It has pleased God to increase my family, and I plead that he may put them all among his children, and give them the Spirit of adoption, whereby they may cry, Abba, Father. They may soon lose their earthly father—but they can never lose their heavenly Father—and that is my comfort. September 6, 1796. Is it possible, that the nearer I approach to death—that death should be more seldom in my view, and the future state more seldom in my meditations? In a little while, I must bid a final farewell to the whole creation, and enter on my eternal state. And O what trifles are all the affairs of life compared to this! October 4, 1796. Were I in a right frame, I would long for the day of my departure from vexation and vanity, from disappointment and pain—in a word, from temptation and sin! Yes, and I would long for my arrival at my Father’s house, and for my entering on the enjoyment of all divine blessings, even on eternal communion with God! November 1, 1796. For a long time I have believed that I might die—but henceforth I wish to believe that I must die. December 6, 1796. When attacked with any illness that seems to bring death along—why am I unwilling to depart? I desire to put death and life into your hand, and to say Amen to all that you do. But if the lengthening of my life may advance your glory, with submission I would plead for it. January 10, 1797. For some time past I have had close interviews with death—and realize that it is serious work to die. I know in whom I have believed. Yet, in view of preparing some things for the press, and for the sake of my young family, I have implored my heavenly Father to spare me a little while. But I wish to be resigned to his conduct, which cannot err; and his love, which will give what is good. Henceforth, I wish to be crucified to the world, and the world to me, and henceforth to look upon myself, by this dangerous illness in my lungs, like a tenant that has received a summons of removal, so that nothing remains but to be finally cast out. As afflictions sometimes come not alone—as my five children had the measles almost at once; so mercies come not alone—for these children have all recovered. What shall I render to his name! February 7, 1797. Though my recovery is slow, yet this day l am much better, and am now well enough to leave the house. May I never forget this long lesson of mortality—but live like an expectant of a blessed immortality, all my remaining short life. March 7, 1797. Our youngest child for some weeks past has been getting teeth, and seized with a fever. And though sometimes a little better—yet the fever returned and cut her off. Yesterday she was interred. On recollection, I find that the spring has been a seed-time of sorrow to me. For in the beginning of this month, twenty-seven years ago, my sister Margaret died. And in the beginning of the same month, my daughter Margaret is taken away. Here divine sovereignty is manifested—I am spared for many years, but my pleasant infant is mingled with the dead. In a little while it will be eternity with us all—so that survivors have little cause either to boast or mourn. Our best wisdom will be, to hold a loose grip on every comfort that can perish, and to fasten our grip on eternal things. The more we have our hearts in heaven, the less will the troubles of time distress us. April 4, 1797. I am still kept in the furnace, and have often relapses, and though still able to walk, yet, when I walk any distance, I am greatly fatigued. On the one hand, I would wish to be resigned to death—if appointed at this time, and would commit all my cares and concerns into my heavenly Father’s hand, who does all things well. On the other hand, as there is no remembrance of God in death, nor can those who lie in their grave praise him among men—I would gladly exalt his name among my fellow creatures, before I go hence and be no more. But as I cannot judge best for myself—so I desire not to choose for myself—but to commit the whole matter to my gracious God. April 29, 1797. For two weeks I have been better than at any period since I fell ill. What shall I render to the Lord for all his kindness to me! But while I am spared, my acquaintance is called to eternity in the middle of the night. He goes to his bed—but he awakens in the invisible world! He gets no time to give a parting advice—and departs without a spectator! May 30, 1797 (Birthday). Many observe their birthday only by feasting. But I, the child of God, the expectant of glory, may, on this day, have a spiritual feast—and bless God for his loving-kindness, which has followed him like Israel’s stream in the wilderness, for sixty-seven years. O now to be willing and ready to leave the desert, and to enter into the heavenly Canaan, and the eternal enjoyment of God and the Lamb! June 6, 1797. How soon are dead friends forgotten! But my divine Redeemer will not forsake me in death—nor forsake me in the grave. At the last day, he shall come and call me home to his kingdom and glory. Death shall make no inroads into the heavenly family. July 4, 1797. Already the day begins to shorten, and summer flies away—a fitting emblem of my own decline. But what a sweet scene, what a bright prospect, opens on the back of death! Complete deliverance from a worldly mind, from all sin, temptation and sorrow, from pain and death; and full communion with God and the Lamb evermore! August 1, 1797. I find myself a dying creature, I carry the seeds of death in my body. O to prepare for my departure, and to improve all my time for God’s glory, and the good of souls! I wish to have my anchor within the veil—and then shall I be safe in spite of all the storms and tempests that can blow. October 3, 1797. Alas! how seldom do I think on death! how little do I prepare for my latter end? And yet I walk on the verge of the grave, on the borders of eternity! There is no folly like spiritual folly. But it is high time for me now to be wise, and to prepare for my approaching final and eternal change. November 7, 1797. Our acquaintances, if gathered together, would be a great multitude—but nothing compared to the general assembly and church of the first-born, which the saints join immediately after death. At death, I must leave my family, and lose my friends. But I shall sustain no loss, for I shall join the heavenly multitude—and find myself in a world of friends. December 1, 1797. As I am far advanced in life, I would wish to be like one of those faithful servants, who with loins girded, and lights burning—wait their Lord’s coming—that when he knocks they may open to him immediately. So would I wish, when death comes—to be both ready and willing to die. "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour!" Matthew 25:13 January 8, 1798. May I never forget that I am walking on the brink of the grave—on the borders of the invisible world! And O how near was I to eternity three weeks ago, when thrown from my horse! I had my collar bone broken, and my side bruised; it was a kind providence that my skull was not fractured, or I killed outright. I have been confined to my room—but am now much better, and even in my distress I have had many kind providences. Henceforth may I improve time in view of eternity; and whatever my hand finds to do, do it with all my might—for there is neither work nor device in the silent grave, where I am going. February 6, 1798. I have had so much trouble on my body lately as might warn me of my approaching death. And nothing can be more fitting for me, than to review my evidences for heaven. But whatever clouds may overshadow me, upon this Rock will I sit down—"Whoever comes to me, I will never cast out." Thus shall I be—safe in the trials of life—safe in the jaws of death—and safe through the ages of eternity! April 3, 1798. As I am walking on the brink of the invisible world, and know not how soon I must enter in—to think of that state, so solemn and unknown—is a distressing thought! But he who here is my God, my Guide, my Portion, and my Comforter—will be my God, my Guide my Portion, and my Comforter there. For I may change my place but not my relationship to God. Wherever I am, I am still with you, whether on your footstool—or at your throne! June 5, 1798. I need not go abroad into the world to see the death of my fellow creatures, to seek admonitions to expect and prepare for death; since, in my own frailty, I have a daily monitor of my approaching end! If I go up a hill or up stairs, my throbbing lungs say to me—that I must shortly go down to the chambers of death! October 2, 1798. I feel my strength fail, I feel my frailty increase, and yet how difficult to have a belief of soon coming death in my mind! It is easy to confess with the lip that I am mortal—but does this belief run through my heart and life—and wean me from the whole creation? November 6, 1798. Many an interview have I had with the king of terrors—but now we seem to come to close quarters. I find my natural strength greatly gone, and disease attacking my lungs. This is like engaging with the enemy’s vanguard. And who can say how soon, before the whole army will be upon me! The conflict may be severe—but the victory shall be sweet. And though the river is rapid, and the passage turbulent—yet the land of promise is on the other side! December 4, 1798. Now when in the decline of life, and in prospect of approaching death—what an unspeakable privilege is a saving interest in Jesus? The friendship and company with the people of this world—is always trifling, sometimes sinful. But friendship with God—is light in the midst of darkness; and life in the midst of death. December 22, 1798. When I began these thoughts more than thirty years ago, death and I might be said to be like two enemies on the field of battle—uncertain when they would engage. But now, everything considered, we may be said to be like two armies with drawn weapons, ready to engage in battle. A kind father calls his beloved son to come home, whom he finds engaged in some favorite play with his young companions. The boy obeys, but comes grumbling and murmuring at his father’s call. But he no sooner has entered into the house, than he is dressed in a fine new suit of clothes, which highly pleases him. And he learns that there is to be a vast gathering of friends, for whom is provided a most sumptuous feast. And that there is to be music and everything grand at this banquet, where he is to be admitted a guest. His thoughts run all in another channel. He now chides himself for murmuring at his father’s call, and blesses the voice which called him from his play. Just so, when I am called into the invisible world, I shall be clothed with the white linen of Christ’s righteousness—with the garments of glory! I shall join the heavenly multitude, sit down to the marriage supper of the Lamb, and hear the song of songs above! Then shall I be dead to all concern with the affairs of this life; to the endearments of friends; to the relations of husband and parent—and wholly taken up with that high, that eternal state. January 1, 1799. I am favored with the dawn of another day—with the first day of another year. But how soon the shadows of the evening may fall on me, I cannot say. O, let me walk in the light of your countenance, and the darkness of death shall not terrify me. January 14, 1799. The disorder that formerly attacked my lungs, and for some time past made me quite out of breath by walking a short way, is this day greatly gone! What shall I render to my heavenly physician? February 6, 1799. The great mistake I and many of my fellow-creatures fall into, is thinking this world our home, and that death is a casting us out of our dear home into a foreign and unknown land. Whereas we should look on ourselves as sojourners and pilgrims, traveling through a wilderness to our native country and true home. Then, we should not always look on death with a fallen countenance—but with a cheerful face! May 7, 1799. If I find delight in visiting a select company of friends, surely nowhere have I more or better friends than in the invisible heavenly world! There have I beloved acquaintances and companions, dear brothers and sisters, my honored parents, some of my dear children, and the beloved wife of my bosom. Now, immediately on my entering on that heavenly state—I shall have the sweetest fellowship with them, being delivered from all sin, and raised above all infirmity. May 30, 1799 (Birthday). My birthday brought me into this world—but the day of death will be my better birthday into a more noble world—a more noble society—and a more noble employment. June 4, 1799. What majestic and glorious prospects shall open to me on the back of death, I cannot tell. But they are all summed up and included in this—I shall see God! September 3, 1799. I should go about the affairs of my family, the duties of my station, and the concerns of this life—as the children of Israel ate the first Passover in Egypt—with my loins girded, and the staff in my hand, ready to commence my journey at all times, being assured that the command will shortly come. And with what joy may I look forward to my departure, since I shall not, like them, travel to a Red Sea, or to a waste and howling wilderness—but to the land of promise, the heavenly Canaan, the paradise of God! October 1, 1799. I am now so far advanced in life, that I should expect death to attend every illness. Let me commit the hour of my departure, as well as the salvation of my soul—to God. To be habitually prepared for death, and willing to be gone at any time—will not bring my removal a moment sooner. But when it comes—this will make it comfortable and easy. November 5, 1799. How kind is God to his people, that when the world is of little comfort to them, and they of little use in the world—he takes them to himself. And in the mean time, he compasses them about with his favor as with a shield! How sweet to a person whose brow is full of wrinkles, and whose hairs are grey, should that promise be, "I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you." December 2, 1799. This day I have so much trouble on my body, as may convince me that I am a dying creature. To my gracious Redeemer I commit the time of my departure, whether the present distress shall issue in death, or if he shall be pleased to add a little to my life. But while I live, let me never be ashamed of being on the side of Jesus. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 7: 01.04. 1786 - 1799 CONT'D ======================================================================== Biographer’s note—James Meikle died on the 7th of December, 1799, leaving behind him a name which is better than precious ointment; and a widow and five children, with little on which to depend for future support but the good providence of that God, who, to use his own words, "had guided him through all his wanderings, and supplied him during life to his heart’s content." The cheerfulness of his disposition continued to the last. Disappointments never soured his temper. Though strict both in his principles and morals, he never appeared sullen or morose; he was rather cheerful, gladsome and merry. There does not appear, for forty years, among all his voluminous papers, notwithstanding the many severe censures which he passes in them upon himself—one expression from which it can be certainly concluded, that he entertained any doubt of his eternal salvation. This, and the constitutional gaiety of his temper, will account for the surprise which many of his most intimate acquaintances have expressed at the perusal of his writings; and explain what otherwise might be deemed paradoxical—that a man uniformly cheerful in company, should in private, make death and the future world the favorite subjects of his meditations. To him death was surrounded with no terrors! The future world captivated his imagination, and filled him, as frequently as he contemplated it—with most exquisite joy. He maintained his reputation for piety, and his unshaken faith in God, to the end. And the God whom he served, honored him with continued usefulness in his station, almost to his last hour. On the first of December, he officiated as an elder in the dispensation of the Lord’s supper. On the second, he wrote a short article in his Monthly Memorial. On the sixth, he was still serving medicines to his patients. On the seventh he was with God! "I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you!" Isaiah 46:4. "I know that my Redeemer lives!" Job 19:25. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 8: 02.00. A SECRET SURVEY INTO THE STATE OF THE SOUL ======================================================================== A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1760 - 1770 1771 - 1780 1781 - 1786 1787 - 1799 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life." Psalms 139:23-24 ======================================================================== CHAPTER 9: 02.01. 1760 - 1770 ======================================================================== A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul by James Meikle, 1730-1799 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life." Psalms 139:23-24 1760 - 1770 September 14, 1760. Nothing is more incumbent on a Christian than to make his calling and election sure; and when this is cleared up, nothing can be a greater comfort. Every man should try his state and walk accordingly. He should hold what he has attained, and reach forward to apprehend what he has not yet apprehended. Should I be ashamed to confess to God the great things he has done for me, at which I am astonished? But let the praise be his alone. However I have gone after vanities, yet I can, through grace, say—"None for me but God! Heaven and earth are shadows without him; but he is my portion and my all. I love him for himself, for his holiness, for his love. I set nothing above him, I seek nothing beside him—but count ’God reconciled in Christ’, a treasure sufficient to enrich eternity itself. All my fear is lest I offend him, all my desire is to please him, all my ambition is to be like him. I dispute not his will, I repine not at his providence, for when repinings arise, as too oft they do, I represent to myself his love, his wisdom, his promise—whence I infer—that he cannot order wrong for me. True, I daily fail—but I daily bewail myself, and daily dip myself in the fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness. My graceless companions are my daily grief, and I bewail over those to God—who never bewail themselves. I shun the company of the wicked, and where necessarily cast into it, I am uneasy all the while. I esteem the saints very highly, even the excellent ones of the earth. Prayer is my daily exercise; and though too often formal and full of detractions, yet it is the joy of my soul. I make the sins of the land my burden, and the sins of the whole world my concern. Jews and Pagans, deluded Turks and Papists, have a part in my supplications, and all the Christian churches in my prayers. When true religion suffers, I burn; when it triumphs, I rejoice. I have not an enemy in the whole world but I desire to forgive, as I expect to be forgiven. The rising generation dwells on my mind, and I plead with God in their behalf. Above all things in the world, were I qualified, I would gladly serve God in the gospel of his Son. O I esteem it more to win one soul from hell, than to sway the scepter of the universe. I dare not seek to be learned—but to be useful. I dare not cherish vain schemes about future times—but commit my lot to God. I count that day idly spent, wherein I have not some divine meditations. I rejoice in hope of the glory of God, and wait for Christ from heaven. I count the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord and honorable. I have joy in believing on the unseen Christ, whom the highest heavens contain until the restitution of all things. I have had a turbulent spirit often—when I have been misused. But now I desire to throw down pride and self-conceit, to overlook reproaches, forget affronts, and forgive injuries. When I awake in the morning, I am with you, and my meditation of the most high God affords me sweet thoughts. The light of your countenance makes me exceeding glad, and gives me greater joy than those whose grain and wine increase. Some sins I confess more easily beset me than others—but these I desire to guard against, and I allow not myself in any known sin. Hence I see, that what I am, I am by grace, and not by nature. My daily vain thoughts and errors who can understand, for they are innumerable? Yet my daily complaint is against them, "O who shall deliver me from this body of death?" and my continual struggle is to oppose them. As to holy frames and feelings, I dare not build on them—but on the solid promises which in Christ are yes and amen. Yet do I desire to walk always with him, and in the light of his countenance to go on rejoicing, and mourn when I go without the sun. My daily fear is, that I am growing worse, and not better; going backward, and not forward; and my cry is, O that it were with me as in months past, as in former times! I desire to rejoice in the gifts and graces of others, as if they were my own, and not to have an evil envious eye, because God is good, and gives others more than me. Of all changes—death is the most shocking; of all trials—judgment is the most tremendous; of all states—the eternal world is the least known. Yet let my soul bless his name forever, when I have seemed in the arms of death by sickness, I could, with a sound mind and unshaken faith knowing in whom I had believed, say with the psalmist, "into your hands I commit my spirit, O God of truth! who has redeemed me." When I thought I was on the brink of death, with a serenity of mind, which yet refreshes me, I commended my soul into his hand, in view of hastening into the eternal and changeless world. September 24, 1760. Alas! I have sometimes evil thoughts arising in my mind, which I can scarcely think are mine; but if they are mine, I immediately bewail them, and myself for them, and beg both pardon for them, and preservation from them for the future. And if they are injections of Satan, I strive to suppress them and reject them with all haste—as I would quench a fire without delay. And sometimes I get them smothered in their formation—all praise to sovereign grace. These things make me humble, and a daily suppliant to free grace, and give a continued demonstration of my own abominable vileness. My! what a mass of hell is my corrupt nature on the one hand. But how prevalent is true grace on the other hand! through which I hope I can say, thanks be to God who gives me the victory. Another thing I condemn myself in is a too great delight in the creature, and having excess pleasure in the possession of any worldly thing. But, as in the day of adversity I am to consider; so in the day of prosperity I not only may—but should be joyful. So, that I might not err, I resolve: 1. To accept every blessing with a cheerful countenance and thankful heart from God. 2. To see that my thankfulness, both to God and my fellow-creatures, increases with the increase of worldly good things. 3. To look on all creature enjoyments as common mercies, promiscuously dealt to saints and sinners—of which the last have often the largest share. 4. To fix their fleeting nature in my mind, and neither boast of, nor build upon them; remembering that he who was one of the greatest men one day, was a poor naked Job the next day. 5. Not to have an exceeding joy in anything beside Christ. 6. And, therefore, to hold all things, as it were, at a moment’s warning, even friends and relations, which are the dearest of worldly enjoyments—to be delivered back at God’s call. "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." 7. That anything which may ever fall to my lot in the world, through grace, shall no way jostle itself into the place of God in my soul, or take off my meditation from that purchased possession, that inheritance of glory which fades not away. 8. To use common things with Christian caution, and as one who must answer for things in the day of judgment, even as to my food, my drink, and my apparel. Thus would I wish to use the world as not abusing it, because the time is short until I am no more. And such a one should be, if he weeps—as though he wept not; if he rejoices—as though he rejoiced not; and if he buys—as though he possessed not. May 21, 1761. For some time past, though the iniquities of my heart have been many, yet God has done wonders for my soul. Grace lives within, and there is a longing kindled in my bosom, that I hope will never abate until I see my Beloved face to face. My secret sins cause both my shame and sorrow—before him who sees in secret. And his wonderful, triumphant, victorious love, (let every saint commend it, and eternity continue the praise), that will not be provoked to depart from me, increases my grief for sin. O how can I sin against his goodness! How can I forget his love, or offend his holiness, and abuse his fatherly kindness! I desire to keep conscience always awake, that it may roar aloud against my sins, and give me no rest, until, by fresh acts of faith, I apply the blood of him who speaks better things than that of Abel, even peace to those who are afar off, and to those who are near. In my studies I can toil hours together on an Hebrew Bible, and yet, while only seeking the meaning and roots of words, not behold the beauties in the oracles of truth. This is a misfortune always attending the young student. But, in view of future advantage to the soul or the church, this burden is to be borne, and I therefore appoint so many hours for such studies, and some time for meditation and reading on other subjects or studies. I try to refresh my soul by spiritualizing the subjects in a momentary meditation. But O how happy that golden age of eternity, when God and Christ shall be my whole study, and not one distracting thought! September 6, 1761. As the traveler Zionward should be always making progress on his journey, so should he still examine his state for the present, and see how matters stand with him. In like manner, I should ask my soul the following queries, and let conscience, as in the sight of God, make the answer. Have I seen myself lost by nature—an heir of wrath—and a child of hell? Have I seen God’s equity with respect to the covenant of works, and condemning a fallen world in the loins of our first parents? Have I been convinced of the depravity of my nature—the lethargy of my conscience, the darkness of my understanding, the hardness of my heart, the stubbornness of my will, and the deadness of my whole inner man—and consequently of my utter inability to help myself? Have I seen the vast demand of the divine law—which will take no less than complete satisfaction of offences, and requires perfect, personal, and perpetual obedience—and which threatens the curse for the least failure? Have I then looked upward—and seen an angry God? Have I looked to the scripture—and seen a fiery law? Have I looked inward—and seen a deformed, guilty, ugly monster? Have I looked forward to futurity—and seen wrath as the portion of my cup, and hell as the lot of my inheritance—and so in all respects seen myself lost and undone? But then, have I seen, with exceeding great joy, help laid on ONE mighty to save? And have I run into the arms of this gracious Redeemer to be saved from sin and wrath? Have I taken his complete righteousness, his spotless life, and meritorious death—for my complete righteousness, and sole title to justification and eternal life? Do I endeavor to walk as under the law of Christ—in all holy living and godliness; and account myself, though freed from it as a covenant and its curse, yet bound by the strongest bonds to walk as he also walked? Does my admiration of ’created excellencies’ daily diminish, and my estimate of heavenly things daily rise and grow? Do I frequently converse with my own heart, survey my inner man, and examine the state of my soul? Are my thoughts on things that while I view them vanish—or on a precious Jesus, the same yesterday, today and forever? Do I watch against sins of omission, as well as sins of commission; against the iniquity of my thoughts, as well as the iniquity of my actions? Am I not only burdened with corruption that rises within me—but with sin that rages around me? Am I zealous for the Redeemer’s glory, both in my own bosom and abroad in the world? Are pious exercises my continual delight, and more esteemed than my necessary food? Can I forgive my enemies, even the most cruel, with the greatest alacrity, and sincerely seek the prosperity of my inveterate foes? Do I resign myself wholly to the divine disposal of providence, and welcome its most unwelcome dispensations, because of him who sends them? Am I, while under the rod—more desirous to be refined from sin, than brought forth out of the furnace of affliction? Do I esteem the lowest saint more precious than gold—and make them my companions; while I shun to sit with the carnal and profane? Is my delight in the house where God’s honor, yes, where the God of Glory dwells? And are the public ordinances, where I hear the glad tidings of eternal things, as refreshful to me as cold water is to the thirsty soul? Do I keep a court within, and often sit judge on myself, that at last I may not be judged and condemned? Is it my daily endeavor to grow in the knowledge of God my Savior, and draw nearer and nearer to his throne? How do I react, when I see myself ill used, despised, affronted; or hear that I am ill spoken of, and my character wounded, though without a cause? Am I then humble, meek, patient, peaceable and silent; or turbulent, angry passionate, contentious, and clamorous? Am I conscientious in the discharge of all Christian duties—public as well as private—in my family as well as in my closet—in my employment, and among my relations? Is death a strange theme among my meditations? Am I altogether unacquainted with the dark apartments of the grave? Do the fore-thoughts of that eternal communion which all the elect shall enjoy above, afford me a joy superior to all the anguish which ever presses on me? Am I not only a daily penitent for all my sins and shortcomings, and daily seek, that all I have, all I do, and all I am—may be accepted ONLY in the Beloved? November 20, 1763. Through various changes, my natural life is preserved. But O! where is my growth in grace; and the daily renewing of my inner man? My cares multiply, my business fills my hands, and my fond enterprises fill my head. But why is not my heart more consecrated to God? Return to my soul, O my God, that my soul may return to her rest! Surely, in the midst of all my declinings, grace prevails within, for I find no peace but in peace with God; and praise, and prize, and would sincerely pursue after likeness to God. Sometimes there is a deadness on my soul, and a restraining in prayer—but even here I have hope, for 1. All my needs are known to God. 2. Christ presents the imperfect prayers of his people with his own incense. 3. I am driven out of all my self confidence, and wholly lean on him. 4. I am made to lift my eye to him, in whom the fullness of the new covenant is treasured up. 5. I am taught to trust nothing to my best frames in coming times. I desire to set death daily before me, by which I may put a proper estimate on the things of time. September 25, 1764. I desire to find God in all things. If he prospers my undertakings—I magnify his goodness. If he dashes them—I own his justice and adore his sovereignty. If he leads me heavenward in the even way of prosperity and peace—I desire to walk there with gratitude and circumspection. If he leads me in the rugged way of trouble and affliction, I desire to walk there with faith and submission; having the full assurance, that whatever way he leads me, I shall at last arrive safe at my eternal home. For many years I think I have loved God; and yet, alas! I find not my love going out on him who overcame the world, as it should. The things of time deserve my loathing, not my love; and yet how often are they like to steal the heart, and love, and all from God. O! avenge me on my enemies. November 24, 1764. I pray for heaven, and expect it at last, and yet I am often surprised that I long not more for it, and wonder if I can be one of those happy Israelites who shall enter into the holy land, the heavenly country, when so content to dwell still in this desert. O to be crucified to the world, and the world to me! January 4, 1765. Amidst all my changes still I hope grace lives, and though I daily condemn myself, I acknowledge your goodness. Whether you lift me up and cast me down—I desire to honor you by an entire resignation. O to get the stubborn will and rebellious affections bowed to you, and to have every cross in the world driving me nearer to God, and fitting me more and more for heaven! Alas! that my thoughts are so much on the things of time. January 21, 1765. In all things I desire to see your love; if you cast down in one thing you lift up in another. A little mercy in the world, is a great mercy to one who has a world of mercy to come. I dare not think that, because I love you and fear you, it should go such and such with me; but I think, if you love me, it matters not how matters go with me in the world. Well may he who is going to dwell forever with the king, in his palace—put up with a dirty road and a rainy day. April 27, 1765. I desire to have this motto in my heart, "Be angry, and sin not." I have sometimes cause to be angry with the men of the world, and yet I would rather choose not to be angry in my heart. Thus by passion under the government of grace, I may prevent the same injury being done to me again and again; thus shall I be wise as the serpent. But I must not repay injuries with injuries, else I would not be harmless as the dove. Yet I think where the peace of God rules in the heart, there will not be much room for wrath or revenge. I would rather envy the meekness of Moses, and the patience of Job, than the power of the one, and the possessions of the other. O to be daily imitating Jesus, who, when his worst enemies were doing their worst, cried, "Father, forgive them." Forgiveness will be no grief of heart to me, when I arrive at the heavenly throne. Forgiveness is the only way to get the better of a treacherous world. It is to be as like God in the world as possible. September 22, 1765. Many a sad struggle I have, among other things, with vain thoughts, which, like the Canaanites of old, will dwell in my heart. I blame myself, for I lodge them all the week as harmless, and then, on the holy Sabbath, they will neither leave nor be at rest. O! how dangerous to let my mind go too much after the world! November 14, 1765. This day I attempt a fast for sin. But, alas! I know the name, not the nature of sin, and my flinty heart can hardly sorrow for that for which my Lord suffered. O! that I should not only give room in my house—but lodging in my heart—to the crucifiers of the Lord of glory! The blind man sees no faults; so the less I see of sin in and about me, the more blind I may believe myself. The room I sit in just now, is the very picture of my heart—I see not the least floating dust or wandering atom. But were the clouds scattered, how would the solar beam be loaded with dust above computation, beyond, far beyond belief! So, should the Sun of Righteousness shine into my soul, what reeking abominations and secret sins would be revealed in his ray! Such a sight cannot fail to humble me; and the less I see, the more cause I have of humility, because to all my other sins, that of spiritual blindness is added. When I look into my heart and practices—how am I driven out of myself! O I think a great sinner must be a great believer! The man who is wrecked on a sand-bank despises help, and thinks to plod to the shore on his own feet—but perishes in the undertaking. But he who is drowning in deep water takes hold of the rope thrown in for his relief, and never releases it until out of danger. February 8, 1766. Though I trust not in frames, yet, blessed be his name, my heart has been enlarged for some time past. O hold me by the right hand, then shall my soul follow hard after you, and not otherwise. I still lament that I cannot drop some spiritual word properly in discourse, when the conversation of all is so vain. April 12, 1766. O how the day is changed! I pray without the spirit of prayer and supplication. The world has gotten into my heart. The treacherous world is the worst enemy to divine love, because it is lawful to give it some part in my concern. But to give it but its own part and no more—is the hardest lesson in Christianity. To give the world too much love brings the heaviest curse—for if any man loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. September 14, 1766. Again I sing of his mercy, and O to dwell under the shadow of the Almighty all the days of my life! Alas! I confess I know not whether I grow or not. For if in a thriving condition, why is not every grace stronger, and every corruption weaker than I find them? December 3, 1766. This day is appointed for a thanksgiving-day, for public mercies being continued in the midst of our manifold sins; and O what double cause of gratitude have I! that I am not made a scandal to religion, a terror to others or myself, that I am not in hell, and have a true hope of heaven! O that my practice, my conversation, my pen—could praise you for all the mercies, the benefits, the pardons—that burden yet support, that load yet relieve, that oppress but comfort my whole soul! April 7, 1767. Many are the wounds the souls of the saints smart under. The foes, the Canaanites, even wicked and horrible thoughts, (whether thrown in by hell—or spued out by that fountain of uncleanness and corruption in the heart, is hard to say), are numerous. Among which some are like the Anakim—of great stature and terrible appearance; by reason of which the poor Christian is but a grasshopper in his own sight. This was my own case, and a sad one it is. But faith in the God of heaven shall defy not only those giants of hell—but the king of the bottomless pit. October 22, 1767. It is strange, yes terrible—that an expectant of heaven should with great difficulty, be reconciled to go to heaven. I would take it ill if any should tell me, I shall never go to heaven; and yet would be startled if one should tell me, I shall go to heaven tomorrow! Am not I carnal, sold under sin? for if one would give me a wealthy estate, I would not defer one day to go and inhabit it. Has earth thus the ascendancy over heaven, with me? O for the heavenly mind that will never rest, never be satisfied—until in heaven! November 13, 1767. In what a dangerous situation am I! While I think all is well, the enemy is at the door; for though I think I can say that I hate sin and love holiness, yet I am not aware of the idols which divide my heart from God. The more apparently harmless these idols seem to be—the more dangerous they are! The error lies not so much in the act of loving, as in the excess of my love. How sad to find my affections centering on the creature—and delighting in perishing things! February 27, 1768. Now and then, for some months past, I have written a few lines, in a poem called ’Heaven’, with a view to wean my affections from the world, and that divine things may triumph in my affections. But what darkening, diminishing, disadvantageous views of heaven have I—whose words are lost in ignorance, and whose thoughts are swallowed up of inconceivable glory? When I arrive at the state of perfection, my most elaborate writings will be but childish prattlings—compared to the language of glory; and my sweetest songs but harsh and insignificant sounds—compared to the eternal hallelujah! July 24, 1768. Nothing is so terrible than by sickness to be brought to the brink of eternity, and the soul eagerly recoiling back to time. I am afraid this was too much my case in my late illness—else why did the world retain its bewitching charms with me, even when my vigor was wasting like a moth? O to be enabled to cheerfully leave the world at the hour of death, as easily as Elijah let his mantle fall, when he ascended up to everlasting day! December 21, 1768. Whatever my state be, I desire to lay hold on the promises—that the righteous shall grow as the cedar in Lebanon, and flourish like the palm-tree. When I seem like the heath in the desert, this shall refresh me. March 5, 1769. Discord and contention about trifles with the men of the world, alas for some time, has focused my attention to earthly things. O how am I to blame! Though the earth should be removed, and the ocean roar; though the mountains tumble among the dashing billows, and the rocks tremble before the mighty waves—still the soul which makes God his refuge and his strength should not in the least be dismayed. When the creator of the ends of the earth, ceases to rule the earth—then let me feel pain. Like the hedge in the garden, the more I am clipped and kept down in the winter of affliction, even to the apparent spoiling of utility and beauty—yet the more lovely and flourishing shall I be in the summer of glory. Then under my winter-prunings—let me not complain until the sweet summer make amends for all. April 16, 1769. When I compare past and present times, how am I pained! Once my time was a time of love; my meditation of him was sweet; his candle shined on my head; and by his light I walked through darkness. But, alas! for some time past, how have I been sighing and going backward! A bewitching world, in its cares and concern, in its profit and pleasures, in its sorrows and uncertainties, in its projects and plans—has too much tossed my mind, like a straw before the whirlwind. Return, O Lord! how long? and cause my soul return to her center, her rest. Did a pleasant paradise spring up in the wilderness—I might sit still. But when Satan, like the fiery serpents—the world, like the cruel Amalekites—and corrupt nature, like the barren desert—all conspire to make my situation dismal and deplorable, no wonder that I long to pass over Jordan, and go in to take eternal possession of the land of promise! January 15, 1770. In all things I should seek communion with God, in his providences, as well as in his ordinances. I admire, I adore, and would sincerely doubt God no more. For he who gives me one mercy today, can give another tomorrow, and will give what seems good in his sight. January 28, 1770. Though there is always a real communion, though not always sensible; as well as vital union maintained between the renewed soul and God; yet at some times, for a few moments, I am favored with such displays of his love, communications of his grace, glimpses of glory, and foretastes of heaven—that all the powers of my soul are both refreshed and ravished. Nor dare I challenge this as a delusion, for it comes in a scriptural, rational way—and always then, God is most adored, the Redeemer more endeared, grace more admired, death more welcome, sin more abhorred, earth more despised, and heaven more longed for. Yet this attainment is but of short duration; for God will have me, even in spiritual things, to walk by faith, and not by sense. What, then, must heaven be, where the joys of God shall pour into the soul through everlasting day! Hence I may see that vicissitudes await my life below. If I ascend mount Tabor—it is to come down to the valley of Achor. And if weeping endures for a night—joy comes in the morning. But as on the mountain I should be humble—because the valley lies below; so in the weeping watches I should hope—because the day shall break, and the shadows shall flee away! April 15, 1770. The righteous Judge of all the earth has been pleased to remove a near and dear relative by death—and O how stupid am I under the stroke! I see affliction reveals us to ourselves; for did I think that the loss of my friend would have made a lack in my soul, when refused even to be filled with God? Why do I dream of immortality in the region of death? This fleeting world is not my rest! Why, then, take it so amiss to be disturbed in the land of trouble? June 13, 1770. Many a time has a kind providence blessed me with blessings beyond my expectation, and above my faith. And trials, which in appearance seemed insupportable when approaching, have been light and easy when pressing on me. August 6, 1770. O how good is it to take God for my all! His providence for my treasure—and I have never yet lacked! His promise for my charter—and I shall never be cheated out of my inheritance! His Son for my Savior—and I shall not perish! Himself in all his fullness for my portion—and I am enriched for eternity! November 20, 1770. What comfort to the poor buffeted believer, that his High Priest intercedes for him; and in the hour of sad temptation, when likely to succumb—sends him such fresh supplies of grace, that he not only stands his ground—but triumphs over his foes! As I have no strength—why should I have any confidence in myself? But why should I despond—seeing in Christ I am complete? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 10: 02.02. 1771 - 1780 ======================================================================== A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul by James Meikle, 1730-1799 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life." Psalms 139:23-24 1771 - 1780 February 14, 1771. How sad is my case, that the nearer I come to the Sun of Righteousness, the center of my soul, my motion is more dull, and my progression more slow! There must be some false centers that draw my soul aside from God; O to have them all removed, and fly to him alone! March 23, 1771. Instead of being surprised when disappointed by the world, I should wonder that disappointments come not oftener, and they are not of a more disconsolating nature. Sometimes I am tempted to envy some flourishing men. But I have three antidotes against this mental disease, when my soul, returning to herself, has time to apply them. 1. I see but a few that I envy—but I see many who may envy me. 2. It is but when seen in such and such a point of view, or in such a certain circumstance—that I envy others. When taken as a whole—I would change lots with none. 3. The love of God makes up all. April 21, 1771. Vexed with wanderings, and distressed with impertinent rovings, I bewail myself, that I should not wait with more fixedness of heart on God in his own ordinances. But I have pleasure in pious duties, in spite of all the pain and tumult that is raised by indwelling sin. What ecstacy and delight, shall I share in the glorified state—where nothing around shall disturb me, nothing within shall distress me—but God be all in all. April 4, 1772. That person need never be disappointed in anything—who may claim God in his portion. In everything I offend—but in all things the God I serve is gracious; therefore my offences shall be forgiven. The lot that God appoints for me, I will account good, and cheerfully accept of—merely because it is his appointment. In a word, I condemn myself, I acquit God; and am resigned, in the sweet hopes that better things are in reserve for me. June 28, 1772. This Sabbath how have I been oppressed even with infirmity, so that I could not properly attend to the things that were spoken! If wandering one day, and weariness another, distress of body, and distractions of mind, thus attack me—shall not I be compelled, not only to welcome—but to long for death, to translate me to the perfect state? September 26, 1772. Careful about many things, I have much cause to fear that I forget the one thing needful! O that I could shake myself loose of the world, for I cannot carry the world with me to heaven! O! then, to carry heaven with me through the world, the heavenly mind, the heavenly conversation, and the heavenly speech! February 2, 1773. If the path of the upright be like the shining light, which shines more and more unto the perfect day; what shall I say or think of myself—who seem to be sighing and going backwards? October 4, 1773. I condemn myself for being too earthly minded; yet I can say, never allow myself to fall asleep without some heavenly theme in my thought. O that it were my food and drink to meditate on God! December 25, 1773. He who knows all things, knows that I dearly esteem those who have his image; and that I always wish my family may consist of such, and of none but such. I wholly rely on an omniscient Providence with profound resignation, and then, as the events may be, I know whom to praise, and where to implore. April 7, 1774. I have this to remark of Providence, that sometimes afflictions have been sent, when, in all respects, I thought myself least able to sustain them; and yet I have, to my own surprise, been carried honorably through. And at other times, threatened troubles have been suspended until a time that they fell much lighter than had they fallen upon me sooner than they did. Therefore I admire, and confide wholly in the unerring wisdom of my glorious Leader. September 12, 1774. The Christian life is a warfare, and O how the battle is increased in sacred times! Of this I have mournful experience; O for relief and divine assistance! November 2, 1774. In disappointments, crosses, and losses, this I observe—that sometimes I am prepared for the event by an equal temper of mind, and cheerful resignation to the divine disposal. At other times I am supported above expectation when it comes. November 14, 1774. When I look around me, I see one man who has more honor; another who has greater riches; one who has more pleasures; another who has more conveniences; one who has more friends; another who has more relations. But notwithstanding, no where do I see the man that has more blessings than myself. At least, I see myself possessed of so many blessings, which I deserve not, that I desire to be content, thankful, and happy. January 19, 1775. I have prayed for many a thing in faith, which I have not obtained; and at this I have been pained. But on reflection, I think that I have had all my prayers answered, even while my petitions were not granted. For, whatever I asked, it was in the view of its being a good. Now, if infinite wisdom saw that it was not fit for me—though I might be mighty fond thereof—he did me a kindness in withholding it from me. Moreover, my constant and highest request is, that God in all things may be glorified—and he is glorified in doing what he pleases, and in my approving his divine disposal. March 25, 1775. Were I to write an account of all my wars, conflicts and encounters with my spiritual foes—what a volume might I fill! But one thing is strange and terrible to me, that in sacred times, and in pious duties I am sorely attacked—and by a banditti that give me little trouble at other times. May 19, 1775. What a shame is it to forecast so much about the uncertainties of life—and think so little, on the world to come! O that in every scheme and purpose I could submit all to God, and keep the heart wholly for God! One may maintain a fair character before the world—and yet have a foul heart before God. But O for the renovation of heart that is approved in the sight of God! Some days have been memorable in a kingdom for the loss of battles and the ravages of enemies; so the Jews had their fast in the fourth, fifth, seventh, and tenth months. And it is even thus in the Christian; there are some days to be had in mournful remembrance, for the ravages of spiritual enemies, for distractions in time of duty, for vain thoughts and heart-wanderings, when we should be otherwise employed. O for the last victory over every enemy! August 29, 1775. In everything I offend; for as God is still the same, why is not my holy fear and reverential awe of him still the same? Were all the angels in heaven, and all the men on earth, around me in the hour of prayer, would God be more magnificent? Or would he be less to be adored in the silent desert, or in the midnight gloom? So great, so glorious, so possessed of all perfections, and tremendous majesty, are you—that it is only my weakness and corruption which hinder my prayers. January 2, 1776. What a comfort is it, that flying time makes no impression on the unchangeable love of God! I may change my servants, my relations I may die, I may alter my place of abode, and I may see the world turn upside down. But this is my comfort—that the Lord is my God, who changes not. Some great favors with regard to this life I have in prospect—but I plead that God’s love may still be the sugar, the honey of all my good things, the marrow of all my comforts, and the substance of all my consolations. If I ever take the creature for my portion, the best of created good things will convey poison into my soul. Whatever good you shall bestow (and I shall gratefully receive whatever you shall graciously give,) I still claim you as my supreme portion, rich inheritance and chief good, with which only I am satisfied and charmed forever. March 8, 1776. I am daily convinced of my own folly, and chastened for my error; and from a late providence I am taught: 1. To commit all to God, and to hold all that I possess, all that I expect of God, where I can only find everything safe and secure. 2. To think more of God, and less of the most amiable of his creatures. 3. To believe that uncertainty is interwoven with every human affair. 4. Therefore never to be surprised when disappointed in the things of time. 5. To study an unreserved resignation in all things, and at all times. 6. To consider myself as only a traveler to another country, and another state. April 6, 1776. An afflicting providence, not looked for, has overtaken me. But what comfort is it to my soul to see sovereignty in it! I can appeal to the great disposer of all things—that he led me in the right way, and when he sees fit, he may make my way dark and slippery. In a word, whatever I may feel, through grace I am resolved never to doubt his love, never to dispute his conduct, and never be impatient with his dealings with me. O that God’s faithful overflowing love may fill up all needs, and sweeten all troubles! April 7, 1776. This day I have heard an excellent sermon—but I found a pious parent, and his afflicted family all absent, because an unfortunate child was to be publicly rebuked. No sooner has the careful father got him a church-member, than he becomes the object of church censure. May not this teach those that have not families to be moderate in their desire; those who have, to be moderate in their expectations; and us all to dwell at a throne of grace, that we may obtain grace to help in time of need? What shame can sit heavy on me—which has not sin as its cause, and sorrow as its consequence? April 9, 1776. If all things are possible to him who believes, I desire to act faith on him at this time. But it is beautiful for faith to be accompanied with resignation. Faith in his power, resignation to his disposal; faith in his wisdom, resignation to his will; faith in his sweet mercy, resignation to his chastisement; faith in all his promises, resignation to all that he imposes. This is indeed more than flesh and blood can do. But I plead that through grace I may be enabled to believe all, and then I shall be able to bear all, for faith is the victory which overcomes the world. April 28, 1776. When I look among the great men of the world, instead of envying their felicity, I deplore their folly, and pity their situation; and wonder that I, or any that have the hopes of being forever with the Lord, have not more crosses and calamities, disappointments and pains in the world; or that I should ever complain of any trials that I have. What can that man enjoy—who enjoys not God? Where can he find his pleasures—who fetches none from heaven? What vanity and emptiness is his time! What a round of sin, or circle of vanity—though he should dwell in the courts of kings—who has not a moment for true religion? How poor would the best best furnished mansion be, where its owner only lodges a few nights on his way to the prison of hell, where he is to be tormented through an endless evermore? What can his many friends, great connections, and noble relations avail him—when all the perfections of God are against him—and in a little while of all the fiends of the pit, and all his companions in sin, will be his tormentors forever! May 12, 1776. The plagues of my heart are past description; for in sacred times and in solemn duties, there is a heart-wandering, that defies my watch, and disquiets my whole soul. O! to sin against God when tasting of his goodness, is horrid ingratitude. O to have my heart fixed on God, and the things of time shut out! July 9, 1776. Last Sabbath I went to hear sermon, where I was afraid that I might have distractions. But blessed be his name, I had a pleasant day. O that I could say so of many days, for I am afraid that it is not with me as in months past! July 16, 1776. I attended at a neighboring church, though woefully vexed with a wandering heart. Yet thus am I driven entirely out of myself to Christ, and see that he must be the all of my salvation, both in his justifying merit and sanctifying Spirit. My trying providence is removed, and I am made to sing of mercy, and find that everything that God gives is well worth the waiting for. I would rather have blessings in God’s way, and at God’s time, than my own. Now, may all-sufficient grace enable me to walk humbly and circumspectly before him; and O to have all my heart-risings, my fears, and anxieties forgiven! While my heart is filled with gratitude at his goodness, and approbation of his whole providential procedure—though painful. July 28, 1776. Though I desire never to trust in forms, yet I bless his holy name, that attending a sacramental solemnity, in family-prayer I had a sweet enlarging. O how sweet will it be to be an eternal adorer before the throne of God and of the Lamb! to have the whole soul glowing with heavenly love! to dwell in the mount of communion, and, instead of coming down—to climb higher through eternity! O to press forward, and not lose ground in my Christian course! August 22, 1776. How much do I err in limiting Providence, which can do great things, and at a moment! My patience may expire—but Providence can never be confounded. Again, the men of the world count themselves better providers than Providence; hence they gouge, extort, and oppress, to amass large fortunes for their children. But mark the outcome—often these wealthy inheritors turn out, when they commence life, spendthrifts—and die beggars. Whence I infer, though, on the one hand, I should neither despise nor destroy what God bestows; yet, on the other hand, to commit my children to the munificence of Providence, whose goodness is infinite, and whose funds are inexhaustible. August 28, 1776. Trust not in princes, trust not in any creature, in whom there is no stability. I leave with the whole creation as false and insufficient—and take God as my only portion. On some late incidents in life, without revenge, I think I can say, Plead my cause, for to you have I revealed my cause. Again, with respect to some circumstances I am presently in, though I have not the least prospect any way, I desire to act faith in God, accompanied with resignation to the divine disposal, in such a manner, (and for this I bless his name), that I can say—According to my faith, so be it to me. When infinite goodness is exhausted, and infinite wisdom is confounded—it is time for me to be perplexed—but not until then. October 21, 1776. While waiting an event of great moment, I have a sweet tranquility of mind, and a full resignation to the will of my heavenly father, who never did, nor never will do me harm. His wisdom, his goodness, his power, his omniscience—compose and comfort me. O to be helped to act as a Christian in every case and circumstance! November 5, 1776. When brought to quit with my request, Providence seems to be granting it. Hence I see it is best to commit everything into the hand of God, and to have everything from his bountiful fatherly hand. But now I flee to the blood of sprinkling to have all my sins washed away. O to walk softly all my days! November 26, 1776. While I have mercy to sing of, why should I be silent? Then I bless you for all that I enjoy, and for all that I expect. How bountiful is the providence of heaven, even in the things of time! O that the more I share of your kindness—the more my love may abound towards you! and whatever gratitude I have for your gifts—may my heart still be kept for the Giver. December 6, 1776. Blessed be God, who has not turned away my prayer from him, nor his mercy from me; and I still implore the heavenly blessing on myself and my family in all respects. January 2, 1777. Weak-sighted mortals often take God’s dispensations as heavy afflictions, which Omniscience intends for their good. So just now, I believe I shall see cause to bless God for this cross in time coming, as I have grounds before of thanksgiving for events, which at first came like sore trials. To commit all to holy sovereignty is my duty, and both now and ever after will be my peace. January 14, 1777. It is good for us to have our high opinions of creature-comforts lowered; for the creature is but vanity, and will disappoint all who depend thereon for bliss. I roll all my comforts into the hand of my heavenly Father, to give or withhold from me as he pleases. I expect a thorn in the fairest roses which grow in the garden of time—but in God I expect endless joy! February 4, 1777. O how has my heart wandered after vanities, and things that cannot profit! I confess my sin, and mourn over it. O let it be known that you are the Lord my God, in bringing back my heart to you again! February 18, 1777. Some years ago I met with a disappointment in an affair which I then looked upon as a great affliction. But from what has since taken place, I now clearly see that it was a kind providence! What a fool am I, to plan my own lot! but how happy am I that infinite wisdom rules for me! March 8, 1777. Dining with some gentlemen at a public inn, and drinking wine too fast and too freely, when come home, I grew so sleepy that I sunk down like a stone, and it was four next morning before I awoke. I was angry at myself, and resolved at no table to drink more than a certain number of glasses. O in all things to be under the heavenly direction! To excite my abhorrence of drunkenness, I see— 1. That the drunkard is like a dog, if he vomits. 2. Like a sow, if he wallows in his vomit. 3. Like a Bedlamite, if furious and mad. 4. Like an idiot, if he knows not either what he does or says. 5. Like a fool, if he knows nothing that is past. 6. Like an Atheist, if he cannot pray to God. 7. Like a dead man, if he must be carried to his bed as to his grave, and falls asleep, yet knows not that he is falling asleep. March 16, 1777. I accept of all my afflictions—but I plead for deliverance from my sin. O what a crowd of vain thoughts vex me in sacred times, and in pious duties! O return, O Lord! how long? March 23, 1777. O how few know anything of the power of religion on their souls! and what continual songs of praise should the child of grace give to God, that he is apprehended by him; while so many are lying in wickedness! April 12, 1777. If I have not a feast within, if I have not joy and peace in believing—what advantage have I more than the wicked? Whatever they have, have not I more? Have they sons? Is not he, the heavenly Bridegroom, better to me than ten sons? Have they friends? Is not he a friend who sticks closer than a brother? Have they, in a word, the desire of their hearts? Is not he the desire of my heart, who is the desire of all nations? April 28, 1777. Committing all to my heavenly father, and confident that all shall be well, I submit to his sovereignty. Do all your will, and I will study to be resigned. Forgive my sins, for in everything I offend; and your mercy be on me, as I trust in you. May 2, 1777. When the good things of time are bestowed on us—when we flourish in this and that respect—when we have the desire of our heart to such a degree that we are ready to find satisfaction in the creature, and forget God—then we may expect some stroke at hand. And often the great affliction is attended with others of a lesser nature. Thus God speaks once, yes twice, that he may be heard. The severest storm is often after a dead calm; then let me always walk with fear and humility. May 5, 1777. It gives me no pain, that in some points I have abased myself. It is always better to suffer than to sin. I bless God that he is governor; I see but the appearance, he sees whatever shall take place. I have a calm conscience, and that is a comfort. I have an all-sufficient God, therefore I have nothing to fear. May 24, 1777. While I have a house to dwell in, food to eat, and clothing to put on—I bless God for his goodness; and pity those who may lack any of the above necessities of life. Blessed be the God of grace, that his love or hatred is not known by the lack or possession of these things. Yet may he who is the Father of mercies supply the children of affliction with such good things as they need. August 12, 1777. In common things I have often experienced the divine direction; and why should I wonder at this—since a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without my heavenly Father? If he numbers the very hairs of my head—will he not over-rule the ordinary actions of my life? My faith may humbly plead with him to perform whatever he condescends to promise. I have but confined views of the omniscience, omnipotence, and kindness of God—if I do not believe that they extend to every action of my whole life. Henceforth I cast myself from under my own government—and desire to be wholly under God’s. November 16, 1777. When I consider how near I am to the heavenly state, and how the good or evil of the present state shall be forgotten there—I triumph in spite of all distress, and check my sorrow, and reprove myself that I do not always triumph. He thinks little of heaven for an inheritance—who greatly laments any loss on his way there. He thinks little of God for a portion—who is not completely satisfied with God, whatever else he may lack. February 1, 1778. If I have joy in waiting on God in his ordinances, amidst vain thoughts and distractions; O! what shall my joy be, when I shall serve him in his temple above, with a heart full of heavenly rapture, and glowing with seraphic love, amidst a multitude of sinless adorers, and while entertained with the ever-opening wonders of eternity, and the astonishing mysteries of redeeming grace! April 18, 1778. Amidst all my requests, I would cheerfully say, "Not my will—but your will be done." This pitch of resignation, and no less, shall give me peace at last. It were Christian wisdom—as we cannot see far before us in our requests for created good things—to be submissive and resigned in our desires. June 2, 1778. We seek mercies and beg blessings from God, while we are not prepared for receiving them. But when God prepares the heart to receive gifts, that we may not consume them on our lusts—but lay them out to his glory, it is a sweet sign that he will cause his ear to hear, and his hand to perform our requests. I am blessed with kind providences daily; I experience them in matters of great consequence, and also in my lesser concerns. O then, in the lawful use of means—to commit all to a kind, unerring providence! July 4, 1778. What a constant battle is the Christian’s life! He must always be on his watch-tower; one foe or other will ever be assaulting him. And if he is found in a fleeing, not in a fighting posture, he is undone. O how sad to be harassed with heart-wanderings and vain thoughts in holy times, and in pious duties! O that sovereign grace may heal all my heart-plagues, and make me more than conqueror over all my enemies, in his name and strength! July 16, 1778. In obtaining common mercies, the saint seems to come behind the sinner. Esau’s sons were dukes and kings, while Jacob’s posterity are slaves and bond-men; and yet Jacob had the blessings. Saul is anointed king, and in short time, and with little opposition, he is fixed on the throne. David also is anointed—but it is after a long time, and through much opposition, that he comes to reign, and at first only over his own tribe, where he has a seven years struggle before he gets the whole kingdom, though promised by God. Why is this? Why are common mercies cast to the wicked, in the general course of providence. But these same blessings, though common, come to saints as special favors, and so must be the fruit of much prayer. And the Christian must be prepared for receiving them, by having his graces sweetly exercised. His faith must rest on a promising God, even while providence seems to contradict the promises; his patience must have her perfect work; and he must be wholly resigned to the wisdom and to the will of God, in opposition to his own. Thus the saint is often made to give up with his comfort, or his request—just before it be bestowed on him. Now, this preparation of heart being a great work, requires time and exercise in the Christian’s life, and so common mercies are longer in coming to the child of God than to others. But they are well worth the waiting for, and wrestling for; for when they come they come with the fragrance of heaven, and with the love of God. July 30, 1778. When we are very fond of any created good thing, we are apt to have a full belief that we shall obtain that very thing. And when disappointed, we conclude that as our faith has been false in this and that particular—so we may think that our faith is not genuine, at last may deceive us; and we may perish. But this is our mistake. Our faith of spiritual good should be as full of assurance as possible. But with respect to our faith for the blessings of time (as that of a barren woman to bear a son, or that for the life of a dying friend,) it should be far otherwise. Our resignation to the divine disposal should be of equal extent with our faith—and then we shall never be disappointed. Again, our faith in spirituals may be particular for this or that grace which we stand in need of—as the disciples who pray, "Lord increase our faith." But our faith in temporals should be general, that what is good the Lord will give. And we ought not to presume to teach infinite wisdom what is good for us; since the want of a son, and the death of a dear friend, may do us more good than the gift of the one, and the recovery of the other. Moreover when we have a strong affection for anything, we are ready to take our desires for faith—and our passion towards any point as a promise given to us, that we shall obtain our desire. And especially, if we recollect any scripture-text that will any way apply to our wish or view—we take it as a special promise of God to us. In this way, we allow ourselves to be deluded. But we are not to expect revelations from heaven, as the rule of our conduct. Nor are we to apply particular promises concerning perishing things; though we may believe, if we belong to God, that he will guide us with his counsel while we live, and afterwards receive us to glory. We are not to claim a particular promise, that sons or daughters shall be given us—but we are to believe, that to saints who have none, God will give a name better than that of sons or daughters. We are not to expect a promise that our children shall be certainly saved. We are not to dream that this or that particular man or woman, shall be our husband or wife. But we are to believe, that, if God sees fit, he will set the solitary in families; and we are to avoid being unequally yoked with unbelievers. July 31, 1778. While we are mortal, we are to expect trials and troubles, crosses and afflictions, pains and disappointments—always in our lot. But while I feel under a new and unexpected disappointment, I check my complaint, and would rather praise than complain. A parent who gives an apple to a sick child, and correction to a stubborn child, shows himself equally a good parent to both, though the boys may have a very opposite opinion of his conduct. Says James, "Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted"—all men will agree to this. "But the rich should rejoice in that he is made low"—this may bewilder. Yet it is much better to have chastisement, and thereby be approved a son, than to be without it, and be in doubt of being a son. And more so, when we daily see that all flesh, poor and rich, wither as grass in the present state, and quickly pass into an eternal state. My plan proceeded from myself, and therefore, however noble my motives were, I might have flagrantly erred. But my disappointment is from the unerring wisdom of providence, and therefore I heartily approve of it, and praise God for it. For though we are not to pray for, but to deprecate afflictions—yet we are to sing of judgments as well as mercy—and what appears judgment in the beginning, may be mercy in the end. Now, with my hand sealed up, my eye quite shut, and entirely resigned to heaven, I wait on providence without pain or repining! August 6, 1778. Professors will wait a while on God—but at last they grow weary; and, like the wicked king of Israel, say, "This evil is of the Lord, why should I wait on the Lord any longer?" But the true Christian, like the psalmist waits patiently on the Lord, and at length he hears. Nor do I doubt but that every saint dies while waiting the accomplishment of some promise; nor is he a loser; for though disappointed in this or that particular, yet all the promises are made yes and amen to him in the eternal enjoyment of God in glory. Now, it is my duty thus patiently to wait on God, when even such a disappointment will enrich me forever. September 10, 1778. O how difficult to keep the heart in holy times, and in pious duties! The various occurrences in life vary—but continue the snare. O for sweet deliverance! How has infinite wisdom been pleased to mix saint and sinner together! In one house the husband fears God—but the wife knows him not! In another, the wife is a believer—and the husband a barbarian! In another, the masters are Satan’s slaves—and the servants Christ’s free-men! In another, the servants are in bondage to sin—while their masters walk in the glorious liberty of the sons of God! In another, how are the children and parents, and even the children among themselves, divided! And here I am sad, and sympathize. O for the heavenly sympathy to all concerned! A child, while one parent is uninterruptedly attending the throne of glory, and the other in the courts of grace on a sacramental Sabbath—is in the porch of hell committing wickedness! And a near relation, who comes to the knowledge of it, is filled with anguish and bitterness of heart. The father is mingling his praises with the hallelujahs of the higher house, and the mother joining in the prayers of the church militant—and the son treasuring up wrath to himself against the day of wrath! In a word, wickedness is committed within those walls where prayer is accustomed daily to be made. But should not my heart daily flame with love and devotion! and, alas! what wickedness is committed often there! But O that heaven may preserve me and mine! March 7, 1779. This day I confess that I am nothing, and that I cannot walk one step in the strength of grace formerly received—but must daily fetch grace out of his fullness. My comfort and confidence then is, not that I am not a sinner—but that Jesus Christ is a Savior, and a Savior for the chief of sinners. And I desire to fly to him anew, as if hitherto I had been a hypocrite in all my former acts of religion. I may prove false—but he is faithful who invites me to believe, and will not cast away those who come to him. March 23, 1779. Many and marvelous are the turnings of providence. I grieve not so much that I suffer—as lest I sin in my sufferings. In everything I acquit God—and condemn myself. My prospects may disappear—but my confidence is not shaken; because my prospects are but human—but my confidence is in God. One thing which I mourn over is, that trifles should raise such a tumult in my bosom, and so much possess my thoughts. April 13, 1779. There is one thing which is needful, and only one thing. Henceforth let me attend to it with diligence and care, and not to make trifles such matters of concern. If I am traveling to my Father’s house, I should attend closely to my journey, and not consume myself with anxiety about the weather, whether it be fair or foul, whether the road be good or bad, and whether I join agreeable company, or walk alone. For my Father’s house will make me completely happy, so happy that I shall forget all the toils of my journey. April 30, 1779. Impatience in any situation, or under any affliction—is a sin. There may be an unbelieving haste to change conditions, and get from under the affliction. But infinite wisdom and fatherly kindness knows what affliction is best, how long it should be continued, and when it should be removed. Now, as I am wholly God’s, I desire to be wholly at his disposal in all things; and sure I am I never shall repent it. May 7, 1779. Paul saved the lives of all them that were with him in the ship. O for the souls of all those who are with me in my house! This is a part of my daily prayers to him that is both the hearer and answerer of prayer. May 14, 1779. I know when I meet with a worldly loss—but I hope never to repine. Yet, why should I not also be sensible of the comforts of life? I deserve nothing—sometimes I lose a little—but I enjoy all. O for a grateful heart to him who gives me all that I enjoy! May 22, 1779. I meet with another loss of the same kind—but anything I have in the world is by loan. Therefore, whether friends or wealth be taken away, I am not injured, because the time of my loan has expired. I am more bound to be grateful than to grumble, when so much is left with me, and so little is taken away—who can claim nothing as my own. But there is one portion, Christ, the gift of God—that can enrich my soul, were heaven and earth dissolved, and whom I still claim as mine, were all things else recalled. June 11, 1779. It is sad to be rising into years, drawing near to death, and walking on the very brink of eternity—and yet to be sinking in earthly cares, and more and more swallowed up of worldly concerns. Much of my worry arises from my caring for myself, and not casting all my care on him who graciously condescends to care for me. Henceforth, in every affair of life, I desire to have no choice, no will of my own—but to commit all to infinite wisdom and infinite goodness; and I shall never have cause to repent, nor occasion to complain or repine. August 18, 1779. It has always been a ruling principle with me, not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers; so this day I was married to a girl that I hope has the fear of God as the chief ornament to all her other qualifications. September 5, 1779. O the corruption that dwells within! O the distress that has invaded me this blessed day! I should perish eternally—but that Jesus is almighty to save; and this alone is my comfort. January 1, 1780. Whenever I leaned to my own understanding, and depended on my own wisdom—there I have met with disappointment and pain. But when I have committed the matter wholly to God, it has had an happy outcome, beyond expectation. O! then, let me always be at his direction and disposal. When heaven pleases, he can bless with little—and put a blessing into little. Or he can blow upon much—and put lack into the very wealth that we possess. All is to the end that he may be all in all to us, and that in all things we may have our eye to him. March 23, 1780. When I have sad and gloomy forebodings of trouble and afflictions, befalling me or mine, I am composed with this consideration—that all things being under the government of God, he will conduct everything for his own glory. And as for his glory I would do and suffer all things—so, if that noble end is attained, I can never complain, however much or long I suffer or smart. June 25, 1780. God has been pleased to bring my wife safely through child-bearing, and to give a living mother and a living child. But let me avoid making an idol of anything below. O still to keep the heart for God! I know not how soon, or after what manner, my child may be removed by death—but I commit her to him who has bestowed her on me. July 11, 1780. By baptism I have dedicated my child to God, and I desire no more to look on her as mine—but only as heaven’s loan to me, which at his pleasure he may recall, and at which event I would wish neither to quarrel nor complain—however affection may rise, and nature may rebel. But my grand, my earnest, my daily request is, that she may be a chosen vessel, enriched with the graces of your Holy Spirit. I would also humbly plead, that she may be spared to be a comfort for her parents in the ways of piety. December 13, 1780. In all things I desire to acknowledge God. And being convinced of its lawfulness, have inoculated my child—after imploring his blessing on the means, that it may prove successful. December 25, 1780. The child has escaped according to wish. Blessed be his name. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 11: 02.03. 1730 - 1799 ======================================================================== A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul by James Meikle, 1730-1799 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life." Psalms 139:23-24 1781 - 1786 March 28, 1781. When threatened with the loss of goods or relations, what a tumult is raised in the mind! How apt are we to arraign the wisdom, the goodness, and the justice of God! Alas! this is too much my present error. But I flee to God in all trials—approve of all his conduct—and claim him for all and all. So sweet is his mercy, that I know it shall be my song while in the valley of misery. And in spite of all my misfortunes, I have reason to sing of it in things of lesser importance, and I hope shortly to sing of it in things of the highest consequence to me in time, and at last to sing to your mercy to me through eternal ages. April 16, 1781. For some time past my wife has been very ill. But there is mercy mixed with affliction—it was sent at a time when the child was fit to be weaned, and she had patience in her trouble. Medicines have been used for some time without the desired effect. But as it is our duty to use means, so I desire to look to him who can work with or without means. He knows that in all things I would sincerely say, "Your will be done." But O that it may be his holy will to spare the life, and recover the health, of my dear wife. But why do not I expect the death of my friends, or my own death every day? June 17, 1781. Alas! how little do I improve for the heavenly state? Affliction on our family is too often a clog on our souls—but, through the heavenly blessing, shall in the mean time, or afterwards, yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness. O to improve health and gospel-ordinances when enjoyed! September 23, 1781. Two days ago my wife, who has long been sick, delivered a dead child, two months before the time. We were struck to think that the little creature was entered on its eternal rest before it came into the world. I had this comfort, that we had both given it in prayer to God. I desire to adore his sovereignty, and to bless him for our remaining living child, and humbly to implore the recovery of my dear wife. October 6, 1781. My wife, after an apparent recovery, has grown so much worse, that I fear her death. But I have this sweet comfort—that I shall be the only loser, for death to her shall be great gain. O how pleasant are pious spouses in life, and at death! I still implore her recovery. To sit alone without my daily companion, to see my child without a mother, must greatly distress. But to view God sovereign over all, sufficient in all, and an all-sufficient portion after all, may silence and support me under all. I desire no comfort but from God. I refuse no cross that comes from him. But O for grace to improve both to his glory! While there is life there is hope, and while there is hope I desire to be always at the throne of grace; for who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, and recover my dear wife to me? I believe his power, that he can do it. I believe his mercy, that what is good the Lord will give. And I wait on him with humble expectation, confessing that I am less than the least of his people, and deserve nothing at his hand. October 8, 1781. If in this life only, I had hope for myself or my dying wife—how miserable I would be, now that she is on the borders of eternity—and I must soon follow! But what glories open to my faith, and shall soon break on her soul in cloudless vision! When this world, and the eternal world of glory world are taken together—the gloom is broken; for this world is but our inn, that our eternal habitation. No matter, then, at what time, or in what manner, we leave our inn, since going home to our Father’s house—home to God and to glory! When the ungodly loses one idol, he cleaves to another, and cleaves closer. But when the Christian (and O to act the saint now!) has idols broken, or delights removed—he cleaves to God alone. October 15, 1781. My dear wife is laid in the dust of the earth—torn from my affection and my arms. But her soul is this day triumphing in glory. And is not this comfort, and cause of thankfulness? A few days before her death, she fell into a lethargy, and so could not speak. But I have found a paper since her death, which speaks sweetly, and contains a collection of scripture texts which, she says, had been useful to her, and a personal covenant the day before her marriage, and another since, in which she makes a surrender to God of her husband and her child. O that God may accept of both! October 21, 1781. O what a sweet soul-satisfying portion do I find God! When the earthly family is broken—he can set the solitary in the heavenly family, and afford communion with himself. When storms and tempests rage, he can command a calm; when affliction and woe, sorrow and anguish, spread gloomy night on the soul—he can reveal the glories of the eternal world, and make celestial day break in on our darkest night. October 22, 1781. I mind, that on the day my wife died, the psalm that fell to be sung in family-worship was that part of Psalm 39 ver. 5. "You, indeed, have made my days short in length, and my life span as nothing in Your sight. Yes, every mortal man is only a vapor," and verse 9. "I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for you are the one who has done this." I desired to imitate the psalmist in a holy silence; at the same time not despising the chastening Lord—but lying low before him. And now I desire to commit all my cares, all my concerns to him, and my child to his protection and providence, where she shall be safe, though I were taken away also by death. November 20, 1781. On a back-look into many occurrences of my life, O how am I ravished with the conduct of providence, with the kindness of God! In the affairs of life, he has not only given me many things I asked of him—but many times blessed me with kindness, and thus checked my solicitude, and forbade my anxiety. But O where are my returns of gratitude—my full confidence, and fixed dependence on him? The best cure of sorrow for the loss of dear relations, is faith fixing within the veil, and taking a glimpse of the inheritance in light! I could have felt no grief, had I gone with my deceased wife to glory. Now, the intervals between our departures is so short in itself, and compared to the eternity of that state, is nothing, that I shall have scarcely time to look around, and see myself left alone, until I shall lift up my eyes with transport, and see myself with all my pious relations, adoring at the highest throne! December 4, 1781. Though, in the affairs of this life, I have often met with disappointment and pain, yet I see this took place from my own folly; for, trusting to my own wisdom, and wedded to my own plans, I would not drop them when providence dashed them out of may hand. And so it was just to correct my folly, that I should smart the more. But all things have gone well with me, when I have—waited on the counsel and will of God—left with what he took away—accepted of what he gave—and said amen to all he did! Even in the common affairs of life, I should acknowledge the special providence of God—who over-rules all things, and forsees all events. And though I am afraid to extend my plans for many years to come, who dare not boast of tomorrow, yet prudence in the affairs of this life is the duty of those who look for another life; therefore I lay my plan—and whether providence prospers or disappoints me, I am resigned. January 1, 1782. To be stubborn, stupid, or insensible under afflictions, may suit a Heathen philosopher—but not a Christian believer. I feel, and because I feel, and am sensible of my losses and afflictions, therefore I strive to be submissive and resigned. But if I felt nothing, resignation would be no attainment. January 12, 1782. What a sweet display of the power, wisdom, and goodness of God, have I often seen in the conduct of holy providence! So has heaven ruled for me in the affairs of life, that I am ashamed I am not more resigned to the heavenly disposal. I should trust in him at all times; and at no time shall I be ashamed of my trust. Let goodness and mercy all my days follow me, while I travel on to the heavenly glory; and may my little child be adopted by his heavenly Father—and it does not matter how soon the earthly father be no more. January 26, 1782. When I look forward to the heavenly state, and see such a weight of glory, such a world of bliss, awaiting every heir of God, I wonder that we should ever complain of any affliction that can befall us by the way. What though laden with disease, and broken with sickness? In a little while, the immortality of bliss, and the vigor of glory, shall be mine. What though oppressed with poverty and need on every side? The treasures of eternity shall shortly enrich me forever. What though he has made desolate all my company? In a short time, I shall join the heavenly multitude in glory. February 2, 1782. One of my plans has misgiven—but I have no uneasiness, because infinite wisdom and infinite goodness rules for me; and it is enough that God is concerned about all my concerns. When I look around, I see many parents that get a world of grief with their children. But how often is their sin written in their punishment! They are at no pains to teach their children to fear their heavenly Father—so it is no wonder, then, they forget to honor their earthly parents. Now, though some pious and conscientious parents may have stubborn children, yet it generally holds true—that a neglect in their pious education lies at the root of all. February 13, 1782. Though affliction and death rob us of our dearest earthly comforts, yet this is ground of consolation, that the throne of grace still stands, to which he may still come with boldness; and that into these courts of grace, not like the Persian courts, we may enter, though mourners. May 4, 1782. O how good is it to trust in an all-sufficient God! Some time ago an event happened that deprived me of an annual income. I approved of the dispensation, committed all to providence, and am this day as amply provided for as ever, and am thus encouraged to depend on God alone. Last night someone broke into my barn, and stole a few oats. The loss is trifling—but the lesson is vast—to secure a treasure which moth cannot eat, rust corrupt, or thieves steal. The worldling toils night and day for the thief or the robber, for it is the same thing whether a man’s treasure be snatched from him, or he from it. Now, to every sinner death will act the most complete thief, and relentless robber, though in a manner different from all other robbers, for he leaves him not one penny of all his sums, not a foot-breadth of all his estates, neither friend nor relation, title nor distinction. But, O happy saint! from whom death can take nothing—but brings him to the full possession of all. July 2, 1782. I hope I can say that the things of time are not very high in my esteem. I can hear of some making great fortunes without any emotions of mind, for I think the patrimony of my children is safer in the treasure of divine providence, than in any bank in Great Britain. But I lament that corruptions rise, that sin rages within, That my meditations are not more heavenly, and my thoughts more holy. I desire to have no confidence in the flesh—but to depend on all-sufficient grace, the grace that is in Christ Jesus. July 26, 1782. I was informed that a debtor had by a point of law, defrauded me of a round sum. But my mind was very easy, seeing the treasures of heaven are still entire, and shall enrich me forever. Sunday I was seized with an influenza, a disease that had raged all around the country for months. Thus I was detained from sacrament, and lay sweating in bed all the Sabbath day—but recovered in a few days. On the whole, while I confess my sins, and confess that I am punished still less than my iniquities deserve, I desire to give God the glory of his wisdom, and to believe that he sees such losses and disappointments the fittest for me. I would give him the glory of his sovereignty in approving of his disposal, without inquiring why; and the glory of his truth and faithfulness, that all things shall work together for my good. I have also to remark, that the same Psalm 39 in course of family worship, fell to be sung while I was under this illness; as it had nearly ten months before, when my wife died. I may say, that the admonition being doubled, should keep me mindful of in my frailty, and caution me against murmuring at afflictions of any kind. "You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man’s life is but a breath. Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about, but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it. But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you. Save me from all my transgressions; do not make me the scorn of fools. I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for you are the one who has done this." Psalms 39:5-9 August 1, 1782. I have often said to God—give me Christ, and I put a blank in his hand, with respect to everything in the world. But I correct myself; for if Christ is mine, I can have no blank, seeing he is more than all riches, dearer than all relations, better than all enjoyments, and can not only satisfy—but fill and overflow my soul, though heaven and earth were gone. October 11, 1782. Rachel named her child of which she died, ’Benoni’—the son of my sorrow. But Jacob would not keep up the remembrance of the death at his beloved wife, and so he called him ’the son of my right-hand’. So, on the one hand, I wish not to forget the afflictions that befall me; and, on the other, to acknowledge all the mercies of my lot. October 25, 1782. Yesterday, the shocks of corn were covered with snow, and the growing corn that was strong was laid flat, and covered with snow; and this day it is tempestuous and rainy, and in some parts of the country the harvest is not much more than begun, and the farmers are much afraid that their corn will not be fit for seed. As I suffer, so I sympathize in the calamity. But I observe, 1. That judgments on our substance are felt by all, the saint not excepted—but spiritual plagues are felt and lamented by few. 2. That some parts of the country have escaped the stroke. 3. That we are apt to overlook a special providence in common things, as if he who made the seasons did not over-rule them. 4. We are more prone to mourn for what we have lost, than to be thankful for what is left, though by sin we have forfeited all. 5. That the saint is safe in all, for in famine he has a promise to be fed; and even though he should die of hunger; death, like a servant, would only set him down at the table of glory, to feast forever on royal dainties. 6. That to be stupid and insensible under a stroke, is a sin on the one hand; as it is on the other hand to despond under a calamity. Now, though, for my own sake, the sake of the poor, and of a whole country-side, I implore favorable weather; yet if it were said I should have my will in the weather, I would roll all over on an unerring providence, though he should be pleased that my whole crop should rot, for it would be but the chastisement of a father, not of a cruel one; more so if my soul might still feast on eternal love. November 12, 1782. Two days ago it began to thaw, and this day is a great thaw, with wind and rain. Many potatoes are not dug up, and almost gone with the frost, which will be felt by many families. And too many are likely to cry out against providence, whereas we should condemn ourselves, for we have sinned, and have not served him in the abundance of all things, and therefore he is sending cleanness of teeth. O how vain all earthly things! this crop was very great, and promised plenty—but has come to little. I desire to reprove myself for carnality and too much looking to second causes; and I bless God that I can say, "Your will be done;" and though everything in the world should go to ruin, still I will rejoice in the Lord, and rejoice in the God of my salvation. December 3, 1782. The more we concern ourselves with the things of time—the more we are disappointed. But the more we mind heavenly things—the better it shall go with our souls. God is such a portion to his people, that they are rich in the midst of poverty; and content in every condition. I have taken God for my portion, my governor, my guide, and my director in all things. And it is just, when I let him go in any of these respects, that things go ill with me. December 23, 1782. I seek not to be rich in the world—but to be rich in faith; and this day, it has been to me according to my faith. O to trust in him at all times, and to believe that he is God. December 31, 1782. It has pleased God to permit me to be defrauded of a certain sum by an unjust person. But I rather pity than rage at my adversary; for when I look onward a few years, and see us both stand at the great tribunal, no losses will disturb me, and no gains will advantage him. The Chaldeans and Sabeans violently spoiled Job, and yet he looks beyond the instruments, and says, "GOD has taken away, blessed be his name." So I desire to see God in all, who can spoil my crop by frost, or my substance by the fraudulent dealer, or by water, or by fire. But, blessed be his name, I have a treasure which can neither drown, nor burn, nor be frost-bitten, nor be taken away by the deceit of law, or the injustice of the wicked. This year I have met with so many losses, (nor am without the fear of more) that I have nothing for it but an entire resignation to the divine disposal, and strong faith in my divine Rock. God lives—I care not who dies. God rules—let all nature reel in confusion. Though I see nothing but difficulties and darkness before me, well may my faith act on him who is omniscient to foresee, and omnipotent to perform all things. The more purely I rely on God above and beyond means, (neither neglecting nor despising the use of them) the more is my faith of the right kind, and the more is God honored. January 7, 1783. I kept the morning time as a personal fast, on many accounts, and could not but observe, that Psalms 111:1-10 was the ordinary family worship, "He provides food for those who fear him," and the chapter was Jeremiah 17:7, "Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is." These promises were food to my faith. February 8, 1783. The price of grain fell a little, and plenty was imported. Let his name be blessed, and the poor praise him. In something I had an expectation of, I am disappointed. But I am resolved now never to be disappointed—but to approve of every providence. Why do I acknowledge him in all my ways, if I will not allow him to direct steps? Why do I ask counsel of him, and yet murmur at his providence? I have this kind providence to observe in common things; and he who rules in one thing rules in all. But I am angry at myself, that in anything I should sin against this gracious God. February 14, 1783. I have often observed, that if harassing and disquieting affairs came upon me at any time, it was about sacred times and holy solemnities; and so it fell out at this time, two days before our sacrament. But still my mind was serene, and I had the faith that God, who gave his Son for me, would set bounds to the wrath of man. And O how light is the wrath of man, when the soul is delivered from every spark of divine wrath! March 23, 1783. Many a method does God try to wean us from our love to this vain world, to this vexatious life. Our flowery comforts are always attended with thorns and prickles, and our best earthly blessings have always something embittering about them. Thus the death of pious and agreeable relations leaves a lasting hurt, and yet we strike our roots deep in the earth, which, being under the curse, can yield nothing but briars and thorns. The storms that ruffle my abode, the disappointments I daily meet with—are kindly designed to call to my mind, and to dispose and prepare me for my departure. And yet how deaf am I to these warnings! But when anxious cares, and vain and wandering thoughts, vex in sacred times; when temptations assault, and sin gathers strength, and the Comforter who should relieve my soul is far from me, because I have sinned him away—then I grow weary of the world, and say of life, I loathe it, I would not live always. I think I could spin out a life in the midst of every disaster—but I cannot endure a life of sinning or estrangement from God. April 26, 1783. God is pleased sometimes to delay giving what is needful until the last—to exercise our faith, our patience and resignation. And though the things may be of a common nature, yet, to an observing eye, there is a beautiful concurrence of providences, all wisely ordered by him, without whom a sparrow or a hair cannot fall to the ground. My anxious cares profit me nothing. But the heavenly care supplies all my needs. July 4, 1783. I desire to acknowledge the kindness of God in all things. O how sweet are those mercies which come as returns of prayer! And as God is the God of all mercies, I may expect that he who gives me one mercy at a needful time, will give me another when the fit time comes; and the more so, since he has given me Christ the sum of all mercies. August 10, 1783. O what vile, vain, wicked thoughts dance in my mind sometimes amidst pious exercises! This I say—He is a thoughtless Christian that thinks little of the sin of his thoughts. But my comfort is, a gracious Savior can cleanse from secret faults, as well as keep back from presumptuous sin. November 16, 1783. When come home from sermon, being a cold day, I feel very sleepy, and could not improve the day as I should! But O happy day, when, free from sin and from infirmity, I shall be all vigor in his divine presence! shall never rest, yet never be weary! December 8, 1783. Being returned home from attending at a sacramental solemnity, my first news were some disasters, and seeming worldly losses. But my soul is composed, cheerful and serene, since nothing in the world is either my chief joy or chief good. December 16, 1783. The providences of my lot are amazing and wonderful, and supply the present necessity in a manner which bids—which commands me to hope for the future, and to cast all my cares on him who cares for me. April 6, 1784. Of all the enemies to the spiritual life, worldly cares are the worst. They come in so many shapes, and from so many quarters, and under such fair pretenses—such as a lawful care to provide for our family, and to deal justly with others. And thus they consume our thoughts, and engage our meditations, to the things of time, while heavenly concerns are shut out. Therefore, with Augur would I pray, "Give me neither poverty nor riches." June 16, 1784. I ask, and dare hardly ask, lest I ask amiss; therefore I ask all temporal good things with submission, and would wish to say—Give what you will, give how you will, and give when you will. This in all things shall not only silence—but support me, that it is the Lord who chooses and refuses for me. O to arrive at heaven with a soul flaming with love, and well acquainted with the work of the place! October 5, 1784. I am afraid that my love has not that ardor, nor my devotion that fervor, which they should have, or had at one time. O quicken and revive me, and shed your love abroad in my heart! October 17, 1784. Alas! on a view of my life and walk, I think it is a dreadful contradiction; for, instead of running the race which is set before me—I sigh and go backward. Instead of having my face heavenward, and my back towards the wilderness—I have my back to heaven, and my face, heart, and affections towards this world. I call evil good—and good evil. I put light for darkness—and darkness for light. I am careful for my body as if it were my soul; and careless of my soul as if it were but my body. I put time in the place of eternity, and the creature in the place of God. August 28, 1785. My heart, which at all times should be a garden enclosed for none but my Beloved to walk in, alas! this day has been as a vineyard whose hedge is broken down, so that the wild boar of the forest, and the wild beast of the field, destroy it at their pleasure. Vain thoughts, like an herd of untamed brutes, run here and there, and my poor soul is all dismay. O for pity and compassion to my case! November 16, 1785. As it had pleased Providence to take away my wife about four years ago, so it pleased him to bestow another wife on me at this time; and as I wished never to be unequally yoked with unbelievers, so the woman I got now has the appearance of true religion. But I trust more to the kindness of heaven, than to my own sagacity. January 10, 1786. Amidst all things in a world, I have only one request—that all my near friends may be the fearers of God. I desire to come with a strong faith to the God of all grace for my poor friends. O to see some marks of grace, some real marks of religion! April 4, 1786. It is better to go to a throne of grace for everything I need, than anywhere else. I come therefore to the God of all grace, for grace, the best of blessings to my nearest friends, to the wife of my bosom, and my dear child. May 13, 1786. My child is learning to read the Bible, and to learn the shorter catechism by heart, and I implore a blessing on her education, that she may be able to search the Scriptures, which testify of Christ. In what danger does a traveler to heaven pursue his journey! Though there were no tempter to waylay him, yet his impediments may be many. There may be some hindrances from his constitution, as he may be fiery or fretful, which in his cooler moments will give him pain; or from his friends, when any of them are either profane, or loiterers in the ways of God; and, finally, from his very circumstances, whether his be affluent or indigent. As, while in the body, the cares and solicitude with which we are pestered are often very great, so great, that, alas! with me, eternity seems to be swallowed up of time, whereas time should be swallowed up of eternity. But grace shall shine triumphant at last, and shall bring the traveler in safety to the land of glory! June 30, 1786. Common providence will sometimes add wealth to carnal men—but the child of God feels no disquiet. No degree of poverty will affect my future state, or bar my soul from heavenly bliss. But riches obtained by sinning against God, like Elijah’s little cloud, will darken my whole heaven, and pursue with storm and tempest through eternity itself. September 1, 1786. It is a shame for the child of God not to believe in the bounty, and in the blessing of providence. By the blessing of providence, I mean, that two men, whose families are alike numerous, of the same station, and whose incomes are equal, yet the one shall be in easy circumstances, and the other in pinching circumstances. However, on the other hand, pinching circumstances are no sign that one is not the favorite of heaven; for even our Savior, the Father’s well-beloved, in our world had nowhere to lay his head. September 9, 1786. It is common to come with our afflictions and troubles to a throne of grace to get them removed, or to be supported under them. But we should also bring our blessings there to get them sanctified. Then I desire to bless God for a living wife and a living child, and to implore grace, the best of blessings, on both their souls. The child is strong—but the dear mother has suffered much. In the natural birth, the poor woman only can travail for her child—but both parents should travail in birth until Christ be formed in their children. Alas! how little do I know of mental pangs, strong actings of faith, constant stugglings in prayer, and exhorting and instructing them as they grow up? September 17, 1786. Our child was baptized, and so declared a member of the church visible. O that she also may be a member of the invisible church! To go through the ceremony, or the visible part of the sacrament, is easy. But let me mind that the vows lie on me as long as my children are lent to me; and may I, and my tender-hearted wife, never forget that this child is but a loan, and may be called for whenever Sovereign Wisdom pleases. November 7, 1786. When this, and that, and the other friend proves false, it gives me great comfort that there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother--and that he is better than all other friends--and that such a friend is mine! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 12: 02.04. 1787 - 1799 ======================================================================== A Secret Survey into the State of the Soul by James Meikle, 1730-1799 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life." Psalms 139:23-24 1787 - 1799 June 5, 1787. I continue my complaint of carking cares, and earthly concerns. O to obtain the victory over this beast, which gets its mark imprinted, not only on my hand—but in my head and heart! It will be a happy day in the Church, when Babylon shall fall, and rise no more; and a happy day in the Christian’s soul, when sin, Satan, and the world, shall be cast down, and rise no more at all! What cheerful songs and sweet hosannahs will raise to my divine Deliverer on that day! June 22, 1788. God has been pleased this day to bring my wife in an easy manner through child-birth, and to bless my family with a living mother and a living child. With Jacob I would say, The God who fed me all my life long unto this day, the Angel who redeemed me from all evil—bless the lad, and let a better name than the name of my ancestors be named on him; and let him have a name among the living in the New-Jerusalem above; and as he is come into our world on the Sabbath, so, when taken out of it, may he enter on an eternal Sabbath of rest. May 5, 1789. So full is my dependence on divine Providence, so strong is my faith that God will give what is good, and do what is best for me—that my mind is serene and tranquil. July 30, 1789. Though far advanced in years, yet being properly called, and being willing to accept of the least office in the church of Christ—I have been admitted an elder. O to set the glory of God before me in all things—and may I be helped to walk according to my engagements. March 2, 1789. In some things, I see the deceit and partiality of men. But that they and their very actions are under the government of God, composes me. And what I look upon as a present disappointment, and a present loss, may turn out for my future advantage and gain—at least shall let me see the vanity of this world. Satan is the accuser of the brethren, and, when permitted, how black would he make even the saints, not only to one another, and to the church—but to the heavenly Father himself. But what a comfort that the divine Intercessor answers all his accusations, maintains their cause before the throne, and will at length bring forth their judgment like the noonday! From the history of the Jews in Esther, may I not learn, that Providence baffles all the wisdom and devices of men—that sinners often make their own snares, and fall into the pit which they have dug—that the wicked can be brought down from their highest station, and that suddenly; as it were in a moment—that the church and people of God can be suddenly brought out of distress—and that all this can be done by very unlikely means, that God the glorious worker may have all the praise. Now, why is such a history preserved in the sacred records—but that God may be glorified, and his people supported under all their pressures, since God changes not? March 24, 1790. Two days ago my wife safely delivered a fine boy, and both are doing well. Here I would desire to act faith on God in a double respect; as the God of nature, that my son shall not lack food and clothing; and as the God of grace, that he shall have an inheritance among those who are sanctified. Many a parent has lamented that ever such a son was born, and has had good cause to do so. The fear of this may keep me humble. But as race unto race shall praise him, and my child may be among the happy number, in hope of this I am thankful. January 1, 1791. When I consider the flight of time, I see that all created things must soon be concealed in impenetrable darkness, and then the worldling’s heaven must dissolve in smoke. But as the rising sun gilds the tops of the mountains, so at this period the heavenly glory shall spread a beauty on all around; and then the heaven of the saints shall unfold with every felicity that finite souls can enjoy, or God can bestow. January 13, 1791. Business people balance their books at the end of the year, and compare their state with former years, and so know whether they make profit or loss; so should I, not only at the end of a year—but when the end of my life cannot be far away. Thirty years ago, my evidences for the heavenly glory seemed solid, clear, and comforting; and though my shortcomings and backslidings have been many, yet I rest in his love. "I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you." Isaiah 46:4 But when I look round the world, I find some who can talk of death and a future state with all the composure of a real Christian, and yet I have great concerns about the state of their soul. Now, there must be some dreadful mistake here, even in the great concerns of their immortal souls. And lest I fall into the same error, let me examine all again. As I may persuade myself, that I believe on Jesus, and therefore all is safe—let me see if my faith be a dead faith, being without works—or if it works by love. The tree is known by the fruit. Again, if the world has all my love, and if my supreme delight be in the creature, whatever I may pretend to, the love of the Father is not in me. If I can willingly defraud, though under the mask of fair dealing, that is, sell to an ignorant person, any commodity above its real value, and which I perfectly know to be so; or if I buy anything below its real value, taking advantage of the seller’s ignorance or necessity; or, by any quirk of law, evade the paying of a just debt; or go to the rigor of the law to oppress a poor opponent, or to gratify private revenge; whatever I may pretend to, these are not the spots of God’s children. If I can give up with family-worship for a while, because some are my guests that are not accustomed to call upon God; if I can mingle in carnal discourse, when in carnal company, though seemingly very circumspect when among the saints, whatever I may dream, my heart is not right with God. If I can keep company with the profane, associate with blasphemers of God’s name, and pay friendly visits to the most impious wretches, without any necessity, with whatever calmness I may talk of death and the world to come, surely this is not the way to prepare for either. February 27, 1791. What a sudden and astonishing transition awaits me from time to eternity, from the material to the spiritual world! Today engaged in the affairs of life, and conversing with my friends, and tomorrow surrounded with millions of spirits, associated with angels, and employed in everlasting concerns! It will, therefore, be my wisdom daily to take farewell of the things of time, and get more and more acquainted with the eternal state. July 20, 1791. To live at a distance from God, and to have the world rolling in our minds, and created concerns engrossing our thoughts—is not fitting for an heir of God, an expectant of glory. Such a situation may make us long for the happy period of our departure, when we shall flee into the immediate enjoyment of God, and in our adorations rise to the ardor of angels, and the glow of seraphim. Had I any right apprehension of the eternal enjoyment of God, I would meditate more on it, and long more after it, and, in midst of all present disasters, rejoice in the prospect of it. September 1, 1791. While I might wish to change some things in my situation in life, I reflect that the wisdom of that gracious God who rule me is so perfect, that any other situation in life would not be good for me. Now, though I cannot see how such and such circumstances should hurt me more than others who are in these very circumstances, yet his wisdom is a thousand times better than mine; and if he sees fit—that should silence me. Moreover, I would adore his sovereignty, and submit to his disposal in all things—just because he disposes all things. October 20, 1791. In the midst of some kind and unexpected providences, for which my heart is filed with gratitude, I condemn myself, that for the best of all blessings, the greatest of all gifts, even Christ, the unspeakable gift of God, my soul is not always filled with glowing gratitude, and a lively sense of heavenly kindness. November 24, 1791. Some days ago my youngest son was very ill, so ill that I had great fears, and I condemn myself that I held the grip so fast, and I had great struggling between affection and resignation, between sense and faith. However, my kind heavenly Father has given him perfect recovery, for which I desire to bless his holy name. January 28, 1792. It is the duty of every living man, to acknowledge the goodness of God in continuing him in life, and crowning him with blessings. More so must the Christian to have his heart full of gratitude, if enabled to live a life or faith on the unseen Jesus, and to have his graces—like the fire on the altar—always burning heavenward. But, O! what glowing gratitude, joy, and rapture, will fill my whole soul in heaven, to find myself enjoying a life of communion with the three-one God, and that through all eternity! February 23, 1792. What continual cause of joy has the child of God, who can say in faith, amidst cares and crosses of every kind—You are the guard of my youth and riper years, the length of my days, the light of my eyes, the joy of my heart, the life of my soul, the rock of my salvation—and, in a word, my God, and my all! April 21, 1792. Though I am traveling through an enemy’s county, beset with dangers, and surrounded with difficulties—yet owing to the wisdom of my heavenly guide, and the omnipotence of my divine guard—I am always safe, and shall finish my course with, joy. And when my race is ended, I shall obtain the crown. O how comforting is this! when I see many who started for the heavenly prize, stumble and fall in their race, have their bones bruised and broken—and question whether ever they shall rise again, and run any more. But, though now near the ocean of eternity, and the center of everlasting rest, alas—how slow is my motion heavenward, how torpid my love, and how languid my desires after the eternal enjoyment of God! But, O happy day! when in the blissful state I shall approach nearer and nearer to God, and the nearer I approach, my motion towards him shall be swifter and swifter; and the more I know and love him, my soul will be enlarged and captivated to know and love him still the more. July 3, 1792. I have been long your servant, and have found you the best of masters, though I have been an unprofitable servant. And after forty years service or more, O Lord, I humbly say, "I am your servant, the son of your hand-maid; you have loosed my bands." And as I can say, I love my master and his service, I love his family, my fellow-servants; so I would never change my service, nor lodge under another roof. I am willing to have my ears bored to his door post, and serve him forever. Yes, I can go a step higher than the Hebrew servant of old; for though neither in the year of release, nor in the jubilee, he did go out, yet at death he was forever free from his master. But at my death I shall only go home to serve him day and night in his temple. I also devote all my family to be his servants forever and ever. July 15, 1792. Attending a sacramental solemnity in the neighborhood, I was attacked with fits of rheumatism by intervals. When we were to go about family-worship, which was my turn, I had so much pain that I could not be composed. I earnestly entreated God to command relief; and he heard me, for immediately I was serene, and in perfect ease. O how good a Master do I serve! nor let this seem presumption that God heard me, for he has done infinitely more for me—even given me his Son. July 23, 1792. How uncertain my present life! How near to a future eternal state am I at all times! But how happy if the day of my death shall be the day of my glorification! Then, though the call may be sudden, my passage shall be safe, and my arrival shall be sweet, and I shall forget—not only my afflictions, but all present things, though crowns and kingdoms—as the sports of children, and the amusements of school-boys. Two days ago, my youngest child seemed to be dying. I resigned her to God, and he has gloriously recovered her. But henceforth I would wish to remember, that all my children are walking on the very brink of eternity, and may be called there in a moment. But O may it be to the eternal enjoyment of God! September 30, 1792. The children of Israel were typical of all the children of God. They were not only delivered from the iron-furnaces, the brick-kilns, and the cruel taskmasters—but they were brought into a land flowing with milk and honey, blessed with the liberty of a free people, allowed to sit every man under his vine and his fig-tree, and none to make them afraid. So the saints are not only preserved from going down to the pit, delivered from the lowest hell, forever set free from the anguish of damnation, and the agonies of consummate despair—but are planted in the heavenly Canaan, in the full possession of all good, and in the beatific vision and full enjoyment of God and the Lamb. Thus the poor sinner has one hell in the punishment of sense—while the billows of divine wrath roll over his soul forever; and another hell in the punishment of loss—on being banished forever from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power. But the Christian has one heaven in being rescued from such a hell; and another heaven in being raised to such a glory, and possessed of such inconceivable bliss! January 1, 1793. In the beginning of the year I acknowledge your kindness through all the years of my past life. I look back with wonder and gratitude, I look forward with hope and confidence. I plead for protection from fraud, and direction in all lawful affairs; and I wish to cast my eye a little further, beyond all created things, towards that invisible world which I must shortly enter. February 24, 1793. With what surprise will I lift up my eyes on the heavenly glories, and will gaze with wonder on the ravishing displays of infinite perfections! It is my shame and sin to know so little of that triumphant heavenly state which I am so soon to enter upon. And the reason is, the things of time so engross my meditations—that heavenly things are such strangers to me. O to be crucified to the world, and to get the world crucified to me! It will be sad, and unfitting an heir of heaven—to die with the world in my heart; and die I shortly must. I desire to have nothing to do with such a load of cares, since allowed, yes, called and invited—to cast them all on God. But may my whole soul open to the joys of heaven, and the eternal enjoyment of God! April 21, 1793. How comfortable does piety make old age! My strength may fail, my eyes wax dim—but to be but a few day’s journey from my father’s house, supports me under all the troubles of my journey. Alas! that I should be such a stranger to my father and my father’s house! And how sad that so many should travel so far on the road of life together, and never converse one word about the country where they are going. But some professors, like children, find all their felicity in trivial games, which serious Christians will not join in. October 6, 1793. Sometimes have I promised myself, in such an ordinance, and at such a season, that I should enjoy communion with God. The season has come, and I have been disappointed. But I have one sweet prospect—that there is a period not far distant when I shall enjoy full, and free, and uninterrupted communion with God. In the heavenly state I shall not be vexed with one distracting thought, not a meditation shall be barren of God. January 2, 1794. While I am in the body, it is no wonder that I begin the new year with lamentation, mourning, and woe. But I will begin the eternal year with songs and hallelujahs, in which all former cases of grief will be forgotten. When our near connections are guilty of walking contrary to the divine law in any point, I think this should be the rule of our conduct: 1. In the spirit of meekness to show them their error. 2. To use gentleness rather than severity. 3. To bring their case to a throne of grace; for, though with our arguments we may silence them, yet we cannot convince them—God alone can search and convince their heart. 4. To wait with patience towards them, since God is daily exercising patience to us all. I am taught some noble lessons: 1. To expect no solid or lasting happiness in anything but in God. 2. To see how much we may be mistaken in our opinion of men and things. 3. To expect nothing but disappointment and pain in the world--and so to be prepared for misfortunes. 4. To build upon no present state of things; for a storm of troubles may gather from any place, and at any time. 5. In all things to rejoice in being forever with God, who will eternally wipe all tears from our eyes, and sorrow from our hearts! January 18, 1794. What a noble prospect opens to the expectant of glory on the other side of death, when the soul shall rise unto the full enjoyment of God, and all troubles of time shall be forgotten forever! It would be a shame for an heir of heaven, walking on the brink of eternity, to be despoiled of his mental calm, his joy in God—for all the storms that earth and hell can raise against him. There has been a terrible storm, and a great fall of snow, so that the roads were almost impassible. I walked some miles with great difficulty, and coming home after it was dark I lost my way, though not more than a mile from home. I then tried to find the road, and walked backward and forth—but in vain. At last I lost all idea of direction, and, after wandering for hours, I made no progress, and had the melancholy prospect of passing the night in the open field. I made my request to him who in all respects leads the blind in the way they know not. But after walking about two miles in deep snow, I came upon a road, which, after walking two miles more, brought me safely home. I was full of gratitude, when I reflected that my strength might have failed me, as I wandered between three and four hours, often up to the knees in snow, or might have fallen into some pit or loch, and never be seen more. O how safe to dwell under the shadow of the Almighty! February 20, 1794. I have in my eye a great number of scripture examples, high in the favor of heaven, who had uncommon afflictions in their families. Adam loses a son by the bloody hands of a brother. Noah pours a severe prophetic malediction on one of his own posterity. Aaron loses two of his sons—consumed in the very commission of their crimes. The meek Moses has to sustain the wrongs of a brother and sister. The wicked advice of his wife would have ruffled the temper of any man but Job. Eli gets a doleful message of what God intends to bring on his house. But "it is the Lord" silences him. David, the man of God, has so many out-breakings in his family, that on his death-bed he complains that his house is so troubled. May 18, 1794. On my entrance into heaven, I shall find a sweet change, not only of my state—but of the frame of my soul. Every faculty shall be full of God, and every power of soul shall center in God. What a pleasant prospect this to the poor saint, who is daily harassed with worldly thoughts, and a wandering heart, and at his best times buffeted by the grand enemy! But rest on the back of such toil, and victory on the back of such a conflict—will be doubly sweet. And of such a rest, and such a victory, every saint may rest assured! October, 1794. That God lives, is the comfort of my soul. That he rules, composes me amidst all the crosses and losses that can befall me below. How often have I had communion with God, in his providences as well as in his ordinances, and beheld him doing wonders for me! When a cross of a singular nature or from a quarter not expected, is protracted, it is a proof that its language is not well understood, or its end not attained; for God does not afflict willingly, or grieve the children of men. O to hear the rod, and him who has appointed it! October 24, 1794. Though I should not wish for death out of a fit of discontent; or for heaven because greatly afflicted on earth—yet when surrounded with distressing spectacles of sin; when griefs, heart-piercing griefs, pour in on every hand; when people we love seem under the dominion of Satan; and afflictions, like waves of the sea, dash on us from every quarter—then faith in our eternal enjoyment of God will support the soul under all. November 18, 1794. To what purpose do I believe in a future state of bliss, if I neither improve for it, nor improve it to my present comfort? Though I am as much concerned in the world as ever, yet in a little time (how soon I cannot say) I shall be separated from all my concerns, bereft from all my friends, estranged from all my acquaintances, and dissolved from all connection with time. Even my dear wife and children, shall keep their place in my affections no longer than my present earthly life. Then, since they are so near and dear to me now, and since I am a daily suppliant at the throne of grace, let my heart’s desire and prayer for them be, that they may be saved. But what must that future state be—which is so fast approaching? How will all the divine perfections blaze fully on the powers of my soul! Here they twinkle like stars in the night—there they will shine like the sun in brightness! Here in my views of divine things and future glories, I am like a prisoner, who can see no higher than the roof of his prison. But when brought from prison, my views shall be grand, noble, and extensive as the arch of heaven! January, 1795. O how am I reproved by the men of the world! They are so anxious to heap up riches--which can endure but for a day. Yet I am so careless about the riches which endure to eternity! It pains me to see some who pass for Christians—they have head, and heart, and hand, full of worldly schemes—not to support a needy family, but to aggrandize a family already in a state of opulence! They are so much occupied with their worldly affairs, that the morning family worship is wholly laid aside, and the evening worship is often interrupted or curtailed; which, I fear, might entail a curse on the wealth thus amassed. Perhaps all their accumulated wealth will be squandered away in dissipation and vice by their children, though the parent’s eyes may be hid from the mournful scene. May 7, 1795. One noble end of affliction is to wean from all created things, and bring the Christian near to God. But, alas! how do I cleave to what I should let go! But grace can give the victory by degrees, and at death I shall go off in perfect triumph over every foe. One thing I have to lament, that go where I will in this present world, the discourse in conversation is trifling and insipid, nothing of true religion, nothing of God, nothing of Jesus, nothing of a world to come; and herein do I condemn myself as the chief transgressor. May 26, 1795. How proper would it be for one in the decline of life, often to set a little time apart to meditate on the heavenly state! And may not I be ashamed to hold the trifling affairs of life so unweariedly, and pass over eternal concerns as trifles of no account. July 25, 1795. What advantage has the expectant of heaven and glory above others—if the afflictions of this life crush his spirits? In hope of the eternal enjoyment of God, I triumph over all that can befall me in the world. The loss of earthy things is a trifle to me—who have my treasures laid up in heaven. And even the sins of others, which gave me daily sorrow, cannot pain me beyond the hour of death. But on the back of death, I shall enter into the joy of my Lord for all eternity. There my tears of sorrow shall be lost forever, in the rivers of pleasure which flow at his right hand! And my bitter, my heart-felt grief, shall be wholly swallowed up in that fullness of joy which is in his presence! November 17, 1795. How sad is the case of the child of God sometimes, when he goes mourning without the sun; when the Comforter who should relieve his soul is far away; when he moves heavily in the ways of piety; when he is barren and unfruitful in the work of the Lord; when he walks in darkness and has no light; and complains that God is to him, as failing springs of waters. But in this the saint may still comfort himself against grief on every side: That the covenant of grace can never be broken; that all the promises are faithful; and that God rests in his love, and will bless his people with peace forever more. January 5, 1796. Worldlings feast in the beginning of the year. I will feast also—but it shall be in the prospect of a happy eternity—when time and trouble are forever past. I will feast on the fullness of the covenant—on the offices of Christ—on the perfections of God. And here I may feast from the beginning to the end of the year, yes, through eternity itself! June 17, 1796. My wife delivered another child, and I this day devote my young family to God. O! let my daughter Jean be duly taken up with the concerns of the invisible world! Let my daughter Agnes early seek after God! May my son George know and fear the God of his father! May William serve God in the kingdom of grace, and enjoy him in the kingdom of glory! Make Elizabeth a child of God, and Margaret an heir of glory! June 23, 1796. Long have I had to lament a spiritual languor in my soul—a sighing, and standing still, if not going backward. But if I have a union to the Lord of life, he will recover me from all my decays, and will keep, though weak, still alive. 1797. For several weeks past, by a disorder on my lungs, I have been threatened with death. And though I can say, I know in whom I have believed, and to whom I have committed the keeping of my soul—yet strong were my desires to live a little longer. My reasons for imploring a little time were, several hymns I had in view to get printed, and one essay just going to the press; also my young family, and a worthy affectionate wife. But I condemned myself for putting anything in balance with the eternal enjoyment of God. Yet I thought my request was lawful—from the psalmist’s prayer, "O spare me, that I may recover strength." and good Hezekiah’s conduct, who wept sorely. What folly to defer preparation for death, until seized with sickness—when the body is sore broken—and the powers of mind are all languid and feeble—and arrested by death! However trivial it may seem to some, yet I had comfort in the psalm that fell to be sung in family-worship, which I was still able to perform, though wearisome nights were appointed to me, Psalms 101:1. "I will sing of mercy and judgment." Here I saw the song of the saint was a mixed song. But mercy was the first and chief part of the song; and the judgment inflicted did not hinder him to sing of the mercy bestowed. After the first comfortable night’s rest I got, Psalms 103:4 was my theme, "Who redeemed your life from destruction!" O how sweet was that to my soul! February 7, 1797. After being home-bound for many weeks, I have been able to attend the sermon for the two past Sabbaths. O how shall I account for the many golden opportunities I have enjoyed! About this time, five of my children had the measles—and all recovered. O what mercies heap on me! I condemn myself that I am not more heavenly minded. O for rich supplies of grace! February 20, 1797. Our youngest child was in a critical state, through a severe infection. O how anxious were we for her recovery! Whence I condemn myself, that I am not more concerned for her salvation than for her physical health. I would wish to be resigned to holy Providence, who does all things well, and as it were, hang suspended between paternal affection and Christian resignation. O heavenly Father pity and spare! March 3, 1797. The dear child is still alive—but in great danger. O to be able to say amen to whatever my heavenly Father may do! March 12, 1797. Some days ago, my pleasant child, not nine months old—was taken from us by death, and set our hearts a-bleeding. But I find, that when strokes of this kind are repeated, there is not a better way to get peace of mind restored, and triumph over our sharpest trials, than by contemplating our eternal enjoyment of God. And in the very prospect of enjoying such an infinite good, I lose the sense of all present afflictions. Is it much to drop one tear, or heave one sigh—and have my eyes wiped for eternity, and my heart brimful of joy forevermore? The time of my sorrow is so short, that it expires amidst my grief—but my eternal enjoyment shall go on forever; and there shall I forget my afflictions forever! April 4, 1797. I have had some severe lapses in my health, and I am afraid that I have not learned the language of the rod. I need not say with Job, "Show me why you contend with me," but may say, ’You are righteous, though you should contend against me forever.’ But I plead your fatherly compassion, and heavenly pity and desire to act faith on you at all times. June 4, 1797. For several weeks past, I have been getting better and better, and am now in a tolerable state of health, and desire to bless my kind deliverer, and to live to his glory. May 28, 1798. You preserve both man and beast; how precious is your grace! Thus, after severe falls, bruises, and broken bones, and other illnesses, I am still in a tolerable state of health. O that I could say that my soul also prospers! However little the world may think of it, I bless the Most High that in my long illness I have been able to go about family-worship morning and evening. I find it good to wait on God. July 19. It is my duty to be resigned, not only to the cross—but to the kind of the cross, and to its continuance. With what courage may I bear with every burden, with every aggravation, since I have the promise of present support, and in a little while—of eternal deliverance! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 13: 03.00. SOLITUDE SWEETENED ======================================================================== SOLITUDE SWEETENED by James Meikle, 1730-1799 "My meditation of Him shall be sweet." Psalms 104:34 1. On meditation 2. Christ the Rock in a weary land 3. If God gives Christ, what can he withhold 4. Submission 5. Comfortable conclusions 6. Resignation 7. Feeble nature 8, Worldly losses and misfortunes universal 9. Providence 10. True greatness 11. Disappointments 12. Experience 13. Contentment 14. Death 15. Communion with God, what it is 16. The disposal of Providence always best 17. Love in its fourfold extension 18. Slander 19. Fear and other passions 20. Universal improvement 21. The soul’s enlargement on high 22. Affliction the lot of saints below 23. Private experience 24. All plenitude in Christ, to answer all the needs of his people 25. Prayer and praise 26. On a blind beggar 27. Love in saints 28. Love in God 29. Death 30. The death of the wicked 31. The Traveler 32. Grace in the blush, sin not ashamed 33. Going to a fair 34. After sickness 35. Frames of soul variable 36. The unconcerned spectators 37. Death a blessing to godly men 38. Mercy going before God, makes meeting him a mercy 39. The necessity of afflictions 40. Saints unknown, stars unseen 41. The excellent happiness of the blessed 42. Only a rumor heard of the triumphant state 43. Science 44. A wicked thing to depart from God in the least 45. Who the great man is 46. We should sleep no longer than to refresh the body 47. Our only joy in the world to come 48. On the scriptures 49. True joy 50. One fruit of affliction 51. From the depth of afflictions we see stupendous things 52. Prayer 53. Little known of the bliss above 54. The divine lover 55. Eternity 56. On loving God 57. Wrath 58. Sensible communion with God sometimes enjoyed 59. Brevity of life 60. On the last day of the year 61. Saints have the greatest reason to rejoice 62. Indwelling sin 63. Events of providence 64. More of God seen in Christ than in all the creation 65. Christ, the study above 66. The world asleep 67. Still ignorant of God below 68. Nothing can purchase Christ from the soul 69. Torment 70. The soul’s growth 71. This life a valley of tears 72. The madness of the world in their choice 73. The approaching happiness of the saints 74. What we should expect and wait for 75. The spiritual miser 76. Contradictions 77. The confusion of the wicked at the general judgment 78. Mercies abused 79. The forgiveness of injuries 80. The excellency of religion 81. Christ, and none but he, satisfies desires 82. The aggrandizing visit 83. Causes of humility 84. Harmony in God’s procedure with the church 85. A pleasant consideration 86. Crucifixion 87. All God’s ways equal 88. Self-flatterers 89. The heavenly vision assimilating 90. Still descriptions fall short of glory 91. Saints honorable 92. Mercies, though apparently delayed, come at the appointed time 93. The world deeply rooted in the affections 94. True riches 95. The casting of the scales or balances 96. Affliction the common lot of the saints 97. The glorious fruits of sanctified affliction 98. God his people’s inheritance 99. Distance diminishes views 100. Jubilee 101. God’s knowledge 103. Elijah and Elisha, a dialogue 104. The company of the wicked corrupts 105. To escape wrath should silence under all afflictions 106. Adoption 107. Connections 108. Degrees of nearness to God 109. Unbelief 110. Our short life should not give much concern 111. Faith 112. The three-fold state 113. Corruption 114. Grace 115. Love and immortality 116. Extremities 117. The astonishing portions 118. Noah’s ark 119. Acquaintances 120. An argument 121. On being ill-used 122. The Bible a store-house of instruction 123. Assurance 124. Our meditations cramped, unless stretched beyond death 125. How to be rich in heaven 126. Revenge rejected 127. The coming judgment 128. Against murmuring at misfortunes 129. A caution against excess of joy in any earthly good 130. The joy of salvation 131. On visits 132. The anguish of damnation 133. Sovereignty 134. The victory of faith 135. The necessity of afflictions while we live 136. Gibeon making peace with Israel 137. On the author’s first using glasses 138. On casting our care on God 139. The affection of a parent 140. On being made a noble 141. The singular advantages of poverty 142. A journey along the sea-shore 143. The British state lottery 144. On the works of creation 145. A prospect of death 146. A state after death 147. A glance into heavenly bliss ======================================================================== CHAPTER 14: 03.001. ON MEDITATION ======================================================================== MEDITATION "My meditation of Him shall be sweet." (Psalms 104:34) The heavenly meditator has the happiest life in the world, and the most enriching commerce with the celestial Indies, from whence he returns laden with an unseen store of immortal joy, and spiritual consolation. As he continues to meditate on the great things of God, such amazing plenitudes are displayed before his eye, that he finds in the divine fullness, sufficient subjects for meditation through eternity itself. Meditation, like the spies sent from Israel in the wilderness, returns with a good account of the good land, presents some of the fruits of paradise, and produces refreshing grapes pulled from the true VINE. Here the weary soul retires to rest in the bosom of the promise, in the love of God, in spite of all surrounding troubles; and drinks at the river before the throne, which makes her forget her miseries, as waters that flow away. O the high estate of the sons of God in meditation! They walk in the fields of glory, associate with the angels of light, and hold communion with God himself! Thus having been in the mount with God, their soul is beautified; thus, their face shines, and their mind seems as if in heaven, nobly opposing the base practices of the men of the world. O my soul! while mortals are combating for crowns below, meditate on your crown above; view the beauties of the better country; ruminate on the happiness of the inhabitants there; think on the fullness of the heavenly glory; talk of the love of God, and dwell on the adorable excellencies of the divine Redeemer. This work is its own reward, and assimilates the soul to "the bright and morning Star." Be ashamed henceforth to occupy yourself in meditating how to raise your fortune, how to make yourself famous, and how to plan your lot in the world; this last commit to God, and cast the rest away! But let him, whose favor is better than life, be the object of your love, and the subject of your meditations! Thus shall you begin heaven, anticipate bliss, and prepare for eternity and glory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 15: 03.002. CHRIST THE ROCK IN THE WEARY LAND ======================================================================== Christ the Rock in the weary land "He caused him to suck honey out of the rock, oil out of the flinty rock." (Deuteronomy 32:13) "The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my Savior, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the strength of my salvation, my stronghold." (Psalms 18:2) "And a MAN shall be as a hiding place from the wind, and a shelter from the tempest, like streams of water in a dry place, like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." (Isaiah 32:2) Let the travelers through the parched deserts of Arabia, tell how comforting the shadow of a cloud is—which diminishes the heat in a arid place. Let the desert wanderers tell what it is to hide their scorched shoulders from the burning sun in the shadow of a rock. How much greater reason have I to boast of my Rock! From his pierced side the fountain of life flows—which pours refreshment into my panting soul. Here I have not only shadow from the heat, but shelter from the storm. What is firmer than a rock? Winds may rend the cedars of Lebanon, and tear them up by their roots: but here the tempests beat, and are baffled; the billows dash, and are broken; time hovers, and corrodes not the flinty mass. Nevertheless, rocks are not armor against every invasion from destruction and ruin. For see, the enraged thunders rend their towering tops, and angry earthquakes toss them from their seats, while the earth beneath opens fearfully, and hides the ponderous heaps. But my Rock shall stand fast forever, when the foundations of the earth are moved, and the pillars of heaven tremble! There shall I be safe, when the hail shall sweep away the refuges of lies; yes, when God shall rain on sinners—snares, fire, and brimstone, in the furious storm of wrath, I shall sing in safety, being an inhabitant of the Rock of ages, from which I never shall be moved! No wonder, then, that the saint of God shouts for joy, being an inhabitant on high, and having for his place of defense the fortress of rocks. Sometimes, indeed, the blind world is ready to allege, that their rock has abandoned them, and that if God were their God, surely he would intervene for them—when they see martyrs going to execution; some to the gibbet, and others to be drowned in the sea; some to the rack, and others to the fire. But then their divine Comforter invisibly attends them, and he whose form is like the son of God walks with them amidst the fire, and fans away the flame. This is the Rock from which I am filled with honey, the Rock that pours out rivers of oil for me. Do rocks defend me from blasts, from whatever quarter they blow? So does my Rock. Is the blast from hell? Well, he has the keys of hell and of death. Is it from sin? He is my righteousness. Is it from Satan? He has conquered principalities and powers. Is it from afflictions? He is my sympathizing and loving High Priest. Is it from losses? He is my exceeding great reward. Is it from crosses? He makes all things work together for good to his people. Is it from anguish? He is my joy. Is it from darkness? He is my Sun. Is it from doubts? He is my Counselor. Is it from deadness? He is my life. Is it from enemies? He is my shield. Is it from temptation? He is my deliverer. Is it from false friends? He will never leave me, nor forsake me. Is it from solitude or banishment? He is everywhere present. Is it from disease? He is my healer. Is it from death? He is the resurrection and the life. O glorious refuge! O sure defense! O everlasting fortress! Here do I defy the worst that earth and hell can do. Henceforth will I live by faith, in the MAN who is my hiding place from the wind, my shelter from the tempest, my stream of water in a dry place, my shadow of a great rock in a weary land—until every blast has blown over, and not a threatening cloud appears in my sky—until my heaven is beautified with everlasting day, and every storm is swept from the air which I breathe! "And a MAN shall be as a hiding place from the wind, and a shelter from the tempest, like streams of water in a dry place, like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." (Isaiah 32:2) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 16: 03.003. IF GOD GIVES CHRIST, WHAT CAN HE WITHHOLD? ======================================================================== If God gives Christ, what can he withhold? Are believers in the valley of tears? Is their dwelling place Bochim and Baca? Well, God’s mercy outstretches all their misery! Promises of grace dispel the mental gloom, and bear away the ponderous loads of grief! The soft handkerchief of love wipes off the furrowing tear! An inspired penman begins the glorious sentence with an unanswerable question. "If God spared not his own Son, but delivered him up to the death for us all, how shall he not also with him give us all things?" (Romans 8:32) Comfort, then; you sons of sorrow; comfort, my soul! There is more in this verse than can be comprehended! And there is more love in the heart of God, than any language, or idiom of speech, can convey to finite creatures! If, for my sake, he has given his Son, what will he withhold in all the creation? Is his creation—the breath of his mouth—better to him than his eternal, co-eternal Son? Is the work of his hands dearer to him than his well-beloved bosom Son? And has he given him to the die for you—and then will he deny you any necessity? No! He who feeds the soul with heavenly manna—will support the body with daily bread! He who gives drink out of the wells of salvation—will not fail to afford a cup of cold water! He who has provided a robe of righteousness, to cover the shame of my sin—will also give wool in the cold season. He who furnishes my inner man with all the armor of God, will put a covering on my head in the day of battle and war. (At this time the Author had a view of entering into the navy, being time of war, as he did some time after.) He who, in the counsel of peace, from eternity, secured my peace, will also shine upon my path, and decree what shall come to pass. He who has written my name among the living in Jerusalem, will also preserve, (this my faith pleads and expects,) my character, that I shall not shame what I profess in the world. He who has destroyed spiritual death, will also for me unsting natural death, and spoil the grave of its victory! Again, how can it be possible that God should give his Son, himself, his all—and yet deny me any good thing? Will not he who is to crown me with glory above—strengthen me with grace below? Will he not bless me with peace of mind—who is to be my peace forever? Triumph, O my faith! all things are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s! And God, Christ, and all things, are yours! Time is his, and in it I have my years numbered! The air is his, and in it I breathe! The world is his—and on it I dwell; its fullness is his—and I am fed! Grace is his—and in it I stand! Faith is his gift—and by it I overcome the world! Tribulations are from him—and in them I glory! Perfection is his—and towards it I press! Death is his—and by it I arrive at home! Heaven is his—and there is my mansion! Eternity is his, and there is my treasure and glory forevermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 17: 03.004. SUBMISSION ======================================================================== SUBMISSION Will any, or will I, pretend to teach the Most High knowledge, seeing he is excellent in all his working, and perfect in all his ways? Then, since I cannot direct him, why am not I submissive to his disposal? Can I predict events, or foresee futurities? No! How then can I promise myself serenity from a cloudless sky? or fear storms from an obscured heaven? when, as to the first, the gathering meteors may suspend an unexpected shadow before the sun; or, as to the second, the gathered clouds may scatter, and let the welcome beams refresh the weary world. So, Lord, as from present appearances, future contingencies cannot be discerned—it is my duty, and shall be my study, to be WHOLLY, FULLY, and FOREVER, at your disposal, to whom all your works, all my purposes, and all my wanderings, are known from the beginning! O! how the Christian should glory in God’s choosing for him the lot of his inheritance, and be content with that condition which Heaven accounts best for him, though not the grandest or greatest; nor the richest or happiest; nor that state he most desires. I am not my own—for I am bought with a price, and dearly paid for too! Would it not be too daring for me to instruct God how to decorate the heavens, how to set the sun, station the moon, place the poles, plant the stars, and guide the wandering planets? Now, I am as much his by right, (yes, in the ties of love, more,) and as much at his disposal, as any of these his other creatures; and if I cannot complain of his conduct with these, why quarrel at his providences toward me? Another thing which ought to encourage to submission, is, that God’s way is not only equitable in itself, but profitable for his people, for the latter end of the righteous is peace; and the end of the Lord is always gracious to his afflicted ones—who chooses them in the furnace of affliction, brings light out of darkness, order out of confusion, real good out of seeming evil; and, finally, brings through fire and water to a place of eternal glory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 18: 03.005. COMFORTABLE CONCLUSIONS ======================================================================== COMFORTABLE CONCLUSIONS "Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound!" (Romans 5:20) Dear Savior, in your sufferings I not only see the infiniteness of sin, but also the infiniteness of your love; so that, though I have cause with myself to be angry on account of sin, I need not despair. If the desert of my sinful folly is death—the merit of your sufferings is life! If my sins mount up to heaven—your mercy is above the heavens! Though my sins reach to the very throne to accuse me—there is ONE upon the throne who will not condemn me! My sins, in their seven-fold abominations, can rise no higher than the throne, but the rainbow of redeeming love and grace is both around and above the throne, and that in its seven-fold beauties—power, wisdom, justice, goodness, holiness, mercy, and truth. And as all the different rays meet in one glorious beam of light, so all the attributes, all the perfections of God, are summed up in LOVE! God is graciously pleased to be called by his favorite name, "God is love!" By the mingling rays of this beauteous rainbow, all my blackness is removed, and I am clothed with his beauty! When I look to myself and see my vileness and necessity--I am confounded with shame! But when I look to you, and see your fullness and all-sufficiency, I am confounded with wonder! Am I weak? He is my strength. Am I foolish? He is my wisdom! Am I wicked? He is my righteousness! Am I impure? He is my sanctification! Am I in bondage? He is my complete redemption! Am I in misery? From him tender mercy flows. Am I deceitful? He is wholly truth! In a word, am I enmity itself? Then he is love itself which passes understanding! Mine is but the enmity of a creature—but his love is the love of God! Sin may raise the tempest of wrath, but can do no more. But Christ not only calms the raging tempest, but gives peace of conscience, flowing from intimations of peace with God, and makes me heir of all things! Where sin abounded—grace did much more abound! Where misery has surrounded me—mercy has crowned me! Sin is too strong for me—but your grace is too strong for sin! Why, then, am I so vexed with fears, doubts, and unbelief? Because I am sinful? On that very account, Christ, who knew no sin, was made sin—that I, who knew no righteousness, might be made the righteousness of God in him. But I am a great sinner! Then, he is a Savior, and a great One! Where is boasting now soul? See—it is great mercy in God, great merit in Christ—which saves a great sinner! Since rich and free grace builds the temple of salvation, let it have all the glory! But I fall often into the same sin! That is my failing, over which I ought to mourn, and by which I should be driven out of all boasting in my own holiness, high attainments, and religious duties; and cry, with tears of holy joy, "Grace, grace to him that has laid the foundation, carries on the whole work of redemption, and will, with shouting bring forth the topstone!" Now, law, what have you to do with me? Go to my Surety, Jesus. O curse! you have lighted on his head, that the blessing might rest on mine! The brandished sword of justice, is beaten into the pruning-hook of the promise—that I may even plead justice for the blessing, as well as the performance of the promise. Though once I dared not lift my eyes heavenward, for fear of divine wrath—yet now I may come boldly to the throne of grace, and claim the blessings of his purchase! In fine, it is the glory of the Son of God that I am saved. Even if he had no concern for my immortal soul, yet he is jealous of his own glory, and will not cast his honor away, the honor of his justice, the honor of his love, the honor of his merits, and the honor of his word of promise—all which are concerned in my salvation. Nothing could hinder him to love me—what then shall make him hate me, seeing his love is stronger than death? He loved me when I was in a state of enmity against him—and now, when I am reconciled to him, will he be angry with me, now when I love him who first loved me? His love found me when I was wandering from him—and will he abandon me now when I am panting and seeking after him? When I was altogether sin, he had mercy on me; and will he now take vengeance upon me, when I am mourning over sin, and grieved that I offend him? I had no claim, no qualification that could cause his love to descend on me, and abide with me; but his love, in his sovereignty visited me—and in sovereignty will dwell with me forever! And though my sin offends him—I shall never sin away his love, nor his presence altogether. For he shall appear the second time without sin—and deliver me from all my inherent sinfulness! Though my sin is my burden—it shall not be my bane! Yet I shall never willingly let the traitor rest in my bosom—which would persuade my soul into rebellion against my dearest Lord, and best friend. I may have continual war with the invader—but shall obtain the victory at last! Meanwhile, I will grieve more for offending him whose name is Love, by my sin—than for the clouds, afflictions, and chastisements which seize me because of my sinfulness. Now, with the arms of my faith, I clasp the promise—and Jesus in the promise! Here will I live, and here will I die, blessing God, who causes me always to triumph in Jesus Christ my Lord! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 19: 03.006. RESIGNATION ======================================================================== RESIGNATION Sovereign Lord, what I most desired you have denied, yet I praise you! On what account, I know not, yet I praise you. You have done it; that silences me. Your will makes it indisputable, and renders it my indispensable duty to your wise determinations. Hitherto I have had no complaint on the conduct of providence; nor shall I complain until all the mazes are explained. Do, then, all your counsel, though all my counsels should come to nothing. Can a person expect favors from God--who will not wait for God’s way and time? But what does it matter how the affairs of a present world go, if the interests of the next world are secured? The weather-vane is whirled about with every blast, but the iron spire is still at rest, because it cannot be displaced. So, what does it matter though the outward man decays--if the inner man grows? What does it matter though the temporal condition be perplexed--if the conscience is possessed of spiritual peace? I praise you that you interpose your providence, even in disappointing my dearest plans; and do not give me up to the blind desires of my own heart, and to wander at random in counsels of mine own. I can resolve the present case into nothing but your will; yet I rejoice more to resign your will, and to be submissive to your disposal, than to have my will in every point performed. This is the only way in my private capacity that I can glorify you. If all things went as I would have them, I could not positively learn the care of God. But when providence, beyond all human probability, twists enterprises out of my hands, and well-resolved designs out of my heart--this clearly shows to me your condescending concern about my lot and life. Thus you take the wise in their own craftiness; for when all my schemes were so well laid, that human policy approved of, and wit itself commended; yet, when you did blow upon them, how did they like rainbows painted on the watery clouds, when thunders break, or boisterous winds attack--scatter into disappointments and pain! Hence, in the school of providence I am taught some lessons. 1. Not to look to the appearance of things, but to the power of God, who brings light out of darkness, and calls the things that are not, as though they were. 2. That from probabilities, impossibilities may spring; while apparent impossibilities dissolve into easy escapes. As for the first, it was very probable that the Egyptians might overtake and put Israel to the sword, yet it became impossible for them to do it. And as for the second it seemed impossible that Israel could escape ruin, when enclosed with insurmountable hills, and swelling seas, and pursued by enraged foes; yet, in what an easy way did they walk to their deliverance! 3. I am taught to believe, and to give glory to the almighty power of God, when impossibilities throng thick before me. 4. To see my own finite wisdom to be but folly, that I can neither prevent nor foresee those events which I do not desire. 5. To hold all my mercies, all my privileges from God, and not from the certainty in which they seem to stand. 6. Not to think that things are lost, when so they seem to be. When I think I am most sure of some things, they are all on a sudden taken from me; so when lost, they can all of a sudden be restored. 7. And, lastly, to see the mutable and fickle state of temporal things, and therefore to hold a loose grip on the creature, however dear, however near--and to set my affections on things that are above. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 20: 03.007. FEEBLE NATURE ======================================================================== Feeble Nature Oh! how do I groan in this body of clay—this clog of humanity! When I would serve God with gladness, feeble nature hinders me; my strength is exhausted, and I must be again refreshed with sleep. Grace had not only sin to fight against—but it has bodily infirmity to struggle with. And I have no way of getting comfort under my calamities of this kind, which are so many, but by beholding with the eye of faith, through the telescope of Scripture—the glories of the world above, when this mortal shall put on immortality, and death shall be swallowed up in life. There my weary eyes shall never seek to be refreshed with sleep, amidst the engaging glories of the higher house! The mirth of this present evil world, like an enchantress, lulls men asleep to everlasting destruction; but the songs of the inner temple rouse to all eternity. With the strength of an angel shall I step along the hills of glory, and walk over the paradise of God. With greater ease shall I go on with the highest acts of adoration, than here give over the ordinary acts of devotion; for it shall be life to my soul, and vigor to all my powers, to be so employed! There he who pours the new wine into the saints, capacitates, strengthens, and supports the soul, to receive the eternal weight of glory. Meditation shall never tire my thoughts in tracing all the mazes of redeeming love! Everlasting hallelujahs shall dwell on my tongue; and how shall I improve in the song above, while I rest not day or night to sing, "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive glory, and honor, blessings and power, dominion and praise, forever and ever!" There the uninterrupted vision of him, to whom when I see him I shall be assimilated—shall strengthen my eyes, that they shall be able to receive the images of all the celestial glories. No weariness there, where the exercise of worship renders happy. No weakness, where Jehovah is my strength. No lack of subject, where the Lord God and the Lamb are my song! Oh! shall I be able to praise and worship God through eternity? To sing his being and attributes, his love and his mercy, his righteousness and his truth, even a whole God, and a full glory! This will be my consummate happiness, and continual enjoyment! Well then, what though the hours of time steal from me unknown? I rejoice that I shall not lose one moment through weariness, while eternity rolls forever on. Oh! may I improve this to prepare for that; for if eternity is not secured before time is spent, I am undone in both. Roll on, O day of love, to perfect strength in my weakness, and crown a poor expectant with eternal glory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 21: 03.008. WORLDLY LOSSES AND MISFORTUNES UNIVERSAL ======================================================================== Worldly losses and misfortunes universal "Mankind is born for trouble as surely as sparks fly upward." (Job 5:7) Convene, you mournful throng, and vent your dreary moans; muster all your complaints, and recite the causes of your sorrow. Then hear royalty itself break silence first in the melancholy list, and tell in tears. Distress even attacks the throne, and sorrow and gloom penetrate within the palace walls. Sorrow has a lodging place in every brow, from the king to the beggar; and at one time or other, we may expect to see the lodging possessed by all the gloomy train. Hence see one sad, under the loss of his honor and reputation; another meeting with disappointment instead of advancement; another seldom out of mourning, so fast his relations die around him. Some have neither son nor grandson in the neighborhood; daughter nor grand-daughter in the house. There the affectionate wife has lost the husband of her youth; and here the disconsolate mourner has interred his lovely spouse. Here so many needy pensioners are real mourners at the burial of their benefactors, who can be no more concerned for them; there a tender family are weeping at the grave of both parents. Here the letter from the distant Indies, brings the melancholy account of father, son, or brother’s death, who was long expected home, but now shall return no more; there the list of the slain on the day of battle, fills many a sad heart with sorrow. Here a sudden misfortune snatches one away in the bloom of life; there another is slain by the bloody ruffian. Here the tender infant dies unseen in the silent night; and there the pretty boy perishes in the water. Here the devouring flame robs a man of his all, while some of the family are consumed in the burning; there the fierce tempest sends the merchant’s treasure into the depths of the sea, and the crew go down together. Here the barren wife longs to embrace a son; and there another bitterly bewails that ever her wayward son was born. Here one loses his good name innocently, and has no method to clear it until the day of judgment; and there peace is taken away from those who should live in daily harmony. Here some are oppressed with pinching poverty; there others with pining sickness. Some are banished their native country; others condemned to perpetual imprisonment. Some are deformed from their mother’s womb; others lose their limbs by accidents. There sits the blind begging, while the lame is carried from door to door. Of some God has tied the tongue, that it cannot speak; of others stopped the ear, that it cannot hear. There some deprived of reason, neither rest themselves, nor allow those around them to rest—their case is melancholy above description. In a word, what losses and crosses, sorrows and distresses, uncertainties and anxieties, do mankind labor under! The wisdom which is from above, will lead me to expect nothing but vanity and vexation here below. But, O! how happy is the soul that has all the treasure in heaven, all his happiness in God! May this be my case, and then I shall triumph in the midst of losses, distresses, disappointments, and pain! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 22: 03.009. PROVIDENCE ======================================================================== PROVIDENCE How manifold are the mercies of God, and how surprising the scene of adorable Providence! Here wheels revolve within a wheel, and all the glorious spokes are full of flaming eyes, signifying omniscience and wisdom. Seeming contradictions just conduce to bring about the longed-for blessing. Providence aloud proclaims a God; and to the observing eye, the providential government of the world in general, and of men and their affairs of life in particular—is not less beautiful, is not less surprising, than the creation of the world. What mighty mountains are removed, what stupendous difficulties are dissolved by providence—that a plain and easy passage may be prepared for the approaching good! O how is my soul delighted with the back-look into my life, and ravished with the sweet survey of the conduct of Providence! All mercies are benignant and comforting; but O how do some exceedingly surprise! when I behold the instrument or hand by which, the way and manner how, and the time when they came. Have I not seen it from a hand I expected nothing from, in a way and manner I never could have contrived, and at a time when least apparent? has not holy Providence written a blank on my wisdom and prudence, in baffling my enterprises, rendering my endeavors abortive, and bringing my counsel to nothing—that he alone might be exalted? And then, in a way out of my view, foreign to my expectation, and without my endeavors, granted the very same request I had sought? Sometimes seeming contradictions vex the poor expectant, though only sent to exercise his faith in God, and patience for the performance of the promise. I have also seen disappointments multiplied. Disappointments not only bring about, but beautify the blessing. Sometimes providence has hindered me to embrace an offered favor, when I knew not how or why, that to my greater advantage it might be afterwards bestowed. Your path, O Governor of men and angels! is in the mighty waters, and your footsteps are not known! For who can know the ways of him who is wonderful in working? Therefore I approve his conduct, admire his goodness—and where I cannot see his end, am silent, and adore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 23: 03.010. TRUE GREATNESS ======================================================================== TRUE GREATNESS Many are reckoned great by the world, and are often envied by their inferiors, who are yet ignorant of what renders man truly great. A courtier, as Ahithophel, a prince, as Haman, and a king, as Belshazzar, may be vile and sordid people; for often in the highest stations the basest of men are set up. Coaches and chariots; horses and hounds; many servants, and a numerous retinue; a sumptuous table, and fine apparel; high titles, and honorary posts; great friends, and noble blood; rich connections, and immense wealth—do not constitute true greatness. It is not nobility, or popularity, or beauty, or talent—that will render one great. It is not strength of body, natural courage, liberal education, bright parts, or sparkling genius—that can make a truly great man. Hence this seeming contradiction, yet sterling truth, Great men are not always great. Are there, then, great men any where to be found? Yes, though they attract not much notice or regard of men. The holy, humble, self-denied soul, is truly great. He who lives above the things of time, and has his meditation on God, and the things of the invisible world. He who is pleased with a little of the good things of this world—can forgive enemies—pass by affronts—forget injuries—repay hatred with love—rejoice in tribulation—triumph in faith—have rule over his own spirit—mourn for the sins of the times—weep over his lack holiness—tremble at God’s threatenings—depend on the promises—bewail his omissions—repent daily for his sin—wrestle in prayer, and prevail with God, and, Enoch-like, have his conversation in heaven, and walk with God—this is he who is truly great in the eye of angels, in the eye of God! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 24: 03.011. DISAPPOINTMENTS ======================================================================== DISAPPOINTMENTS How uncertain are our best-founded expectations from created things! Nothing seemingly more sure; the time when, the place where, and the manner how—designs were to be put in execution, being set by the agreement and concurrence of everyone concerned! And yet, in the event, nothing more unsure! O irresistible Providence! How do you laugh at the folly of man, whose blind eye sees nothing to change the face of things, until by an unexpected resolution, and severe discipline, he is made to know his fallibility and blindness! O foolish heart of man, to be fond of this or that to excess! You see the beginning of a matter, but not the end; you behold the outer wheel of providence, but consider not that there is an inner wheel, even a wheel in the middle of a wheel, which produces scenes unobserved before, scenes which finite wisdom never could invent. Perhaps the present disappointment, though great and unexpected, is a kind one, could I with patience wait and see the outcome. And, beyond dispute, it is a just one; "for shall not the righteous Judge of all the earth, do what is right?" But is my disappointment in the most momentous things, or only in matters of inferior concern? Have I got a message from the court of Heaven, that there is no salvation for me there? no mercy at the throne? no peace to be expected from him that sits thereon? No, no! Then what ails me? Eternal felicity secured is a noble panacea, and a sufficient antidote against the heaviest disappointments and misfortunes of this deceitful world! A faithless flatterer, a falsifying friend, a violated promise, a mob of backbiters, sad disappointment, a worldly loss, a thwarted enterprise, a vain expectation, a disappointed hope—what do all these matter—in comparison of the everlasting interests of my immortal soul? But, if these afflictions make me miserable, shall I make myself more miserable still, by handling the coals which burn me, and reading over the register of my misfortunes, which will be forgotten in eternity? How, then, shall I anticipate the felicity of the world to come—but by forgetting my miseries in the triumph of faith? Moreover, these many turnings, and stupendous meanders of my life, are all squared by the straight line of the decree of God, with whom nothing is crooked. The seeming gaps of my lot are but the fulfilment of heaven’s design concerning me, and my repeated disappointments are only the accomplishment of the wise counsel of God. Besides, who can tell what heaven has in reserve for me? It is good to wait on God, and expect good at his hand. "Ah!" says unbelief, "nothing good at present appears." Hush! you atheistical monster, will you limit Omnipotence, or allege, that infinite wisdom is confounded, and Almighty Power not able to perform what it desires? I shall yet see his kindness as large as my faith, and his mercy measure with my widest expectations. May I never get the desire of my heart, but only as it is consistent with God’s blessing; nor the request of my lips but only as it is consistent with his good will. This is, indeed, consolation to me, that no sinister views stare ghastly in my face, when so many struggling thoughts pass through my suffering heart. If my sin be a sin of ignorance, pardon me, and show me why you contend with me. But, perhaps my heart was too much set on my favorite desire, which, though lawful in itself, might by excess, become unlawful. So Aesop hugged his child to death, out of too much fondness. Then let me keep within the due bounds of esteem, everything below; and take a loose hold of all earthly things, that when they are twisted out of my hand, they may not torment my heart! But why are you disquieted, my soul? Why uneasy still? Recall your past life, and lay it down before you, and mark, if you can, when you had any reason to complain of Heaven’s dealings towards you. Have not things, which, at their first appearance, seemed adverse and painful—turned out at last for good? Say, when you review the whole, say, if you dare—if ever God dealt badly with you! No! Every providence will prove the contrary! Every mercy will affirm it! Yes, every change of life, every crook of your lot will seal it. But, seeing this is your work, O God! the effect of your ever righteous and wise will, I ought not only to be silent—but rejoice in your sovereign dealings; and be glad in that you have done for me, and wonder that you should so concern yourself with me, so as to disappoint my ignorant designs, schemes, plans, and enterprises! Hence I bless you for all that befalls me. If I have had sinful plans, I plead for pardon through Christ’s meritorious name. Now, I rest, and am composed, and calmly wait on you, resigned to heaven’s determination, in everything concerning me in time—until I arrive at that better country, at that perfect state, where there is neither disappointment nor pain! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 25: 03.012. EXPERIENCE ======================================================================== EXPERIENCE How good is it to trust in God, and wait for kindness at his hand! When hope is gone, and all endeavors rendered useless, his watchful providence grants me my request, opens a door for me, and does all that I desire—which is truly good for my soul. O how I admire the kindness of his love, and the wise disposal of his providence! When disappointments thronged thick on me, I knew not what to think, or what to do; but through your grace, I waited for your counsel, and have not waited in vain. Your time, your way, your method, are the best. You clearly see through dark scenes, and know my frame, and best what suits it—than the deepest penetration of my heart ever can. Now, when I have for many years, as it were, tried the dispensation of God’s providence, what have I to say against it? Nothing! For, what at first appeared dark, intricate and perplexing—in a little while became clear and intelligible. Yes, sometimes that scene which seemed most gloomy on the outer wheel, when the inner wheel revolved, shone most glorious, even to my astonishment; so that, what has in the beginning extorted desponding thoughts from me, has in the end excited me to songs of praise! In the part of my life which is already past, and in the scenes of providence which are already cleared up, I cheerfully confess, and sing—He has done all things well! This is confirmed to me by the experience of many years; so that I blush when I see some of the ’mysteries of Providence’ in part unriddled—that I have had such low apprehensions of the love and goodness of God, measuring his wisdom by my shallow comprehension, his power by my cramped weakness, his love by my unbelief; his goodness by my evil eye, and his ways with me—by my ways with him! Yes, I have been vile enough, in every new scene of providence, to fall anew into the same sin, and subject myself anew into the same shame and blushing. "Experience is the schoolmaster of fools," says the proverb. But what a fool must I be, who will not be instructed by all I have seen! Why should I have one hard thought of the painful circumstances with which I am at present entangled? Though in many things I have yet the dark side—and not the bright side of the cloud towards me; yet I should not have the least hard conclusion on the conduct of God’s unerring Providence—but wait until it be accomplished, and cleared up to me. But how shall I blush, (were it possible) and be confounded at my base thoughts of God and his providence—when ’the wandering labyrinth that composed my life’ shall be unriddled in the noon-day brightness of glory—to my unspeakable joy, and everlasting admiration! As I cannot recall these doubts that now distract my bosom, to convert them into acts of faith; nor these murmurings to hush them into silent resignation; I should study now to glorify God in the deepest valley of misery, and darkest night of adversity—by thinking highly and honorably of him who governs all things—both heaven and earth. Finally, how sweet must that day be to my soul, when my experience shall confirm and confess the kind end of every providence; and providence shall sweetly explain and accomplish the promise; and all shall join in one voice forever. Not one good thing has failed of all that the Lord has spoken! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 26: 03.013. CONTENTMENT ======================================================================== CONTENTMENT What would you have, O my soul! to make you content? You have much in hand, and more in hope. You have the comforts of life, and the means of salvation; the word preached and the sacraments dispensed; an open vision, and an English Bible. You have the possession of the life that now is, and the promise of that which is to come. If you are not so blessed as some, you are not so miserable as others. If there are many in a higher and better state in the world than you, (and should you quarrel?) there are more in a lower and worse condition, (and should not you wonder that you are so blessed?) If you get bread to eat, and clothing to put on; or anything which is a blessing—it is much, seeing you deserve the curse and wrath of God! It is mercy that you are an inhabitant of God’s earth—you might have been a prisoner in the pit of devouring fire! You have cause of thankful exultation, that God’s justice is not inexorably set against you. And it may content you in however bad condition you presently are—that God does not contend with you forever. Are you not ashamed to wish for much—when you have forfeited all? Would you rather have your better part here on this vain earth—than the eternal portion hereafter? Would rather you have the nether-springs of earthly comforts—than the upper-springs of heavenly consolation? Would you rather have filthy lucre—than the most blessed God? Would you rather have earthly felicity—than heavenly glory? No, Lord! You, yourself, your love alone—shall content me forever! Anything you now give me, is too much for me—who deserve nothing! A crumb of mercy a rich banquet to me—who am a spiritual bankrupt. What does it matter, how I now fare—since I shall in a little while, be brought into the king’s palace, there to abide forever in the midst of eternal pleasures? Surely, then, his time can never be bitter—who has the hope of an happy eternity! Nor can crosses greatly vex that soul—who is crucified to the world, and the world to him! Nor has he any loss to fear—who has his treasures in eternity! Neither can worldly misfortunes impoverish him—who is an heir of the true eternal riches. Nor can the death of friends distress him—whose best friend lives forever! I see, then, I only need one thing to make me happy. And that is, to know the precious things of my eternal treasure! Speak, and I am blessed forever; speak the heavenly word, "All things are yours, and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 27: 03.014. DEATH ======================================================================== DEATH There is a lesson which concerns the whole world, which few of the world lay to heart; and that is—that all men are mortal. The lives of most people, deny the inevitability of death—they live as though they will never die. I myself confess I must meet with death—but conclude myself immortal for the present, and so don’t concern myself with death for the time being—though multitudes drop down around me. Ah! when do I think on death, or suppose its approach near? Many foolish pleasing scenes of life, do I think upon, in my imagination—but how seldom do I think upon the final scene of my death! When do I represent myself to myself, laid on a sick-bed, on a death-bed, with broken groans, cold sweats, trembling joints, languid looks, a failing pulse, and all the signs of death, while friends bewail around me? Or, when do I run through the more solemn and important part of the scene—how, when I leave the world, matters may stand between my soul and God? How I shall appear before the majesty of heaven, and stand in the tremendous judgment? Strange! Is this the practice of one who knows, and sincerely believes—that he must die? Some wise kings have had their sepulchers hewn out long before their death, that every time they saw them, they might, in the midst of all their pomp and glory, see where they must shortly lie. In this even heathens shame me, of whom some have, by their own orders, had admonishments of their own mortality made to them daily; while others have set the skulls of the deceased at their dinner tables, to moderate their mirth, and remind them of mortality. When I look abroad in the world—scenes of sorrow are everywhere to be seen. Sometimes both parents taken away from a young family of helpless orphans. At other times, the rising children, the apparent support of their aged and infirm parents, are snatched away from the gray-headed mourners! Who shall quarrel with Omnipotence, whether he cut down the young plants from around the table—or breaks the aged tree from amidst the dependent sprigs? Indeed, it is hard to persuade ’fond affection’ into silence, or to attain to resignation under the loss of a beloved friend. For when my renewed part is prostrate at the throne of the all-wise Disposer, then my corruption is apt to rise in rebellion against the doings of the Most High. But where have I most interest—in my nearest beloved relations, or in God? Is one creature more connected with another creature, by any tie, than the Creator of both? What do I pray for—but that the will of God be done? And yet, if death comes near my family, I take back my word, and would have my will preferred to God’s will! All I am, and have—are God’s to dispose of—how and when he pleases! He will never infringe his justice, or forget his compassion and love, even in my afflictions! Would not I glorify God in my life, and in my death? and why not also in the death of my friends? He glorified himself in their life, therefore they existed; he glorifies himself in their death, therefore they die. Will I pull with God—or against him? Will I tell him that he cannot have my friends yet, for though they have served their generation, yet they have not served my fond affection? An excess of grief here bewrays my lack of love to God, to my relations, and to myself. For if I love God, I will be glad that his will be done with me and those I love—even to death. If I love my friends, I will be happy in their happiness; and if I love my own soul, I will bless God for taking away friends, when they are likely to come too much between myself and my Beloved; and are likely to take too much of my affection away from him who is altogether lovely, and the chief among ten thousand! Death and life, earth and heaven, time and eternity, the footstool and the throne—are yours, O Sovereign God. Can I then bewail my godly friends, of whose felicity I have the sound hope—that they are brought from death to life, translated from earth to heaven, from time to eternity, and from the footstool to the throne? They are above the reach of sorrow; and, on that account, shall I be below the reach of comfort? Though carnal ties are dissolved in death, yet the spiritual relation never ceases. So it matters not where the spiritual family dwells; for even in heaven they are exalted members of our exalted Head, and I an earthly member of the same exalted Head. Thus, though far scattered, some in this world, some in the other world, yet all shall be convened together in "the general assembly and church of the first born"—free from sin, and free from sorrow! Almost my anguish would convert to joy, did not streams of briny grief pollute the crystal current, and recall my ponderous loss. But what call I loss? Absence—not loss! They are found with God—dwell in and with God—so in what respects are they lost? Only as I cannot see them. What is my grief—to those who are so happy? And why should I grieve, when I know them to be so happy? If my friend far from home, in a foreign country, informed me that he was in all ways prosperous—I would be happy for him. But when my godly friends die, I am sure, not only of their felicity—but of its perpetuity! Whatever my loss be, let me look to God for a supply of all. And since I have do not have them to fondly talk with, let my soliloquy be to God. And as my love cannot penetrate into the decaying sepulcher, to hug their putrefying clay; nor enter eternity to embrace their disembodied soul—let it return and empty itself on God alone. Now I see the vanity of the world! Death when sent, pities not the life of the poor, nor spares not the rich—but is faithful to his charge, and cannot be put off. My godly friends are happy in leaving me, and going to God; I am happy in losing them, and returning to God. God has broken, as Hezekiah did the brazen serpent—the idol to whom I offered incense, only due to God, and called it a piece of clay. But now may the sweet hopes of a blessed immortality banish the sorrows of present dissolution, and mitigate my grief; the more so as I need not sorrow, like those who have no hope. A little while—and I myself will be no more! Soon my dust shall mingle with theirs, and wait that joyful trumpet—which shall summon every godly slumberer to immortality and bliss! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 28: 03.015. COMMUNION WITH GOD, WHAT IT IS ======================================================================== Communion with God, what it is Communion with God is an expression often in my mouth—but which sinks no further. I may know the word—but neither its blessed import, nor glorious extent. My prayers and practice jar; for while I beg it with my lips, I study not to attain it in my life. Ah! what a stranger am I to that which I would gladly have flattered myself that I am acquainted with! Alas what do I know of walking with God—of that joy which is found in believing? What do I know of the lasting and abiding impressions of his inexpressible love! What do I know of that transforming vision, and assimilating sight which is enjoyed below, whereby the soul is changed into God’s image, from glory to glory! What do I know of dwelling in his presence all the day long! What of pouring out my soul in prayer to him! and wrestling with him for the blessing! How seldom is my meditation of him sweet! Union with God is the basis of communion with him; for how can those walk or talk together who are not agreed? O then be joined to the Lord, and become one spirit! But, my soul, mistake not communion, for it lies not in a flaming profession, nor in the performance of Christian duties, as reading, hearing, praying, praising, though enjoyed in these; nor in the greatest abilities, and brightest talents; nor in lofty expressions in prayer; nor in the knowledge of divine things. What is it then? It is just a dwelling in and with God, and God dwelling in and with the soul. It is God’s love going out on the soul, and the soul in love going out on God. God dwells in the duty with supplies of grace, in the meditation as its subject, and in the heart as a portion and chief good. And the soul dwells in God as her ultimate end, dilates in his fullness, delights in his bliss. The soul that is blessed with such a communion, favored with such a fellowship, knows no other object for her love; no other subject for her thoughts; no other employment for her faculties; no higher degree of happiness for her attainment, than consummate communion; no other beloved for her affection; and no other end for her existence. Nor is this all. In communion with God, the soul shares of his fullness, communicates of his glory, drinks at his pleasures, satiates herself with his love, participates of his communicable perfections, enters into his joy, and partakes of the divine nature. O life of angels! O paradise of love, O transporting employ! O ecstacy of bliss! The soul is always with Gods now in prayer, then in praise; now in meditation, then in worship. She has not a complaint but she tells to God; not a grief but she makes known to him; not a sin but she mourns over, to him; not a request, not a desire—but she reveals to him. O that holy intimacy that is contracted between the soul and God! that freedom of converse, that wrestling with God in prayer, disputing about the blessing! Let me go—I will not let you go until you bless me! This is the life of heaven on earth, God come down to man—or man taken up to God. Now, my soul, what do you think of all this? Ah! the carnal mind is enmity against God, and against communion with God. Then I must either be crucified to the world, or cursed with the world. Communion with God is not a ’Sunday’s devotion’—a rapture in time of praise or prayer, and returning greedily to the world. Communion is another thing than I have hitherto taken it to be. It is constant and continual. I should endeavor to keep my soul always in an heavenly frame, even in earthly affairs—thus the angels, even in messages to our world, carry heaven with them. Although I must mind the necessary affairs of this life, yet I should carry God to the field with me, and to the closet, to the street, and to my table. I should work, and walk, fall asleep, and awake in his presence; and talk with him on my bed, when all around me keep silence; and when hurried away with vain rovings, my soul should still return to God, as her center, as her resting place. O the pleasure that is in this life of communion with God! It is a young heaven, with which, in the highest degree of perfection, all the saints in glory are blessed. Then, Lord, begin this life of communion in my soul, to which I am too much a stranger! Destroy everything that would destroy it! And as I would desire to live with you hereafter, so let me endeavor to live with you here, and thus improve for eternity, and prepare for the world to come! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 29: 03.016. THE DISPOSAL OF PROVIDENCE ALWAYS BEST ======================================================================== The disposal of Providence always best Why would I still take the government of myself out of your hand, and choose according to my fond desires? Can my ignorance penetrate through the thick darkness of futurity? Who would choose a blind mad-man to guide him through some lonely ways and intricate meanders, with which neither the traveler nor the guide are acquainted in the least: since he might lead him where he desires, and stab him as he strays? It is surely safer to walk by faith in God, than to be led by my whims. I choose what is most agreeable to me; but God chooses what is most advantageous for me--and proves, in his disposal of me, that his love to me is greater than my love to myself. I love blindly—but he loves with the wisdom of a God! I would have my prayers answered at my time—but God answers them at his time, which is always the best time. I would have my blessings in large sums—but he gives them in small parcels, because I could not bear them all at once. So the prudent mother feeds her child, not according to the irregular appetite of her infant—but according to its real necessity, to afford nourishment. In this unhappy life, it is not the least of my happiness, that I am not at my own direction, at my own disposal: for a ship without pilot, and at the mercy of wind and waves, might as well find the desired port--as I attain to rest and tranquility. Through faith and patience it is, that I must inherit the promises. Therefore God, to make me inherit them in the way that all the saints have done before, tries my patience, and exercises my faith. And dare I quarrel his conduct, or be displeased at such bright displays of his peculiar care and loving kindness? Why, then, so many risings in my bosom, so many doubtings in my soul? Hence I will conclude of every contingency in my lot, however contrary to my enterprises and designs, however crushing to flesh and blood--that it is the very best for me, both with respect to this world and that which is to come! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 30: 03.017. LOVE IN ITS FOURFOLD EXTENSION ======================================================================== Love in its fourfold extension "I pray that you, being rooted and firmly established in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the length and width, height and depth of God’s love." (Ephesians 3:17-18) Some things may have—height as the heavens, depth as the sea, and breadth and length as the earth. But divine love has a height which cannot be seen, a depth which cannot be sounded, a length which cannot be limited, and a breadth which cannot be measured! O Lord! may I know your love in its depth, in bringing me out of the lowest hell; in its height, in setting me on the Redeemer’s throne; in its breadth, in making me an heir of God; and in its length, in eternalizing my bliss in the regions of glory! This love, in its depth, recovers and restores fallen man to endless felicity; in its height, crowns and confirms the church of the first-born; the inhabitants of the better country walk at liberty in its breadth, and rejoice in its length, its eternal duration. You, Lord, have, in your love, been my dwelling-place before the mountains were brought forth; and are my dwelling-rock while I wander in the howling desert, and will be my temple when sun and moon are no more. Well does your love deserve a fourfold definition, that answers my fourfold situation. You have loved me with an everlasting love, when in the loins of my parents, therefore with loving kindness do you draw me to yourself. You love me now, when I appear in this world, a man composed of soul and body; therefore do you reveal yourself to me. You will love me when I exist in a separate state, when my body is laid in the silent grave, and my soul carried to the world of spirits; therefore, at my dissolution, shall I enter into the joy of my Lord. And you will love me when my soul and body are united again; therefore you will pass the gracious sentence on me, in the sight of men and angels; and, in the sight of the whole world, present me with a crown of life, a crown of glory, which fades not away. When I lay weltering in my blood, it pitied me; when running on in the mad career of sin, it converted me; and now that I am reconciled, your love will never leave me—but at last will crown my graces with perfection. Your glorious love extends to every point, to every quarter. In the rugged path of life, it supports me; amidst the sorrows of life, it comforts me; in the hour of death, it is my sun and shield; and at the day of judgment, shall spread all heaven before me. This love, in its depth, answers my necessities; in its height, crowns my highest expectations; in its breadth, replenishes my soul with goodness; and in its length, satiates my most enlarged desires of mind, and suits the eternity of my existence. In the depth of this love, the Son of God became man: and in its height men are made the sons of God. It locks the gates of hell, so that I shall never fall into perdition: it opens the gates of heaven, so that I shall enter in, to swim in an ocean of love, whose height and depth, breadth and length, shall be the subject and the song of the church triumphant around the throne, through everlasting day! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 31: 03.018. SLANDER ======================================================================== SLANDER What a wicked world do we live in! If happy and successful—we are envied; if miserable—we are despised; and in every condition—slandered. With the psalmist of old, I may say, "the mouth of the slanderer is opened against me." With him I may add, "They have spoken against me without a cause." O that, with him, I could also say, "But I gave myself to prayer!" I am not the first man who has suffered innocently. The man after God’s own heart, in the darkest day of his distress; (for slander has no pity,) is attacked by a subject, and has the most virulent speeches thrown out against him, accompanied with dust; and the most bitter reproaches, sent home with vollies of stones! David, you were never more like a king, nor more like the King of heaven, than now, who makes his sun to shine on the good and the evil, and sends rain on the just and unjust. I read, I admire, and would imitate: "Let him alone, let him curse, for the Lord has bidden him." Such patience under such ill usage, at any other time, would not have been prudent; but now it is like a king, like a saint, like an angel, like God. From David, I cast my eye to David’s Lord, the God of angels, who, by his own creatures, and to his very face is called a devil. He whose miracles set his divinity above doubt, is accused as a deceiver, condemned as an impostor, and executed as a malefactor; yet hear his prayer; "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." The patience of the type, and the prayer of the antitype, let me study to imitate. How cautious should we be in believing detracting stories, since nothing can be more like truth, yet nothing more untrue—than slander. But O how sweet is the testimony of a good conscience! It is an impenetrable shield against all the poisoned arrows of reproach. When the soul can call in the heart-searching God to witness its innocency, well may it triumph, knowing that "the curse causeless shall not come." But how difficult is it to be of a meek and forgiving spirit, when despitefully slandered! To love an enemy, and forgive an evil-speaker, is a higher attainment than is commonly believed. Christianity in theory, and Christianity in practice, are very different things! It is easy to talk of Christian forgiveness among neighbors—but to practice it ourselves, proves us to be Christians indeed. The evil language of evil times need not greatly disturb me, since in the day of judgment "my judgment shall be brought forth as the noon-day." While I pray for pardon to my slanderers, I also plead, that their evil speeches may not be established in the earth. My passion runs in a wrong channel; for my grief should be greater that the malicious slanderer sins against God, against his own soul, and against the truth, in his elaborate lies—than for all the mischief his bitter reproaches can do to me. Every time the military man enters the field of battle, he must either stand his ground, or come off with disgrace; so under every trial my graces either must reap advantage, or suffer loss. Therefore, my present duty is not to slander my slanderers, not to meditate revenge, or rejoice when evil finds them. But, first, to justify God in all things; then, to forgive, pray for, and love my enemies; thirdly to study what I may be reproved in, chastised for, or instructed about; and, lastly, that every grace, (faith in God, patience under the rod, humility of mind, and meekness towards all,) may improve under the present providences. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 32: 03.019. FEAR AND OTHER PASSIONS ======================================================================== Fear, and other passions Four things I should fear—God, myself, temptation, and sin. I should fear God, for his greatness; self, for its infirmity; temptation, for its danger; and sin for its defilement. I should fear God with love; myself with caution; sin with hatred; and temptation with resolution. The fear of God will take away the fear of man; the fear of self will moderate the love of self; the fear of sin will make watchful against sin; and the fear of temptation will be an antidote against temptation. My fear of God should be constant with cheerfulness; of self, constant with trembling; of sin, constant with watchfulness; and of temptation, constant with vigilance. The first is my attainment; the second is my duty; the third is my wisdom; and the fourth is my prudence. The fear of sin shall fly away, when I am made perfect in holiness, and pass into glory; the fear of self shall cease, when self is put off, and God is all in all; the fear of temptation, when Satan is trodden under my feet. But the fear of God shall endure forever; only the panic is removed, when love is made perfect, and casts out fear; for the fear of saints, struggling, with a body of sin and death, has torment in it; but there is no torment in the fear of seraphic hosts, who, with the profoundest awe and reverence before the throne, cover their faces with their wings. I see, then, that love, accompanied with fear that has cast out the torment of terror, shall dwell in every glorified bosom. Several things should be the objects of my most ardent desire; as, the lessening of Satan’s kingdom; the downfall of the Roman Antichrist and the Mohammedan delusion; the conversion of the Jews; the spreading of the gospel and knowledge of God through the world; the growth of practical religion in every bosom; and the hastening of the glory of the latter days. Several things I should admire and wonder at; as, the being and perfections of God; the unity in Trinity, and Trinity in unity; the love of God; the incarnation of the Son; the passion of Christ; the purchase of his sufferings; the names of Immanuel; the offices of the Redeemer; the relations of the God-man; the Holy Spirit’s indwelling in the soul; the union of saints to their Head; the communion of creatures with God; the justification of the guilty; the sanctification of the unclean; the glorification of man—who is but a worm; the great and precious promises; the excellency of grace; the efficacy of faith; the nature and immortality of the soul; and the glories of the world to Come. Several things I should mourn over; as, the hardness of my heart; my ignorance of God; my luke-warmness in the matters of his glory; the prevalence of sin; my lack of love; my promptitude to revenge; my delight in created enjoyments; a carnal mind and tongue; and carelessness about the concerns of the unseen world. And abroad In the world, I should mourn over the degeneracy of the times; the corruption of morals; the abounding of iniquity; the trampling on truth; and the adorning of the temple of error; which, if attacked, the outcry is made, "Great is the light of nature! Great the power of free will, and the excellency of morality! Great is the goddess of the universe!" Several things I should seek above all others; as, the glory of God to more than all other things; his honor more than my credit; and his love more than my own life. And I should grieve more at the sins of others, than for my own sorrows and afflictions, and count my sins a heavier burden than my afflictions. I should esteem the promise of eternal life more than the possession of all created things, and inward joy more than outward peace. And, finally, in the midst of all, several things should cause me to rejoice; as that God governs all things; that all things shall work for his glory, and the good of his people; that righteousness shall dwell in the earth, and sin punished; that grace shall be perfected; and love be blown into a flame, when eternal life is the portion of the soul, and God is all in all in heaven, where vision shall be perfect, fruition complete, communion inconceivably and divinely near, knowledge full, and the saints, (in the highest perfection that creatures can attain unto,) made partakers of the divine nature! Now, what joy may it afford, that the glory of this day, the dawning of eternal glory, is not very far away? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 33: 03.020. UNIVERSAL IMPROVEMENT ======================================================================== Universal Improvement "Make good use of every opportunity you have, because these are evil days." (Ephesians 5:16) As there is not a moment of time but I must account for, so there is nothing that happens me but I should improve. Miseries I should improve—to remind me of my pedigree, that my first father has sinned. Mercies I should improve—in admiring the fountain whence, and the freeness with which they flow. Prosperity I should improve—in cheerful devotion. Adversity I should improve—in consideration. Riches I should improve—in charity. Poverty I should improve—in contentment. Opportunity of revenge I should improve—in a frank forgiveness, and doing good for evil. Evil company I should improve—in raising my estimate of the people of God. Death of loved ones I should improve—in loosening my affections from the creature, raising them to the immortal world, and remembering my latter end. Sickness I should improve—in preparing for my eternal change. Health I should improve—in a cheerful performance of Christian, relative, and social duties. Knowledge I should improve—in testing everything, and holding fast that which is best. Crosses and losses I should improve—in learning the vanity of the world. Answers to prayer I should improve—in returns of praise. Delays I should improve—in patience. Disappointments I should improve—in resignation. Changes in my lot I should improve—in submission. The uproar of kingdoms I should improve—in remembering that God rules the nations, and stills the tumults of the people. Temptation to sin I should improve—in flying to the grace of God, distrusting self, and improving the promise. The treacherous friend I should improve—in adoring the faithfulness of God. Strife and discord in church or state I should improve—in admiring the eternal happy state; when the adorers are one before the throne. Spiritual blessings I should improve—in humility. Spiritual desertions I should improve—in holy diligence. God’s corrections I should improve—in amendments. Gifts I should improve—for edification of others. Time I should improve—for eternity. Grace I should improve—for glory. And my soul in all her faculties I should improve—for God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 34: 03.021. THE SOUL'S ENLARGEMENT ON HIGH ======================================================================== The soul’s enlargement in heaven Here the soul, confined to to its clay tenement, is like a royal personage in prison, whose grand attendance is not seen, because he cannot come abroad. While this heaven-born excellency is here below, wisdom differs but a little from folly: understanding is but a few degrees removed from ignorance: and all the mental powers are feeble. But O the enlargement of the soul in heaven! This map of future glories, now folded up in flesh, shall be extended in breadth and length above. How penetrating then shall wisdom be! how active every power! how vigorous the flame of love! how enlarged the understanding! and how beautiful in the heights of glory shall the whole soul appear! Here, the child of grace, who was glad of a seat on the threshold of the temple, and could with joy have been but a door-keeper in the house of God; shall not only be a pillar in the temple above—but shall be a living temple, in which the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, shall condescend to dwell, and fill forever with his glory! O transcending bliss! to be dignified with such an inhabitant, who will write, in letters of immutable love, "This is my rest, here will I dwell forever, for I desire it, and delight in it." Yes, in fine, the soul which would be content to shine as the least star in the sky of glory, shall, in the visions of God, be extended to a transparent heaven, and spread into a cloudless sky, in which all the perfections of God shall sparkle like the stars, and the graces of the Holy Spirit, like so many planets shall roll round the sun of righteousness, eager to approach his assimilating beams, his vivifying rays: while God, the sum and source of bliss, fixed in his love in the center of the soul, shall spread his quickening flames to every corner of the heart. No more vexations, like vapors exhaled by the heat of righteous indignation, shall fill my atmosphere with the suffocating fogs of anguish, or fall in showers of sorrow that end in streams of briny tears. Thunders and tempests there no more molest—where all is tranquility; no eclipse—where all is light; no shadow—where all is illumination; no evening—where all is everlasting day. This sky, spread out by the fingers of redeeming love, this new created heaven, is not only beauteous—but shall be strong to stand forever; and then, and there, O how shall union be strengthened, holiness increased! How shall joy heighten, wisdom grow, knowledge ripen, communion be most free, and ecstasy and rapture swell, fill, and overflow forevermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 35: 03.022. AFFLICTION THE LOT OF SAINTS BELOW ======================================================================== Affliction the lot of saints below While I am mortal, I must taste of the waters of Mara; drink of the cup of adversity; and swim the tempestuous ocean. It is the perfection of angels, that they could never experience the pain of mental disquiet, or the pangs of anguish. And it is the happiness of departed saints, to obtain joy for mourning, a crown for crosses; and to forget their misery, if not wholly, yet to remember it as waters, once swelled to a dreadful flood—but which now have forever flown away. It is, then the misery of the sons of men, only while here, to be, as it were, a mark set up for the arrows of tribulation, and to be engaged in constant war, and in perpetual broils. But it is the privileges of the Christian soldier to wear the shield of faith, with which he shall be able to quench the fiery darts of Satan, and to ward off the sling-stones of tribulation which pelt him from every quarter. How, then, may I triumph under all my afflictions? Consider, 1. Afflictions come from God, whatever, be the instrument. "You have chastised me, and I was chastised—you have afflicted me in faithfulness." 2. Afflictions are sent out of love. "Whom the Lord loves he chastens, and scourges every son whom he receives." 3. Afflictions are for my good. "Our human fathers punished us for a short time, as it seemed right to them; but God does it for our own good, so that we may share his holiness." 4. Afflictions are for the exercise of grace, even of that noble grace of faith. "When I am afraid, I will trust in you;" here faith is improved by affliction. "Consider it a great joy, my brothers, whenever you experience various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. But endurance must do its complete work, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing." "And not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us." 5. Afflictions are noble antidotes against, and preservatives from sin. "Before I was afflicted, I strayed—but now I keep your word." 6. Afflictions assimilate the saints to their glorious Head, their sympathizing and feeling High Priest, who was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." Yes, in the work of redemption, "the Captain of their salvation was made perfect through sufferings." 7. Afflictions give a general disgust of all created things, and prove the creature to be subject to vanity; hence, says one much tempered in affliction, "I have seen an end of all perfection." 8. Afflictions teach humanity and sympathy to fellow-creatures in the same circumstances. Israel, from their being strangers, were to know the heart of a stranger, and deal kindly with him; and in this men ought to imitate him, "who suffered being tempted, that he might know how to support those who are tempted, and be a merciful High Priest to his people." 9. Afflictions make very humble, and break the haughty mind and bring down the lofty thought. "I shall go softly all my years, in the bitterness of my soul; my soul is as a weaned child." And God has this in view by them—to hide pride from man. 10. Afflictions make the man rightly exercised therein, to know himself, and think on his former ways; to resort often to the throne of grace, go often to God, and increase, as it were, the acquaintance between God and his soul. "In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord. 11. Afflictions give clear and certain proof of the providence of God, who in six troubles and in seven delivers out of them. They preach his power, who makes his people pass through fire and water, not to ruin, which we might well expect—but to a wealthy place, to heaven and to glory. 12. Afflictions prepare for glory, and make us fit to join the company of those who came out of great tribulation, and have washed their garments and made them white in the blood of the lamb, therefore are they before the throne of God, and enjoy him in all his divine plenitude, world without end. Shall I, then, despise the discipline of heaven, from which none are exempted, no, not even the Son of God? Yes, all the heirs of glory are brought up in the ’school of the cross’. O royal privilege, inestimable blessing, to be under the care of heaven, and tutelage of God! Away, despondency, begone; you would cast a covering over the love of him who is my tower in troublous days; and make me conclude hard things of him who has thoughts of kindness towards me. Can infinite wisdom be at a loss to contrive, or infinite power confounded to bring to pass, to bring to perfection, my relief? Until then, I shall, I will believe; nor shall I look to means, or tie Omnipotence to them. Bring Israel to the rock to quench their thirst! What! Can solid flint be converted into a cooling stream? But, lo! the aged rock divides asunder, and lets the promised springs refresh the parched multitude! Omnipotence, rather than not perform, will stop the course of nature, and make the restless billows rise in liquid walls, that Israel’s bondaged sons may tread the trackless sand! Omnipotence will bid the raven feed, with morning and evening care, the wandering prophet; and forbid the fire to burn, or even to singe the garments of the glorious martyrs. Yes, to feed his chosen people, he creates and rains down manna from above. Who, then, should bound his power, or doubt his faithfulness? God will never break his word, whatever men think; nor falsify his faithful promise. Cursed unbelief implies, that either God promises what he never intends to perform, or what he is not able to perfect; both which are blasphemous! Both which, O my soul! abhor, and rather rejoice in tribulation, which, when watered with the dew of heaven, is so far from being a barren soil—that it is the nursery of other graces, and produces endurance; endurance produces proven character; and proven character produces hope; and hope produces strong confidence, and sweet dependence on that God whose love is shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Spirit. Again, in affliction the saints are ascertained of the love and care of God, when their prayers enter into his holy habitation, and their requests are answered to the joy of their soul. Hence it was sin in Israel to chide with Moses, and to quarrel with God, when brought into difficulties and dangers that seemed inextricable every way. Before them the Red Sea forbids them to advance, high hills on every side hinder their escape; and behind advancing hosts, swollen with rage, and ravening after blood, deny a safe retreat. Now man is more than bewildered; all courage fails; faith and hope are low; fears are high; and, alas! their eye is not towards Him who can do all things, and who did instantaneously, to manifest his power, and fix his people’s faith in himself, divide the raging floods, and build the restless waters in crystal walls, to bound their steps in ways not known before, and clothe them in shady night which darted pitchy darkness in the eyes of the keen pursuer. Seeing You, O Governor of men! can make crooked things straight, rough places plain, and affliction even to become a friend—I will rejoice in you forever, nor quarrel at your conduct. Yes, woe to them; nay, woe to me, if I use any unlawful means, or be too anxious to set my nest on high, that I may be delivered from the power of evil. Agitating affliction, like the ebb and flow of the sea—casts out mire and dirt, sweeps its troubled bosom, refines the affections, and purifies the soul. Take courage, O my soul! and mind that in a little while—and sin will be no more, and sorrow will be no more, and temptations will be no more, and troubles will be no more; and time will be no more. But yet a little while, and love, and life and light, and liberty, and joy, and glory, rapture and delight—in a word, God and all his fullness—are yours for evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 36: 03.023. PRIVATE EXPERIENCE ======================================================================== Private Experience O the wonderful condescension of God! If he looks into heaven, among thrones and dominions, seraphim and cherubim—it is humility, stupendous humility. How much more when he casts his caring eyes on this inferior world of ours! But still most of all, when he hears the cries, and answers the requests, of one who is infinitely less than the least of all his mercies! "You have heard, and I am revived; you have answered me, and I am confirmed in my belief of your love towards me. Lord! henceforth let all my love be yours and on you let all my faith depend." Now I know to whom to fly, and where it is safe to hide. Now I know, that one day is to God as a thousand years, and that whatever he can do in a thousand years, he can do in one day. Now, to the friend that sticks closer than a brother, with confidence I will cleave. Faith could never be too large in its requests to God in prayer; but God has many a time gone beyond faith in his returns of mercy, and made the blessing broader than belief itself, and more extensive than the utmost expectation. Alas! it is night in the soul, when unbelief suggests that God’s ear is heavy that he cannot hear, and his hand shortened, that he cannot save. Lord, let such a night never spread over my horizon; but let the day-star of faith spread out the morning, until the glorious sun brings in the perfect day. My extremity has been, and still shall be—your opportunity to appear in my relief. Circumstances with me may come to my utmost, even to my last extreme—but can never come to your utmost. You can save to the uttermost—all who come unto you. Let others resolve the conduct of providence as they please; but for my part, I approve and praise, and henceforth shall be at your disposal, O glorious Governor of men and angels! Do with me as you will, for your kindness I have experienced from my cradle, and shall do to the tomb. The world is a stranger to the mystery of providence, and to the communion your people have with you therein. They know nothing of the prayer of faith, nor of the return of prayer. When the soul is helped to take firm hold of God in the promise, and to look to him alone, and nothing else, and none besides—it is a prelude of approaching mercy. Now if my conscious soul can blush, let me be ashamed out of my unbelief forever. Blessed be your name that you have not dealt with me as I have sinned, nor given me my own measure into my bosom, and repaid my low thoughts of God with scanty outlettings of your kindness. Now, O Lord! hold me in the hollow of your hand, and under your wings let me reside; while any way you shall dispose of me, shall every way delight me, until I am brought at last beyond the reach of time, where changes and mutations shall never more take place! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 37: 03.024. ALL PLENITUDE IN CHRIST, TO ANSWER ======================================================================== All plenitude in Christ, to answer all the needs of His people "From his fullness we have all received one gracious gift after another." (John 1:16) All plenitude is in Christ, to answer all the needs of His people. In Christ dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily, that out of His fullness I may receive all spiritual blessings! Have I destroyed myself by sin? I have deliverance from Him who is mighty to save from sin and wrath! Is my foolish mind darkened? Am I a guilty, polluted, and ruined wretch? Jesus is my wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption! Is my life fleeting—and passing away like a shadow? Jesus is the Ancient of days, and endures for evermore! Are my days short-lived and full of trouble? Jesus is my life, the length of my days, and the joy of my heart! Am I exposed to contempt? Jesus shall be my crown of glory, and diadem of beauty! Am I traveling through the wilderness? Jesus is my staff, and on Him I lean all the way! Am I on my last journey to my long home? Jesus is my leader, and my rewarder! Am I a sheep? Jesus is my pasture, and my green pasture too! Am I hungry and thirsty? Jesus is my heavenly manna, and gives me to drink of the water of life! Am I weary? Jesus is my rest and refreshing! Am I weak? Jesus is my strength! Am I oppressed and wronged? Jesus is my judge, and my avenger! Am I reproached? The reproach of His people, Jesus will wipe away! Am I a soldier? Jesus is my Captain and shield! Must I fight in the field of battle? Jesus is my armor in the day of war! Do I sit in darkness? Jesus is my light! Do I have doubts? Jesus is my counselor! Am I ignorant? Jesus is my wisdom! Am I guilty? Jesus is my justification! Am I filthy? Jesus is my sanctification! Am I dead in sin? Jesus is my life, and quickens those who are dead in trespasses and sins! Am I poor? Jesus is the pearl of great price, and has immeasurable riches! Am I blind? Jesus, and none but He can open the eyes of one born blind! Am I naked? Jesus has white clothing to cover the shame of my nakedness! Am I in the very utmost necessity? Jesus is a very present help in time of trouble! Am I exposed to the hurricanes of adversity? Jesus is a refuge from the storm; a shelter from the blast; rivers of water in a desert; the shadow of a great rock in a weary land! Am I afraid of being left alone? Jesus will never leave me, nor forsake me! Do friends and brethren prove false? Jesus is the friend who sticks closer than a brother! Am I in danger from diseases and death; or from sin and Satan? My life is hidden with Christ in God! When He shall appear, I shall appear with Him—immortal in my body, and glorious in my soul! Is my case considered in the court of heaven? There Jesus is my Advocate! Do I offend the Father? Jesus is my Intercessor! Do I suffer in my body, and am I grieved in my mind? Jesus bore my infirmities, and carried my griefs! Is my mind disquieted, and my soul debarred from peace? Jesus is my sympathetic High Priest! He was tempted in all points, and knows how to support those who are tempted! Am I poor in my circumstances? Jesus, the heir of all things! Though He was rich, yet for my sake He became poor, that I through His poverty might be made rich! Do I suffer in my character? Jesus was numbered with transgressors, called a Samaritan, a glutton, a drunkard, and a devil! Am I bereaved or alone? Well, Jesus in the fatal night was left alone; all the disciples forsook Him and fled! Jesus, my only friend, can never die! Must I undergo death and be laid in the grave? Jesus has taken away the sting of death, and robbed the grave of its victory! Must I rot in the grave? Jesus shall be my resurrection, and raise me to immortality and bliss! Would I go to God and to glory? Jesus is my way, and must admit me into the palace of the great King, where I shall abide forever! In summary, Jesus is . . . my brother, my physician, my prophet, my priest, my king, my father, my head, my husband! In eternity, when I shall dwell in the land of bliss, in the city of God—Jesus will be the light thereof! And since I am to worship there forever, He will be the temple of all the redeemed! My needs are many, but His fullness is infinitely more! The morning dews and fructifying showers water the fields, and refresh the parched furrows. But what are they, compared to the exhaustless ocean of Jesus? What is all that I enjoy here below, compared to the exuberant fullness of the heavenly bliss? O! then, how shall my soul be replenished—when possessed of this infinite All, through eternity itself! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 38: 03.025. PRAYER AND PRAISE ======================================================================== Prayer and Praise Prayer and praise is the employment of the two families of earth and heaven—the church-militant and the church-triumphant. Prayer is the native breathings of the heaven-born soul, the lispings of the child of grace, who when grown to the stature of a perfect man in Christ Jesus, and taken home to his higher house—breaks forth into melodious strains of praise. Prayer suits the state below, and praise the state above. Here I am vexed with sin and temptation, with needs and infirmities—therefore I pray. But there I shall be blessed with the removal of sin and temptation, of needs and infirmities—therefore I shall praise. Here God gives all—but for his gifts he will be inquired of, that he may bestow them—hence prayer is now my duty. But there he has given all things, and for his gifts he will be acknowledged by all the heavenly multitude—hence praise then is my debt. Prayer is the soul pouring out itself to God in a state of trial; and praise is the soul’s pouring out itself to God in a state of triumph. Now, as our life is a life of trouble, a complication of calamities, and a scene of affliction—prayer is more properly our continual exercise; for "if any man is afflicted, let him pray." But in heaven, as all is peace, perfection, purity, and joy—praise is most properly their exercise. Hence the multitude before the throne are said "not to rest day nor night" in praising him who sits thereon forever. Yet in the present—as judgment is mixed with mercy, and our condition, however calamitous, has something in it comfortable; therefore praise also is rendered to the Hearer of prayer. The foundation of prayer is God’s all-sufficiency and promise, and my insufficiency; for if I needed nothing, l would ask nothing from the hand of God—like those of old who said, We are lords, we will come no more unto you. And as I must believe that God is, if I come unto him, so I must believe that God has the power and desire to give, and will give according to his promise—if I ask of him. O divine exercise below! for while I present my supplication, and narrate my grievances, I am sometimes transported from these glooms of anguish to a calm and tranquility of mind, where I am filled with rapture, while by faith foresee all my requests fulfilled, and the causes of my sorrow annihilated in his love. By prayer, the soul’s embassy on the most interesting affairs is carried to the court of heaven, sometimes in broken sentences, devout requests, pious aspirations, sighs, and groans. By prayer, I reveal my mind to the Most High, ease my burdened bosom, cast all my difficulties on God—and then composedly rest. Prayer is the Christian’s evening and morning sacrifice to God. The prayerless person is the profane atheist, who denies adoration to the Author of his being. O! then, to be sensible of the majesty of God, for fear of whom my very flesh should tremble! O deluded Papist! why commit your suits to angels, or departed saints? Though they were concerned for you, which they are not, yet, seeing they attend the throne of God in the highest heavens, they can neither know of your complaints nor you, unless possessed of omnisciency, which it were blasphemous to suppose. But is not God everywhere, and fills the very heart? As in him you live, move, and breath, so in him you think; and to him alone, through his beloved Son, you should pour out all your petitions and supplications. Friends may be removed, acquaintance taken away, public worship without reach, liberty denied, I banished from my native land; yet the soul and prayer must never separate. The royal charter is lodged within my bosom, that I may be robbed of everything sooner than of liberty to come with boldness through the blood of Jesus—to the throne of grace. The wicked, through his pride of heart, will not call upon God; but it is my highest honor to be admitted into the presence of the King eternal, and to have his ear open, and attentive to my request. What is the saints’ prayer book? Just affliction, and a body of sin and death lying hard upon him; and Christ, in all his divine offices and endearing relations. The first teaches him what to pray for, and the last to whom to pray. In this divine exercise, God condescends to wrestle with his people, and in the struggle to be prevailed upon: "Let me go," says God. "I will not," says the wrestler, "until you bless me." In prayer God and the soul meet, and hold communion together; then the curtain of heaven is drawn aside, that I may look in, and see my large possessions. Then do I get a glance of the King in his beauty, and a glimpse of the excellences of the life above—so that I am filled with wonder, and desire to depart, and to be with Jesus! This is the well at which I drink the heavenly water, and am refreshed and strengthened for my journey. "Lord, while allowed to come into your presence with boldness, let secret sin, (ah! what avails it that the world does not know?) never cause a secret shame before you." Meantime, may I know in whom I believe, to whom I reveal my cause, and utter my petitions, and rejoice because the day is approaching when I shall not need to ask anything, because possessed of all. O eternal triumph! when my prayers shall be turned into praise; my petitions into acclamations of joy; mourning, sighs and groans—into hosannas and endless hallelujahs; when beams of glory shall enlarge my ravished powers of mind—and sacred bounty overflow my enraptured soul forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 39: 03.026. ON A BLIND BEGGAR ======================================================================== On a blind beggar Poor man! you walk in darkness, though presented on every side with noon-day beams. You must commit yourself to your fellow-creatures, and by them be led from door to door. Who can but sympathize with your condition, and pity you? Poison unknown to you may be poured into your cup. You may fall into the fire or the water, or a ditch. You may dash your foot against every stone, and have the naked sword brandished at your bosom, while ignorant of your danger. How melancholy, then, the case of those people who are spiritually blind—who drink the cruel "poison of asps;" who fall into every ditch of sin; who run into every danger; and oppose their hardened bosom against the naked point of justice’s flaming sword! And how sad that the people in this condition, ignorant of their danger—should sport with wrath, and make a mock at sin! If we heard of whole nations struck blind, and not one left to lead another—but all perishing in this deplorable situation, how would we feel in the tenderest manner for them! Now, are there not whole nations who sit in the region and shadow of death, who grope in darkness, and never find their way to heaven? For them, therefore we should feel in a tender manner—from the very bottom of our souls. Should not all Christians exert themselves to their very utmost, to spread the saving knowledge of a Savior among the heathen? Could a man heal the blind, how would they gratefully accept the cure, and bless the healing hand! But, in a land where life and immortality are brought to light—how many sit in darkness, and will not leave their gloomy cell for all the beauties of the day? Happy those who have the eyes of their mind opened, and in his heavenly light see light clearly; who see the deformity of sin, the beauty of holiness, the excellency of true religion, the necessity of the new birth, the preciousness of Christ, the glory of eternal realities; and shortly, in the light of glory, shall see as they are seen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 40: 03.027. LOVE IN SAINTS ======================================================================== Love in Saints Love is a passion planted in the human bosom, which once was wholly a holy seed—but is now turned into the degenerate plant of a corrupted vine. Before sin entered into the world, love wholly centered on God; then the fire burnt purely, and the soul ascended in the sacred flame to God. Then there was sweet fellowship between heaven and earth, and man maintained communion with his Maker. Admiring the beauties of creation, his soul with pleasure ascended up the streams of created excellencies, to the fountain of uncreated glory and ravished with the view, he saw his interest in his Maker to be of a nobler kind than the lower world could claim. This was bliss, and it was this which made paradise so near akin to heaven. This, and not the blooming flowers; this, and not the verdant groves; this, and not the spreading streams; this, and not the fragrant oils; this, and not the bending boughs; this, and not the warbling birds; this, and not a cloudless sky; this, and not the sight of angels; this, and not their mutual love—made our first parents happy in their first abode. But man no sooner admitted sin and Satan in, than God in justice drove him out of paradise, and from his noble station too; and what tongue can tell his sad condition now? His love is not only cooled towards God—but corrupted against God; hence he worships the creature more than the Creator, who is God over all blessed forever. As the lion with terrible majesty hunts his prey through the trembling forest; while the spider, with silent cunning, catches the fly sporting on the window, or entangled under the web; so, from the throne to the ash-heap, every person pursues vanities adapted to his state—and which are destructive to his immortal soul. O how has man gone back by a perpetual backsliding! God punishes it in a dreadful manner; for as they do not retain God in their knowledge, so God gives them up to a reprobate mind. They choose their ways, and God chooses their delusions. God is not in the plans of their heart, and they are not under the conduct of his Spirit. They provoke God to anger by their vanities, and he puts them to pain with vexation and woe! But what is still more to be wondered at, is, that after God has given the brightest manifestations of his infinite love, in readmitting the rebel into friendship, through the sufferings of his well-beloved Son, man should still pursue shadows, and pour his love on perishing trifles! And are not you, my soul, blameworthy here, who is busied every day about vanities—but cold, ice-cold, in love to the Perfection of beauty! Surely the angels of light, and the spirits of just men made perfect, are surprised to see the expectants of the same glory, deluded, charmed, and enchanted with perishing vanities; and not enraptured with the Chief among ten thousand. The inhabitants of the better country despise our sin-burnt beauties, and worm-eaten excellences! Yes, they would blush to mention our delights, or to take up the objects of our love in their lips. What would a seraph care for the scepter of a terrestrial empire? or a glorified saint or the government of an earthly kingdom? And why should I, then, care so much for less things, who am traveling to eternal glory? May I, then, for a moment draw aside the curtain of time, glance into the eternal world, and get a glimpse of the object of my love. Ah me! the vision is too bright, the glory too refulgent for my feeble sight! See all the heavens enlightened with his glory; crowned with majesty divine—he fills his lofty throne, and sways the scepter far through all existence! See seraphim and cherubim bow before him, and mighty angels fall prostrate at his feet! Yes, see him in your nature stand and plead for you, not forgetful of your need, nor deaf to your distress—amidst his boundless glory. See approaching myriads, even the ransomed multitudes, overwhelmed with love to Jesus—adoring him in unutterable strains! And why do you not love him? You can not doubt his power, for he is God; nor his compassion, for he is man; nor his salvation, for he is God-man in one person. All heaven is eternally enamored with him; and it would be rebellion to bid them lift their love, and lay it on any other. The Father loves him, angels love him, saints love him; and it is pleasant in the eye of God that the excellency of all fullness should dwell in him. Under how many ties am I to love him! for what he has been, what he is, and what he will be—to me! For what he has done, what he is doing, and what he will do—for me! Before he made the world my salvation was secured in the sure decree; thus with an everlasting love he loved me; and why with loving-kindness should not I be drawn? Then his delights were with the sons of men. Again, I should love him for what he is to me. But here words cannot express my thoughts, nor my thoughts my subject. He is the mighty God—on my side? The creator of both worlds—for me! His perfections are infinite, innumerable, and eternal! He is self-existent, self-sufficient, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, unchangeable, and independent. He is holy, just, and good; merciful, faithful, long-suffering and compassionate. In a word, God is love; and love begets its like in the soul of every saint, who is filled with wonder at the person of Immanuel, who is everything that they can need. He satisfies every longing desire; performs every endearing office—as prophet, priest, and king; fills every tender relation—as kinsman, friend, brother, father, husband. Love shall be the subject of my song forever! Again, I should love him for what he will be to me. Now, he will be my God even unto death; my shield and sun in the dark valley of dissolution. He will bring me to the palace of the King, with joy on every side; will be my temple in the highest heavens, and my portion through the endless ages of eternity. Likewise, how should I love him for what he has done, is doing, and will do—to me! For me he has done great things, whereof my soul is glad. He has, by making his soul an offering for for my sin—satisfied justice, magnified the law, removed my guilt, and reconciled my soul to God. For what he is doing. He is appearing in the presence of God for me, pleading my cause, interceding on my behalf, and offering my prayers with his own incense at his Father’s throne. He is ordering all things well for me, perfecting what concerns me, hearing my petitions, marking my requests, numbering my groans, correcting my wanderings, and putting my tears into his bottle! And, as my loving High Priest, sympathizing with me in all my afflictions. Lastly, for what he will do. Who, besides you, O God! know what you have laid up for those who love you? Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor can the most capacious soul conceive—of that abundant bliss, which only can be revealed in the enjoyment, and known in the possession! O happy day! when I shall put off mortality, and this clay tabernacle, and join the shining assembly of sinless adorers, whom he feeds and feasts with the fatness of the higher house, satisfies with his likeness, replenishing every grace with his plenitude, and ravishing the whole soul with joy unspeakable and full of glory! Come, then, my soul! look from these present perishing things—to the city of God, where every soul glows with sacred love, and dwells among the assimilating flames. If you saw a man of thirty years chasing flies and feathers, like the child of three, what would you think of him? And while the world is your chase, what, O my vulgar soul! shall I conclude of you? Ransack the whole creation of God, and see if all its excellences together can vie with one ray of his glory, one beam of his love! Then let his love to you constrain your love to him—and thus begin the work of heaven on earth. The perfection of bliss in heaven shall consist in the perfection of love, for love is the sum of felicity. Take away love from heaven, heaven could no more boast of its unbounded bliss. Life, light, love, are the trinity of perfection, and the perfection of the adorable Trinity. Of all the heavenly graces, love only returns to heaven, without any change—but of putting on perfection, and casting out fear. To dwell in love, and to dwell in God, cannot be separated. And the more I dwell in love, the nearer I dwell to God below; and when at last I rise to the highest degrees of love, I shall arrive at the nearest communion with God! Roll on, time—and come, everlasting dawn—that I may plunge into this sea of bliss, this ocean of eternal love, and know what it is to love him to the full—whom here I scarcely dare allege I love! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 41: 03.028. LOVE IN GOD ======================================================================== Love in God Love in the saints is a noble grace—but superlatively glorious in God. On it angels look, and admire; and I should look, and adore. Everything in God has the majesty of a God. Hence, his mercy is in the heavens; his truth reaches to the clouds; his justice is like majestic mountains; his judgments are a great deep; his pity is like that of a father; his patience great to a miracle; he is ready to forgive; his goodness is abundant unto all; and his love, in height, breadth, depth, and length—past knowledge. Although the mercy-seat that dwells so long between the cherubim of gospel-grace shall in a short time, be turned into the fiery throne of judgment; and long-abused patience turned into indignation and wrath; when the royal signet that sealed the salvation of thousands, shall stamp the irreversible doom of an unbelieving world; yet love in God shall undergo no change, Here, in his present world, God’s love shines as the morning-star, through the scattered clouds. In eternity, it shall shine as the noon-day sun, in the illuminated regions of glory. "From everlasting to everlasting," is the epithet of love. A love without beginning and without end—gives a bliss without limits and bounds! This amazing love of God produces a sweet similitude in the love of his saints; so that, as the one measures with the existence of God, from everlasting to everlasting, the other measures with the existence of the new creature, from the hour of conversion to all eternity. Their gifts shall end, their graces change, faith be turned into vision, hope into fruition. But their love shall neither end nor change! It shall heighten and brighten in the altitude of glory, when the drop is lost in the ocean, when the soul arrives at its center, and rests, with ineffable delight, and unspeakable ravishment in God! Again, O how free is this love of God! nothing moving him to love. When we love, it is for something we think excellent and agreeable to us. But God loves the naked child when weltering in its blood, and, as a proof of his astonishing love—cleanses, clothes and makes it lovely through his loveliness being put upon it. Again, his love is a full love. The oceans ebb and flow; if at one time they cover the shores, at another time they leave their beds bare and dry. But his love is perfect in its plenitude, notwithstanding the boundless oceans oceans of his love, that have already watered the whole universe; that have run in mighty torrents among the angelic and seraphic multitudes above, and in amazing inundations among fallen men below. Though there be repeated manifestations of love to his hidden ones, and thousands of his favorites feast on this heavenly food, while traveling through this waste howling wilderness; yes, though the manifestation of his love, through the unnumbered ages of eternity, shall be continued to the glorified throng, still its ardor and exuberance will be evermore the same. The ocean of his love, will not be one drop less for all the waterings of the fields of bliss. After the sun of righteousness, through a duration in eternity beyond conception, and above the reach of thought—has illuminated the spacious continent of glory with his beams—not one ray, not one irradiation, shall be in the least diminished. Again, his love is efficient, active, and an operative love. I may love a fellow-creature, or an absent friend, and yet avail them nothing, nor they so much as know it. But the love of God, like the light, reveals itself wherever it is. His love effectually draws us—and we run to him. His love constrains and compels our love. For a pardoned sinner cannot choose but love the one who so lovingly pardons. Wherever the heavenly spark falls, it sets the soul in a flame! Again, the love of God is a fixed and unchangeable love; and the more the soul is in sorrow or distress, the more free and full are the communications of divine love. In the time of need, the world’s love will give us the slip; but in the most calamitous circumstances, sacred love performs the part of two loves, and sticks closer than a brother. Mortal love, (alas! how many can attest the truth of this!) may today appear ardent, steadfast and sincere—but tomorrow be entirely cooled; yes, converted into slander, hatred, and revenge! But let all the sons of God know, that divine love shall be to them what the holy waters were to the prophet, ever on the increase, until it is an ocean to swim in forever! Against fears on every side this is comfort—that God will rest in his immutable love to his people. Divine love is also a beneficent love. Jonathan loved David exceedingly—but could not do much for him, nor save him from being expelled his native country. But the love of God is fruitful of every blessing. It is the tree which bears all kinds of fruits that nourish the soul, and feast every grace. The love of poor men can bring no advantage to the people loved: but when God sets his love upon a sinner, all at once, he who had nothing—has all things—life, liberty, friends, riches, glory, a kingdom; sufficiency here, and all-sufficiency hereafter; in a word, all that can be named, sought after, wished for, or thought upon! Then, you sons of earth! hug yourselves in the embrace of wealth, and bless your own condition—but presume not that you are the favorites of heaven because his common providence pours upon you. As for me, may I be the object of this love, and, in spite of poverty—I am rich; in spite of sin—I am forgiven and secure, and walk on triumphing to the better country. But again, the love of God is an intimate love. O how the high and lofty One reveals the secrets of his covenant, and the sweets of his love to that soul—where he condescends to come and dwell! When by the Holy Spirit, the love of God is shed abroad in the soul, what heavenly joy refreshes the whole inner man! "I know you by name," says Job. "I beseech you show me your glory," says Moses. The intimacy begun in time—is the bliss of eternity—and in greater or lesser degree is the privilege of every believer. The more our fellowship is with the Father, and his son Jesus Christ, the more of his divine likeness we shall put on; and in the eternal world, in the different degrees of assimilation to God, consist the different degrees of glory. Again, the love of God is infinite—and what that is, none but an infinite Being knows. Our love is a spark—his is the sun! Our love is a drop—his is the ocean! Again, his love is uninterrupted. Not sin within us; not hell outside us; nor Satan accusing us at the throne—can interrupt his love. This is encouragement to serve him in spite of sin; and in the face of enemies. Lastly, his love is eternal. Heaven and earth shall pass away—but his love will not. Time must end—but his love attends the saints beyond the grave. Death cools the love of the nearest relations—but cannot separate from us the love of God. Love is—the quintessence of bliss, the heart of heaven, the joy of angels, the song of the redeemed, and the character of God. O happy day! when I shall rise to enjoy that love, which transcends the glory of the redeemed, and all the anthems of angelic choirs! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 42: 03.029. DEATH ======================================================================== DEATH If there is a time to rejoice, there is also a time, yes, many a time to mourn. And God has set the one over against the other, that men may not forget eternal realities. This day I have attended the funeral of a friend, who is carried away from his weeping widow, and fatherless children, who all bewail him; yes, sighs may be heard, and sorrow seen in the countenances of his loved ones. With all the pomp of woe we attend him to the tomb; friends gaze wistfully as the casket conceals him from their sight. The ceremonies are concluded, and all retire as concerned with him no more. Though sea and land cannot separate between living friends, yet six feet of dirt—separates between the dead and the living, unties bonds, dissolves relations and perpetuates the separation. Poor woman! why do you weep? Your godly husband is not dead—but sleeps in Jesus! His weary dust is not carried to gloomy confinement—but laid to rest on a bed of undisturbed repose. He is delivered from toil, from trouble and from sin! The sword of the foe cannot affright him; the tongue of the slanderer cannot disturb him; the envy of hell cannot distress him. Fire may consume his lifeless ashes—but cannot consume his hope. Earthquakes may cast his body out of the grave—but cannot awake him out of his sleep. While thus his body rests, his soul triumphant reigns; and having dropped his frail mortality, he is now in the presence of God. Reserve your tears for more mournful times, nor grieve for him who is happier than you can conceive. Do you weep for his sake? Would you have him less happy, that you may be less miserable? Though you may be drowned in sorrow, he is all song. And not the deepest anguish of his dearest friends, though placed in his eye, could give him one moment’s pain, interrupt the anthem, or mar the heavenly melody! Why should you emotionally suffer in the tempest of your soul, because the gracious Pilot of souls from storms and tempests, darkness and distress, raging seas and roaring winds—has landed your friend safe on life’s peaceful shore? In a little while—a friendly gale shall blow you after him. Do not spend the short interval, (who can tell how short?) in repining at his death—but in preparing for your own. Indeed, it is a sad word—you are a ’widow’. Well, God is the widow’s judge, and can be better to you than ten husbands. If your faith is strong, your refuge is not weak. Have you fatherless children? leave them to God, he will preserve them alive. Happy are the orphans, whose God is the Lord! But what instructions should arise from his departure into glory? Why, I should live above this present slate, because I am shortly to pass from it. Neither should I envy the worldling’s heaps of wealth, or the increase of his fame, which cannot descend after him to illuminate his solitary cell. The inside of the royal casket is as dark to the interred king, as the wooden coffin is to the poorest corpse; and mortality is preached alike from both. None have a glorious passage through the valley of the shadow of death—but such as walk in the light of his countenance—whose beams dispel the glooms of death, and guide them through the darksome step to bright eternal day! However fond our friends may be of us when alive, yet when we breathe our last, we must be buried out of their sight. O to have an interest in that best of friends, in that sweetest love, who, when the whole world casts us out, will receive us to himself! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 43: 03.030. THE DEATH OF THE WICKED ======================================================================== The death of the wicked The wicked and the righteous live a different life, and die a different death. Have not my eyes beheld the melancholy scene?—one hastening into the unseen world, unprepared and thoughtless. But perhaps he may sleep on in carnal security, until, stripped of flesh, he plunges into the raging flames! Have not my eyes seen a dying person, (methinks I see him still,) tossing and tumbling under the gnawing pangs of some acute disease: sleep debarred from his eyes, on whose lids sat the shadow of death, calling often, and in a melting manner, for help from his physician—but in vain? Every power is invaded, every part besieged—as death denies a moment’s respite from the war. Yet we hear not one word of his eternal state, of his immortal soul; nor one request for mercy, from God as reconciled in his Son. When he was in health, the world was all his concern. As he desired he lived; and as he lived he died. As the tree grows, so it falls. Then may I live to God—and die in God: grow to grace—and fall to glory! Friends and spectators are very much concerned to see him writhing under the agonies of death, and sympathize with every groan; but for the most part look no further, nor pity his soul—which is in shortly to fall into the hands of the living God! But the combat is increased, the attack is visibly more stout, and strength to resist is sensibly decayed. His friends, careful but too late, call for prayer now—as if God could be forced into friendship with the man, at his last moments, who has been all his life his foe; or heaven won for him who never sought for it himself. At length, amidst insupportable agonies, he yields up the spirit, and is no more. Attending friends pour out their sorrows in a flood of tears, yet are not a little glad to see his suffering body lie at rest. And then they dress his stiffening limbs and his lifeless clay. They are willingly ignorant of the state of his soul—and gladly hope the best. But will you talk deceitfully for mercy, to the injury of adorable justice? At death, shall heaven be his possession—who would not have a gift of it upon earth? Shall he dwell with God in eternity—who walked contrary to God in time, nor repented at death? All is hushed, and those concerned are quiet again: the tears dry up, as they refuse to look beyond the grave. But my imagination follows him. They say—Forbear, presumptuous thought, and mind your own concerns! Ah! I must peep into eternity, and, through the telescope of Scripture, see him brought before the judgement, and found to have lived and died without Christ! Oh! his fearful doom! Vengeance awakes against him, the vengeance of eternal fire, and he is thrown into the flaming gulf of hell, where deep he sinks, below my venturous thought. His friends refresh themselves, and comfort one another, until they recover their usual mirth and jest: but not a drop of water to cool his scorched tongue! The ensuing night shall partly repay the watching and wakeful nights they have had about their friend: but his eyes shall never shut—but keep open with ghastly stare, looking for the wrath, however much he feels—which is still "the wrath to come." Their sorrow gradually abates—but his anguish is ever on the increase. Our remembrance of him rots into oblivion, as his clay crumbles into corruption—but God’s wrath never forgets its prey; God’s vengeance never forgets to afflict. Still my sympathy would penetrate the dark abyss, and look with pity on my damned acquaintance. Poor soul! where is all your usual mirth and merry jests? Are they now forever fled, and your uninterrupted exercise—unceasing howlings, and unavailing complaints? Now you are where sympathy avails you not, where pity cannot enter. This is no purgatory—through which you shall one time or other leave; it is your final doom, your fixed eternal state! My troubled thoughts are weary among the shriekings of the damned, nor longer can abide among these shades of horror. Yes, now I am not bound to sympathize with the eternal, irreconcilable enemies of Jehovah and the Lamb. The day of grace is past, the hour of mercy over: sin is finished, and has brought forth eternal death; despair is final, enmity consummate, and the breach is wide as the sea of eternity! Who can heal it? Let me turn, then, my voice unto the sons of men. A few moments, and your state, like his, is fixed! Will you, then, adventure not only to sport—but to sin away your time, which is so precious, and in which you are to secure a happy eternity? There are no offers of salvation beyond the grave! There is no godly repentance in the pit! Now your misery has the heavenly balm of God’s mercy; but there your misery shall not, even in its longest duration and highest degree, excite God’s mercy—but rather awake his fiercer wrath; while in your agonies you blaspheme the awful avenger, who in the destruction of ’mercy-despisers ’shall rest satisfied. Then give your eyes no sleep, nor slumber to your eye-lids, until you find a dwelling in your heart for God, and a chamber in his promise, a saving interest in his Son for your soul—that you may be hidden in the day of wrath, and in the desolation that shall surely come. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 44: 03.031. THE TRAVELER ======================================================================== The Traveler ’Gentlemen of taste’ frequently travel abroad: and it is so much in vogue to wander over some part of the world once in life, that he is hardly accounted an accomplished gentleman that has not spent a part of his time in climates and countries remote from that which gave him birth: whence he returns rich in observations, and mightily improved, having made an accurate survey among whatever people he visited—whether as to the genius, stature, complexion, religion, laws, government, rites, and dress of the natives: or the merchandise, produce, rivers, soil, air, language, etc. of the country. And does this render men more agreeable company, to have glanced from head to foot, as it were, over only one page of the great volume of creation? For what is our earth in comparison of God’s handy works? His observations must be few, since the shortness of his life forbids him to stay long abroad, unless he intends to drop his dust in the tour: which unhappy event has many a time sent sorrow across the seas, for the dear youth that shall see his native land no more. Now, to compare earthly things with heavenly—how accomplished must the soul be, that shall be an eternal searcher into the perfections of God, an entranced beholder of the beauties of paradise: that shall take a tour through the fields of bliss, and be a traveler in the region of glory! If this ’mole-hill heap’ is surprising for many things found therein, as mountains towering to the clouds, volcanoes spewing melted fire, extremes of heat and cold, and creatures of tremendous shape and size, and all in this small speck of earthly creation; what must the numerous excellences be of his kingdom, which is higher than the heavens! O the beauties on the other side creation! O the glories which beam in pure essential day! All things in time, only improve us for another in the things that are temporal: but there the improvement is for eternity, and the mind enlarged for God. O happy day! when I shall rove over the extent of paradise, lost in wonder, and ravished with delight, amidst his excellences! O the innate beauty of his laws, the glory of his reign, the splendor of his throne, the mysteries of his being and workings, and the wonders of his love! O the loveliness of the inhabitants of the better country! O the rivers of pleasures which water the true Canaan! How pure the religion of the inner temple! What ecstacy and ravishment shall rise from beholding all these beatitudes, all these glories—as one eternally involved in them all! Travel, then, you sons of fortune, towards every wind: rest not in the old continent—but ransack them all. Let nothing pass unobserved, and be delighted with the productions of the fertile Arabia, or the teeming Indies. Let the magnificence of the opulent East attract your attention, and the curiosities of the learned West gain your regard. Not satisfied with the narrow appearance of this ’atom hung upon nothing’, I wait for the dawning of celestial day, to commence an everlasting travel through all the glories above. Surveying the perfections of God, I shall hold on my journey through unnumbered ages. In my tour I shall find curiosities which could never enter into the conception of travelers below. Let them talk of the magnificent structure, or pleasant situation of the metropolis of every kingdom, I shall see the city of the mighty King, whose foundations are precious stones, whose walls are jasper, whose gates are pearls, and the streets and city pure gold, like transparent glass; whose laws are love, and whose light is glory. I shall see those people who are immortal, and cannot die—a kingdom where every subject is a king, where every servant has a throne, and sways a scepter. I shall see an assembly of worshipers, that are all priests, high-priests, and are admitted into the holy of holies forever. I shall see the blessed effects of death, and the ecstasies of men that spring from the agonies of our incarnate God. I shall see children of wrath made heirs of life, and the family of heaven married to the family of earth, yes, to the heirs of hell! These are wonders to be wondered at, mysteries to be dwelt upon, divine curiosities to be recorded on the table of my heart, and mentioned in the grateful accents of my song. Then hasten, Lord, that day when I shall set out for eternity, and commence my journey, my immediate journey to your throne, there to explore the adorable perfections of the Godhead, the mysteries of the Trinity, and all the glories of the upper world! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 45: 03.032. GRACE IN THE BLUSH, SIN NOT ASHAMED ======================================================================== Grace in the blush, sin not ashamed It is one of the most surprising things that I have ever observed, that sanctity should be ashamed—but iniquity not ashamed to display itself. Hence it is one of the greatest blessings promised to the lower world, that "iniquity, as ashamed, shall stop her mouth;" which supposes, that in bad times she has an impudent loquacity, both a whore’s forehead in refusing to be ashamed, and the tongue of a strumpet in scorning to be silenced. Hence the company of dissolute people over their bottle, are not shy to open to another the mystery of iniquity in their most abandoned actions, and to boast in their shame. But when do the saints of God in private conversations, to the praise of glorious grace, tell one another what the Lord has done for their souls and rejoice in his goodness? O deplorable degeneracy! shall iniquity not only rage—but reign? And shall righteousness, like the natives of a conquered kingdom, who dare not show their face, lurk in secret? Is this, professors of piety, your kindness to your friend? Shall open rebellion against heaven be winked at, by those that are maintained at the King’s table? Shall the words of sinners be stout against God, and your words not stout against them? Who should be ashamed, if the sons of darkness are not? Who should face the evil day, if the abettors of virtue do not? Yet the one will proclaim the very practice of iniquity, the other hardly the profession of piety! The ambassador of Jesus is ashamed to own his office, or avow his message, in reproving the open breach of heaven’s eternal law. It is the most impolite thing one can say in company now-a-days—to speak anything of true religion, or let it be known that you are a Christian. They have no problem speaking of their vile abominations; but we are ashamed to speak of the necessity of regeneration. If we speak one sentence in favor of godliness, the spiritual life or heavenly-mindedness—it is hardly pardonable by the free-thinkers of the day. If you adventure to say anything against the more prevailing and fashionable follies—you will be set up as a scare-crow in the table-discourse of all your acquaintances, who will pity your frenzy, and pronounce you delirious. And if it comes abroad that you live near God, and above the vanities of time, you will forthwith be a laughing-stock to all, who will stare at you as if you were come from another world, and were not a fellow human. But if you keep silence at sin, smile at their peccadillos, and live in concert with the world, you will be the best company, and the most social man alive. Thus by continual scoffing, sin is grown brazen-faced, and true religion wears the blush. Yes, some well-meaning men are sinful temporizers, by keeping silence, when they ought to speak—because of the fear of man, which brings a snare. But remember, that those who are ashamed of the Son of man before this adulterous and sinful generation, of them shall the Son of man be ashamed before his holy angels. Be bold, you sons of virtue, then; maintain the rights of heaven against the troops of hell. Take courage to yourselves; the cause is good, and conquest shall crown the stout contender in the battle for God. Wherever sin, in the discourse of any, vilely vaunts itself—expose to shame the ugly monster. A consciousness of guilt is in it, and guilt is always interwoven with fear and shame so that it must surely blush. And if their seared consciences flout at you; pity them, and warn them of the fearful awakening that awaits the long and thoughtless slumberer. If you live near God, live undisturbed, though the lips of malice exclaim against you as an hypocrite, as one full of ostentation, or a brain-sick fanatic. I know the cause of ’silence’ in many a pious soul is, lest they should be left to fall away from what they have so zealously espoused, to the dishonor of religion, and opening the mouths of enemies to blaspheme. But beware of circumscribing the grace of God, lest he measure to you according to your opinion of him. Never let the fear of falling into sin in some future time, drive you from your present duty; for, to neglect present duty is present sin. If you shall fall from the support of his declarative glory, he may cut off from you the supplies of his grace, and make that which you unjustly fear, justly come upon you. Be for God in your day of integrity, and God shall be for you in the day of temptation. Exercise your grace for his praise, and his grace shall always be sufficient for you. Alas! after all that can be said, there is still room to complain; for, if this detestable silence which prevails in our day, increases as it has done for some time past—it will not be long until there will not be a word about true religion in the mouths of the inhabitants of this country. But, may this spiritual captivity be turned as suddenly as streams come rushing from the south hills, when there falls a heavy rain. Such is the deplorable indifference about divine things among the sons of men at this day. O! when will matters mend? when shall religion be openly avowed as an honor to the rational soul, and everyone speak of God, and for his glory? Let the Spirit be poured out from on high, and the wilderness turned into a fruitful field, and the fruitful field rise into a statelier forest. And let Israel take root downward, and fill the world with fruit. Then shall iniquity, as ashamed, stop its month, and hide its head; then shall righteousness remain in the fruitful field. Such, (O to see them!) should surely be some of the glorious days of the Son of man. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 46: 03.033. GOING TO A FAIR ======================================================================== Going to a Fair The heavenly mind has this advantage, that it can spiritualize every business, and moralize all occurrences of life. As, then, I am this day going to a fair, let me call to mind the comparisons, or the similitude between this market and the market of grace. 1. From all quarters men come hither; so is it in the market of grace. 2. None are hindered to come here to merchandise; so is it in the market of grace. 3. All kinds of goods are to be found here; so is it in the market of grace. 4. Parties meet here, bargains are made, and business done; so is it in the market of grace. 5. Numbers are to be found here, who cannot tell what brought them hither; so many attend the ordinances from custom, to see, or to be seen. 6. The fair is by public authority; so is the market of grace. 7. Some stand all day idle; so is it in the market of grace. 8. Some go home with large profits; so do all they who rightly improve the market of grace. 9. But some return immense losers; so must they, who slight the market of grace. 10. Thieves and pick-pockets, attend here to ruin honest folk; so Satan, sin, and worldly cares often rob us of spiritual things in the market of grace. 11. Dealers, returning home, converse wholly on the course of the business through the day; so they who have found the true riches, the pearl of great price, in the market of grace, will speak, think, and meditate much thereon ever after. 12. This fair is but of one day; so the market of grace comes to an end, and people may outlive the day of grace; therefore, everyone should embrace the present offer. But how great the excellency of the one above the other! 1. All things here are for the body; there all things are for the soul. 2. Nothing here goes without money; but all things in the glorious market of grace are without money, and without price. 3. If I sit my market today, I shall repent tomorrow; but the market of grace is continued to many poor souls many years. 4. Without the one we may live; but lacking the other we must die. 5. It is indifferent whether we buy or not here; but in the market of grace, we must participate, or we dishonor God, and sin against our own souls. 6. To take goods here without money, is dishonesty; but, to offer our pelf for the merchandise of heaven, is damnable. 7. We plead and press for commodities at a low price here; but God importunes, and presses us to buy the gold tried in the fire, that we may be eternally rich. But O how are the men of the world assiduous about the affairs of life, while they neglect the great concern! Well do we know what makes for our happiness, as to the things of time; but how careless are we with respect to the things of eternity! A shower will excuse from walking two miles to a sermon; but a very rainy day will not deter us from this place of business, though three times the distance. O corrupt nature! that counts it a great deal of happiness to meet with merry companions, to drink, rove, ramble, see, and be seen. But how far beneath the dignity of the human soul, to forget itself amidst the hurry of trifling concerns, for a transitory life! It is, indeed, the duty of all men to attend to their business, and guide their affairs with discretion. They may meet, therefore, on days appointed for that purpose. But, when the mind gets a wrong bias, by the vanities that are to be seen there; is infected with a roving disposition; and can trifle away time that is so precious—how far is this beneath the Christian character? It should be our constant care, then, wherever we go, whatever we do, to keep the omniscience of God in our mind, that while we manage our business with discretion, we may serve our God with undistracted devotion. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 47: 03.034. AFTER SICKNESS ======================================================================== After sickness What shall I render unto the Lord for all his kindness unto me! The sorrows of death compassed me about, the pains of the grave took hold on me; my feeble joints were made to smite together; disease attacked every part, and rapidly prevailed. My eyes, with languid looks, spoke forth my inward trouble. My throbbing heart spread sense of pain through every member, and vexing dreams disturbed my night’s repose. But what was all this to that confusion my sympathizing soul was in? No composure there. I could not meditate with calmness on my final change—which seemed to await me; nor could I enquire aright into the case of my soul—which I thought would soon be dislodged from this body, and brought before the bar of God. Hence I learn, that health is the proper time to prepare for sickness, death, eternity. The new, the spiritual life, is too late in beginning, when the lamp of natural life is about to be blown out. Yet the men of the world postpone the most momentous business to their last moments. O! my soul, come not into their assembly; with their procrastination—be not united! But what shall I render to the Lord for adding to my days! I yet live, yes, and am well. The canopy of the heavens might have been converted into the crumbling clods or covering worms; the light of the world into the shadow of death, and time into eternity; and my broken strains of praise into perpetual silence; the living only can praise you, as I do this day. By how many ties am I yours? I am yours to all eternity, because redeemed from everlasting wrath; and yours while I dwell below, because redeemed from temporal death. Many times, before I could expect it, deliverance came, and your mercy preserved me. Shall your goodness be forgotten, or your love seem little in my eye? No, for should not that life be spent to your praise, which is preserved by your power, restored in your pitying mercy, lengthened out in your love, and covered with your protection? Death, with his malignant troops, is now gone, and I almost a prisoner of the grave, am set at liberty, before I was fast locked in the irons of corruption. Was my life precious in your eyes, who am of so little importance among so many millions of beings, which are dependent on your sustenance? Would I have been missed among them, if removed? No; yet your never-failing kindness would not, as yet, let me drop among the congregation of the dead! How should my love live to you, whose love to me is so active, exuberant, and full! With the recovery of my health, let every grace revive: and let my soul, as a watered garden, be put into a flourishing condition. And, if spared to old age, when others fade, may I bring forth fruit, be fat and flourishing. Yes, in the last decline of nature, when my outward man decays, let my inward man be renewed day by day; may my views of his glory be more bright, my faith more active, my hope more fixed, my heart more established, my affections more purified, my desires more heavenly, my longing after complete fruition, and uninterrupted communion with God, increased; and my soul set on fire with love, and filled with heaven; until I, at last, am taken into that land, where the inhabitant shall not say, ’I am sick’, because the people who dwell there are forgiven their iniquity. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 48: 03.035. FRAMES OF SOUL VARIABLE ======================================================================== Frames of soul, variable It is the greatest display of spiritual folly to put any confidence in a holy frame of mind. A frame is a certain heavenly disposition of the soul. Now, to rest on anything in ourselves is, to destroy ourselves; for the noblest attainment is to go wholly outside of ourselves and rest only on Christ. If I do otherwise, I provoke him to remove, by placing the effect of his presence in the place of himself, and then my mountain, which I thought stood so firm, is immediately removed; God hides his face, and I am troubled. Heavenly frames, and glorious manifestations, I should seek, not to rest upon—but to be refreshed with. Christ may come into a frame—but I ought to beware lest I keep the frame, and let Christ go, who is to be sought for himself, found in himself, in the promise, in his unchangeable love—and not in a frame. To have a cold, insensible heart, is a comfortless condition. But to have Christ, who always brings melting of heart, and a revival of graces with him—is good, and is a prelude of the happiness to come. When I prefer the attendants to their prince, and beg these when I should honor him—this is the way to make him withdraw his visits, and refuse to come again until I confess my folly. Hence am I chastened with so many changes in my soul; sometimes standing on Mount Pisgah—then groveling in the valley of Achor; sometimes walking in the light of his countenance—then going mourning without the sun; sometimes admitted with boldness to his throne of grace, where he fills my mouth with arguments—then finding a cloud spread on his throne, that my prayer cannot pass through, nor I order my speech by reason of darkness. All this to chasten my folly, and make me adore his sovereignty, who comes and goes at his own pleasure. Of such a place, and such a time, one may say, It was Bethel—the house of God, and a time of love. But neither the Bethel of God, nor the time of love—is to be the confidence of the soul, whatever comfort it may afford. The God of Bethel, the God of unchangeable love, is to be the strong tower to which every believer must always resort. To live by faith, is more noble and more safe than to live by sense. Now, in these things, God teaches me to esteem him more than anything from him; to esteem the enriching hand which gives, more than the gift that enriches; yes, to depend more on his permanent promise, than on his passing presence. For, though the one should be pleasant, like the voice from the excellent glory on the mount of transfiguration, yet the other is the more sure word of prophecy, of inspiration, to which at all times we should betake ourselves. And this we should remember, that the continuation of that ravishing frame of soul (a gale of which sometimes the favorites of heaven feel blow through their mind,) is reserved for the happier state above: But it should occasion the extreme sorrow, if we send away our Beloved, who is willing to abide with us "until the day breaks, and the shadows flee away." This I may learn—that it is good to hold him in the promise, whatever be the condition of my soul. O deplorable imperfection! When he is absent, despair begins to appear; when present, spiritual pride is ready to spring up. But while he in wisdom comes and goes, it keeps my soul in exercise, going forward and backward, to the right hand and to the left, in quest of him, restless until I find him. Thus the soul is prevented from sitting down on a sinful security, or falling asleep in the arms of downy delusion, perhaps to awake no more. Yes, this exercising of my soul keeps every grace active; his coming hinders me from falling in the low dungeon of despair, whence I might come up no more; and his going away prevents my climbing the slippery precipice of spiritual pride, whence I might fall and break all my bones. I desire, both in temporals and spirituals, to make the dear prophet’s triumph of faith mine! "Though the fig tree should not blossom; though my graces should seem languid and low; though darkness should sit down on my soul; though he should keep back his lovely face; though my soul should forget her prosperity; though, when I pray and cry, he should shut out my prayers; though Satan should roar at me, temptations rendezvous against me, corruption rage within me, and hell gape for me; yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation." Yet I plead that your presence may cheer me in the wilderness; for if your presence goes not with me, I shall never be able to go hence. But may your Spirit dwell within me, and seal me to the day of redemption. Then my joy in believing shall be turned into an ecstasy of beholding the God-man, in all his amiable perfections; then frames of soul shall be sinless, holy, and pitched to the most elevated height of rapture and delight; then I shall praise without interruption, and adore without distraction! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 49: 03.036. THE UNCONCERNED SPECTATORS ======================================================================== The unconcerned spectators Sorrow is the continual attendant on human life. Every day, to some poor sufferer, is darkened with distress, and yet the spectators are frequently no more concerned, than if the patient were only to set out from the city to his country home. Were a king coming to sit in judgment on a beloved friend of ours, and to examine strictly his actions—with life and death hanging in the balance—could we shake ourselves free from a thousand agitating thoughts? dislodge our bosoms of anxious fears, and many a fervent wish? Now, when a person is pining on a sick-bed, or expiring on a death-bed, the King of kings seems to mount his judgment-throne, and order the spectators into his solemn presence, where the examination will be strict, and the trial issue in eternal life, or eternal death. And yet how trifling often is the discourse of the attendants! how jocular and sportive their talk! But, O if the invisible world of spirits would flash fully in their face; if but all the disembodied souls of their acquaintance would start up around them, how would they stare and be distracted! though they can now dance about the grave, and laugh amidst the glooms of death. To this invisible world their friend seems fast going, and they, in spite of all their stupidity, are fast following. When I look into the bed, and see my poor fellow-creature in that dying state, it excites my sorrow; and when I look around at the company in their apparent disbelief of a future state—it so moves my compassion, that I am at a loss whether most to pity the dying or deplore the living. But my soul, be not an idle spectator also. Know the sentence, that all must die—reaches you as well as others. Perhaps death has the summons in his hand already, or is filling his quiver with arrows for the decisive battle; nay, he may be placing an arrow on the bended bow, to sink the sickening shaft into your heart! "Man that is born of a woman is of few days;" this all the nations know; "and full of trouble;" this I daily find. "He comes forth as a flower," frail and fading; "flees also as a shadow," quickly gone, and quite forgotten. I carry death in my mortal body, which, like a fiery spark concealed within, will sooner or later lay the house to ashes. It is but a small thing to grapple with death, to enter the lists with the king of terrors, or be enclosed in the gloom of the grave. But it is another thing to enter into a world of spirits—to launch into an unknown and endless eternity—and see God face to face. Roman fortitude may defy the grave and brave death; but nothing but a well-grounded faith can carry one calmly, cheerfully, and comfortably, into a fixed and eternal state. The trifles of life are of small account at death. What can riches do—but encumber with too much splendid care, and troublesome attendance? What can a character do—but publish his decease? What can opulence do—but give a pompous funeral, and a costly tomb? What can friends do—but weep about the bed, and bewail their dying relative? But your love, dear Lord, can enlighten my passage through death—and lead me safely to my Father’s house! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 50: 03.037. DEATH A BLESSING TO GODLY MEN ======================================================================== Death a blessing to godly men Why so much complaint of death? It is true, death is the fruit of sin, for by sin, death came into the world. But it is also true, that death is the finisher of sin to the godly—for by death sin shall be cast out forever. Sin, conveyed to us in our conception, is so interwoven with the human frame, that the tie must be dissolved between the soul and body, before a full and final separation can take place between the soul and sin. Who then, would fear the furnace, which is only to consume the dross, that the gold may come forth without alloy? What candidate for heaven would be averse to lay down mortality—in order to take up immortality; to put off this corruptible body—in order to put on incorruption? to have his body sown in dishonor—in order to be raised in honor and glory; and to have the soul dislodged from his body—that sin might be dislodged from his soul? Why, then, should I be displeased at such a glorious exchange? To lay down frail flesh, feeble nature, all my lusts and passions, all my occasions and temptations to sin, all my infirmities and imperfections—and to be clothed with perfect beauty and eternal glory—should rather transport than perplex me. Why tremble at the ghastly gloom, that shall beam into a boundless noon; or startle at the dark step that shall usher me into eternal day? If my separation for a few years from my friends, issues in uninterrupted communion with God, is not the change most happy? If my distant views, and dim glances of the land afar off, and the King in his beauty, pass away—that the nearest approaches, most steady views, and brightest visions, may eternally take place—am not I a gainer to the highest degree? Then, Lord, take away the sting of death, and at your appointed time, through faith, I shall fly into death’s arms, not dismayed at his cold embrace—but burning with a heavenly desire to be forever with the Lord—which is far better than all the happiness of crowns and thrones below! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 51: 03.038. MERCY GOING BEFORE GOD, MAKES MEETING ======================================================================== Mercy going before God, makes meeting him a mercy God and I must meet; there is a day appointed for it; and surely the thoughts thereof would be like death, and worse, were I not assured that mercy goes before him. Why, then, should I be afraid to meet with God, since mercy goes before his face? Mercy means no ill—will do no harm—displays the flag of peace—proclaims the manifesto, that "mercy shall be built up forever." But how shall I know that mercy goes before his face! Because truth goes hand in hand with mercy; and the veracity of truth forbids me to doubt the certainty of mercy. How must the heart of a guilty rebel rejoice—to find that pardon is proclaimed by his offended sovereign! Mercy and truth are the best means of preserving the kings of the earth, and when they exercise it, their throne is upheld by mercy. But the King of heaven, in every act of his administration, preserves mercy and truth; and in them establishes his throne. The King of kings will never go without his royal retinue, his life-guards—mercy and truth shall form the van—justice and judgment support his throne—infinity, eternity, and immutability carry his crown—power and omnipotence bear the robe of royalty—wisdom and righteousness hold the regal scepter—graciousness, long-suffering, and patience proclaim his sacred name—and love encircles all the flaming train! In every circumstance, then, I can be in, I have comfort; for, in his providence towards me, mercy goes before him; and it works for my good; yes; even in my afflictions, mercy goes before him, and I am chastened, that I may not be condemned with the world. Thus mercy is the precious ointment that, in all things, at all times and in all places—casts its pleasant scent abroad, and perfumes his conduct towards me. And whenever, or wherever I meet God; whether in the dissolving pang, or solemn appearance at his bar, I shall find him a reconciled Father, and all his affections yearning for the son of his adoption. Neither the hour of death, therefore, nor the day of judgment, shall terrify me. "But I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever; with my mouth will I make known your faithfulness to all generations. For I have said, Mercy shall be built up forever; your faithfulness shall you establish in the very heavens!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 52: 03.039. THE NECESSITY OF AFFLICTIONS ======================================================================== The necessity of afflictions I complain without a cause, seeing it is good for me to be afflicted. Whatever be food to the soul, surely affliction is a good medicine. There is a necessity for affliction, to preserve the health of the soul. Can a much esteemed flower think that it is unkindly dealt with, because the weeds that twisted with its roots are plucked away with force, such force that the flower seems to be pulled along? Just so am I displeased at severe afflictions, sent to root out some rampant lusts, or deep rooted earthly affections, when afflictions less severe would prove ineffectual for such a noble end. Corruption is never totally removed—it is only subdued in part. The more I am afflicted—the more it is subdued. Neither is grace perfect here; but the more grace is exercised, the more perfect it grows. The better part never suffers in affliction; for even when it is so ponderous and crushing, that under it the outward man decays, and wastes away, yet the inner man is renewed day by day. By afflictions—my sins are mortified, my lusts subdued, my fond and foolish desires reprimanded, my afflictions purged, my eager grasp of created things loosed, and I am instructed on the vanity of all sublunary things. Again, dare I be displeased, that, by various, repeated, and uncommon afflictions, and from sinful instruments too, my faith is tried, my patience and resignation proved, my love and esteem of heavenly things heightened, and all my graces improved invigorated, furbished—to the glory of God, and advantage of my own soul? Every new trial is like a new combat to the valiant hero. If he comes off a conqueror, it is another trophy added to all his former victories, and a fresh display of his military skill in the eyes of enemies and friends. There never was a traveler to the throne of God—but pursued his way through the thorny path of affliction; and yet there is not, this day, one person in all the magnificent assembly of heaven, that has the least complaint upon the hardships or afflictions that befell him along the way. Why should I, then, so much complain of the deep steps and rugged roads, the stormy days and dark nights, that distress me in my pilgrimage, seeing that, when I shall see things in the light of glory, I shall approve of all. The storm of hail, claps of thunder; and midnight-gloom—shall only multiply the stanzas of my eternal song. While here below; the ’intoxicating juice of carnal pleasure’ breeds diseases; so that the ’bitter medicine of affliction’ is absolutely necessary to dispel those infections which threaten damage to the soul. Since it is not my happiness to be free from sin below; it is my happiness that I am not without afflictions—which are a noble antidote against sin. I have reason to bewail, bitterly to bewail, the corruption of my nature; but not the correction of my corruption. Were I punished as I deserve; instead of being washed with the soap of affliction; I would be swept away with the broom of destruction. What condemned criminal would rage at the loss of a finger, who deserved to have lost his head? So; why should I repine at a little ill; who deserve a great deal worse? Indeed, at all times, and in every case, I should not look to the hand of God—but into his heart; not barely look upon the providence with fear; but into the promise with faith; where, be the providence adverse or prosperous, to my comfort I am told that all things work together for good to God’s called and chosen ones. If my fluctuating bosom is composed amidst all my sorrows, by a firm belief in the promise—that happy moment I find the promise performed to me; and aver, with the royal sufferer, "It has been good for me that I have been afflicted." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 53: 03.040. SAINTS UNKNOWN, STARS UNSEEN ======================================================================== Saints unknown, Stars unseen As there are stars in the sparkling skies of heaven of different magnitudes and glory—so there are saints of different stations in the church of God. Some like stars of the first magnitude, point out the way to bliss; while others, like stars of a second, third, and fourth magnitude, sparkle with an upright walk, and heavenly conversation, and condemn a wicked world. All these glorify God, as it were, in an active manner. But there is another class of his precious ones, who glorify God only in a passive manner, compared to others. These are the secret, private, and retired Christians; who, like the stars that lie concealed in the amazing voids of space, and never strike the naked eye, nor seem connected with our system, are only known to God. But as the glory of God’s creating hand, though less visible to us, is as really displayed among those stars that he has stationed so sublime, as among those which he has dropped nearer to our earth—so he is glorified by the private, as well as the public Christian. The resignation of the one to the divine disposal may be as acceptable to God, as the more active labors of the other. How is God satisfied, so to speak, to see his creature wholly at his command; his will molded into the will of the Most High; his desires measured by Heaven’s distribution of mercies, and his ambition only to be like God. Here the whole man, with his whole concerns, are wholly devoted to God. Here rebel-thoughts are slain, and the unknown saint only waits the will of God—to submit to fully, freely, and without reserve. Such a heart God dwells in, and such a soul is his throne. Nothing pleases God better, than when all he does pleases his people. Thus the soul ripens fur glory, and a sacred correspondence is carried on between the heart and heaven. The man casts himself and all his concerns, onto the undisputed will of him who cannot err. Nothing can go wrong with the man, because divine wisdom orders all for him. Yes, what he thinks hard in itself, if he has no sinful hand in it, he embraces and submits to, because of him who sends it. He sounds God’s praise loudest—who is silent before God. While the profession of some is blazing, the love of the submissive soul is burning. While others march heavenward in the broad day, and before the wide world; this is a walk within doors, in his own house at home. Of all things, grace grows best in retirement, and, like Jacob, when left alone, he wrestles with the angel of the covenant, for blessings to himself, his family, the church, and the whole world. He is not less holy, because no human eye is on him—but keeps clean hands, from a clean heart. He is not like the painted hypocrite; who must be religious for reputation’s sake. He has his conversation in heaven, and his communion with the Most High. Happy is he in his life, happy at his death—for he lives with God, dies in the Lord, and goes to be forever with the Lord! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 54: 03.041. THE EXCELLENT HAPPINESS OF THE BLESSED ======================================================================== The excellent happiness of the blessed Time is short, and eternity is long! Yet, in this short time, I must prepare for long eternity! O! what a duration is before me! But what a foolish infatuation is within me—that I should mind the trifling things of time, and forget the great concerns of eternity! Truly, when I compare eternity and time, I am astonished that eternity does not swallow up time in my concerns and meditations. With what deceptive phantasies and delusive dreams—are we entertained here—in comparison to that divine understanding, intuitive knowledge, spiritual discoveries, vigor and activity of soul, we shall be possessed of, when we awake to immortality, from all the slumbers of a transitory life! And yet, (woe is me!) am I not more anxious to grow in earthly things—than to grow for heaven? Will not the fear of temporal losses outweigh the joy I should have in believing? While God and glory have a passing meditation in my heart, have not the vanities of the world a permanent mansion? Does not worldly sorrow take deeper root in my soul, than spiritual joy? And, were my thoughts counted up—most would be spent on earthly vanities—while sacred things have scarcely a concern! Is this, alas! the behavior of a candidate for bliss—the practice of an expectant of glory? One thinks least on what he loves least. O mournful conclusion! that I love God least, since he is least in my thoughts! But let me rise in my contemplation, and see the celestial multitudes, dwelling in the full display of his glory, possessed of pleasures as free as the fountain whence they flow, and full as their unlimited desire. Their souls are replenished with the most refined satisfaction, sacred delight, and substantial joy. What a magnificent assembly are the inhabitants of the better country! wearing crowns, holding scepters, reigning on thrones, walking in white, exalted in their natures, their conceptions bright, their visions cloudless, their thoughts elevated, their songs transporting, their happiness confirmed, their love burning—and all their powers entranced forever! Seeing such, and much more, (for eye has not seen, ear has not heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man to conceive what God has laid up for those who love and fear him,) is the happiness of the triumphant throng, who have the substance, marrow, and essence of bliss—it is no wonder to see the saints setting their affections on the things above, and longing to join the happy company. What, then, though it be a steep ascent to the mount of God, since verdant arbors, and a blooming paradise, are on the summit of the hill. A prospect of the heavenly state might make me lie, without repining, in the dungeon of a prison, until the very moment I were brought to the palace. What though I bear my cross until the day I wear the crown? What though I die daily, until Christ, with whom my life is hid in God, appears, and I appear with him in glory? Should anything below concern him, who has his eternal portion above? Should the pleasures of the world, which are but painted clouds, and airy appearances, entice him; or the troubles of the world terrify him, who is in a little while, to take his eternal farewell of both? Let adversities keep close at his heels, heaven has an open door for him, into which, while they must stand outside; he shall enter inside, and remember his misery no more. Hence let it be my daily study to walk in the view of a world to come, until that happy day when, (O wondrous word!) I shall enter into the joy of my Lord! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 55: 03.042. ONLY A RUMOR HEARD OF THE TRIUMPHANT STATE ======================================================================== Only a rumor heard of the triumphant state This thought is now come into my mind—that the triumphant state of glory is but little understood, even after all the divine descriptions given thereof in sacred revelation. Not that God cannot tell—but man cannot hear; for when Paul was caught up to the third heaven, and his ear opened to hear the Hosannas of the higher house, he says, he had heard ineffable things, which it was not fit, proper, or becoming for a man to reveal, because the language of eternity cannot be adapted to the dialect of time. After all the pleasing and glorious metaphors used to represent eternal felicity, still there is a deficiency, though neither from the fullness of that felicity, nor the divine Relater—but from us who hear. Were the definition too refined, the relation too sublime, we would not be able to comprehend it. Therefore, things that make up the excellences of this lower world, on which men fix their esteem, place their delight and settle their affections—are chosen to illustrate it. Hence it is called a kingdom—for there the King Eternal keeps his court; there majesty and honor, glory and renown, are before his face; there are vast dominion, noble privileges, sweet society, and mutual connections. But as a kingdom is subject to concern and change, therefore it is called a crown of glory, which fades not away—an eternal day, where saints shine as suns; a royal palace, where there is unceasing harmony, and divine delight; an inheritance in light, and a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. And as paradise, or the garden of God, was the sum of created perfection, from whence the first Adam was driven, so the heavenly state is called paradise, being the place where the brightest display of uncreated glory is given, and where the second Adam, Lord of all, has entered. Gems, pearls, and precious stones, which men wear on their hands and heads, are but the metaphors of their streets and walls, which are far more excellent than those things that shadow them out. What, then, must be the liberty, the privileges, the happiness of the inhabitants! But as death destroys all possessions, and darkens the brightest day, therefore this is a state of the most permanent bliss, immortal life, eternal vigor, and perpetual bloom. But as to live alone is not consistent with complete happiness, or congruous to the human soul, that is not made to be alone; so in the better country there is an innumerable company of angels, the general assembly and church of the first-born, and God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, in whose presence is fullness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore. Rivers of living water, and the tree of life bending with fruits of paradise, set out the sufficiency, satisfaction, and abundance of spiritual refreshment and delight that abound there. But still, there is something in the blessed state above, which supplies the soul with the fullest tides of serenest rapture, ecstasy, and joy—of which all these descriptions of felicity come infinitely short; and that is, the vision and fruition of the Lamb, participation of the divine nature, living in and with God, and communion with Jehovah—pitched up to the highest degree of divine intimacy, carried on through eternity in an uninterrupted out-going of the soul towards her supreme and chief good; and receiving the divine emanations of all his adorable perfections, breathed by the Holy Spirit into all the panting, enlarging affections, and powers of the sanctified soul! But what this is, who can tell? How shall finite and infinite meet? Will God in very deed dwell with man and in man? Shall man in very deed dwell in and with God? Shall a finite spirit have communion with the Father of spirits? Oh! what remains to be revealed in that exalted state, which has not yet entered into the heart of man! Prepare, my soul, prepare for that felicity to come, which is sufficient to satisfy with transport and delight—ten thousand heavens of seraphim, much more my shallow mind! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 56: 03.043. SCIENCE ======================================================================== Science True science is a study much commended. Where the works of nature are narrowly surveyed, they fill the mind with wonder and delight, and prove that their Creator must be God. O! says one, how the study of astronomy exalts the soul! And then he expatiates on the starry heavens, or skies filled with suns, with their dependent planets; or worlds unseen—and carries on his fruitful theme, until his lectures have filled the extension of space with spacious habitations for intelligent, though unintelligible beings. But, to leave the scientist to his own theories, true or false; there is study which as far excels it, as it excels the ignorance of the illiterate rustic; and rises infinitely higher in the objects of its wonder, and subjects of its inquiry. And this is, the sacred study of true religion, which is the wisdom that as far excels, not only folly—but science, as light excels darkness. The scientist’s themes are high in comparison to him who is only amused with base, low, sordid, and selfish things, (and if not our highest themes, they are allowable). But how base and groveling are these—in comparison of divine perfections, which entrance the Christian. The scientist, not content with the earth to circumscribe his studies, grasps at the extended heavens; but the Christian, content with neither, seeks after him whose throne is higher than the heavens. "Whom or what have I on earth but you? whom or what have I in heaven but you alone, O Lord?" Science describes created light; but religion leads us to the Father of more excellent lights, and super-eminent glories. Astronomy struggles with the laws of the stars, disclosing to us the wonders of the sky; but divinity brings us beyond them, to him who counts their number, calls them by their names, and holds them in his hand. This explains the labor of his hand—who explores the love of his heart. The one leads us to see the palace, the other to behold him who dwells in the heaven of heavens, in eternity unknown. Let the scientist dwell all his days upon the solar beam, its vivifying and fructifying influences, its quick transition to our earth, its curious intermixture of colors, while nothing is discernible but light; I say, though he should spend all his time on these studies, yet it shall never alter his countenance, or give a visible external luster thereto. But Moses, when only forty days in the mount with God, receives such a stamp of divinity on his soul, and such a tinge of the celestial beauty on his countenance, that his face did shine! Nor was this Moses’ privilege alone—but is the privilege of every saint in every age. "We all, with open face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, as by the spirit of the Lord." A holy life, or communion with God, not only changes their appearances—but the place of their abode; for though the earthly scientist remains still below, yet the pious man translates his seat above, dwells on high, has his conversation in heaven; yes dwells in love, and therefore dwells in God, for God is love. Thus the pious soul, who dwells alone, and is not reckoned among the sensible or polite part of the people, may improve to a miracle in divine knowledge, while the most penetrating scientist must leave his studies in the midst; and after having amused the more knowing part of mankind, and at his end shall he a fool. While others increase in the knowledge of this world, may I increase in love. And while they arrange the stars, may I be taken up with the bright, the morning Star. Let them describe the heavens, and all their signs; I will, with the boldness of faith, draw near to him, who spreads them as a curtain, and stretches them out as a tent to dwell in. While they see a thousand beauties in the sky, I will fix the eye of my soul on a more glorious object—the face of Jesus, and there see brighter displays of much diviner glory. Let the sun be the subject of their theme, as well as the center of their system; but I will adore the Sun of Righteousness, whose beams outshine created lights, and illuminate benighted souls. Choose the worlds unknown for your studies; I will choose the world to come for my meditation! O how is sacred love to be aspired after! As it is the fulfilling of the whole law, so it is the attainment of all truth; for he who loves God most is the wisest man. O! then, you learned ones—while you increase in worldly knowledge, may I increase in love to God! Let every spark kindle into a flame, and the flame at last burn divinely bright through everlasting day. Your fancy theories of mysterious things, rack and torment you. But my studies of God improve, compose, and satisfy my soul. Finally, when the end shall come, all your flourishing themes shall flash flames in your affrighted faces, or tumble down, while you stand trembling amidst the mighty ruins. But from the subjects of true religion, the dread catastrophe shall only remove the darkening veils, sweep off the dimming clouds, and let eternal things shine forth in all their native beauty, and essential glory! Then, though here I have seen through a glass darkly, I shall see face to face; and though I have been but learning the first principles of the oracles of God, yet then shall I be admitted to the university of angels, the college of perfected and accomplished worthies, where lessons of divinity, worthy of the highest seraph, shall be our eternal study, and delightful exercise above. Now, how excellent is practical religion, for its sublime subjects, divine virtue, and, eternal duration? The subjects that this spiritual philosophy treats of, are God in his attributes, perfections, and glories; his works and providences; redemption, in its planning, finishing, and application, by the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit; the soul, in its worth and immortality; and the eternal world, in its certainty and perpetuity. Again, true religion is excellent, because it ennobles the human soul, clothes it with a true greatness, decks it with the beauty of eternal day, prepares it for glory and for God, portrays the images of heavenly things on the inward part, assimilates to the Son of God, and makes partaker of the divine nature. And, lastly, its duration is eternal. Tongues must cease, and thrones be cast down—but the subjects of true piety shall remain, and be enlarged upon forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 57: 03.044. A WICKED THING TO DEPART FROM GOD IN ======================================================================== A wicked thing to depart from God in the least The Lord is with us while we are with him—but when we forsake him, he hides his face, and departs from us, that we may not depart from him any more. It is dangerous to let the soul out of the heavenly frame; for the inclination being carnal, the affections corrupt, the will stubborn, and the heart deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked—it is with much labor, that the rebel is brought back again to obedience. Moreover, the soul above all things, receives a tinge and resemblance of that with which it is most conversant; hence the carnal mind stops not with its carnality—but even turns into enmity against God. While the soul which beholds the glory of the Lord, is changed into the same image, from glory to glory. Again, the nearer the soul is allowed to approach to God, the easier it is kept with God; but the further it removes from God, the faster it flies from him, like a stone tumbling down a mountain, the velocity of which increases according to the distance it has fallen; and which at last, with amazing rapidity, rolls to the lowest bottom of the valley. So the spiritual defection is made by degrees. First our love to God cools; then our delight in God and in pious duties languishes; then our watch against sins and shortcomings is slackened; then we count the service of God a weariness; then our mortification of lusts is suspended; then the performance of pious exercises proves a burden; then our affections grow carnal, and our meditations vain; then sins appear, and we view them, first, with no great degree of abhorrence, secondly, with a friendly eye; then we dally with them, and then turn openly and avowedly profane. This has been the case with some, who were once shining professors. But when the saints have departed from God, though mercy will not let them fall finally and totally away—yet what rueful thoughts, what despairing groans, what melting complaints, what terrors of conscience for a time, what penitential sorrow and breaking of heart, what dreary looks on their backslidings, what anguish, remorse, and pain, what inward vexation, and trouble of mind, to think how they have sinned against God, thought little of his love, forgot his goodness, and buried his mercies in oblivion—have chastised their mournful departure from God! until their heart is swept, by the Spirit of grace and consolation, of all these terrible storms and filled with joy and peace. in renewed acts of believing. But, again, as the backsliding soul leaves God—so God may leave the soul in justice. He may punish sin with sin. He may punish our going away from him, with his going away from us, and permitting us to go further away from him. He may justly deprive us of the mercy which we do not prize as we ought. When we will not hear him, though he stands at the door and knocks—he may not hear when we pray before the throne. We think little of that unspeakable privilege of being allowed to walk with God—but it is a mournful thing to walk without him, if once we know what it is to walk with him. We should watch our ways, guard against the beginning of our wanderings, the first straying of our thoughts from God. For by sad experience I may say, that the heart which is not fixed on God, is tossed to and fro, up and down—seeking rest in many things, and finding it in none. But, Oh! that when I have flown out of the ark upon the flood of vanities, I may not, with the raven, before I return to the sacred resting-place, sit down on dead and despicable objects, as corrupt in their kind as the carrion floating on the face of the waters—but, with the nobler dove, return to him whose arm of mercy can pull me into the ark again, and encircle my soul with his favor, and make her rest with vast delight in his unchangeable love. In your sovereignty and love, depart not from me. And in your mercy, let not me depart from you. Hold me by your right hand, and my soul shall follow hard after you, until you allow yourself, (O condescendence!) to be overtaken in vision and fruition, where I shall never fall away from you again! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 58: 03.045. WHO THE GREAT MAN IS ======================================================================== Who the great man is He who bears a commission from his king, that is, a noble, an ambassador, or a minister of state—is accounted a great man. Now, if being near the throne, and conversant with the king, makes a man great, clothes him with renown, procures him reverence and respect, loads him with popular applause, and clothes him with splendor and pomp; with how much more divine and durable honor is the saint aggrandized, who, though alone from the world, dwells with God; and though not known among the busy crowd, resides near to God’s throne! The high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, gives his royal assent to their petitions, and will not deny them. Yes, "his secret is with those who fear him, and he will show them his covenant." This is greatness indeed, to be in favor with him who is a terror to kings; with him to whom kings and their subjects are less than nothing, and vanity. How are the humble saints exalted in their privileges above the nobles of the world! The eternal King is not only their Friend—but Father; and the Prince of the kings of the earth is not only their Benefactor—but their Brother, which relation is secured for eternity. Again, God’s gifts are according to his divine dignity. None of the kings of the earth can bestow on their dearest friends, and most faithful servants, crowns and kingdoms. They may indeed divide their own among them at their death—but in no country can they secure the donation, when dead, or perpetuate the conveyance. But God’s favors, who lives forever to see them bestowed—are crowns and kingdoms—a crown that fades not away, and a kingdom that cannot be moved. Yes, his gifts enrich the soul, and measure with their existence. Monarchs may cause their favorites’ names to be registered in the list of their honorary rolls—but cannot prevent their being buried in oblivion. But the names of all the saints are written in the Lamb’s book of life, and shall be confessed before an assembled world. It is greater to know God—than to be acquainted with kings; to be known of God—than to be commended to the ends of the earth. Now, what do you think, O poor despised saint of God—who dwells in a cottage which the great men would not stoop to step into—to be so high in the favor of Heaven, that a divine guard of heavenly angels is set around your house, that no ill can come near your dwelling? Yes, the sacred retinue, though unseen, attends the saint wherever he goes, who walks unobserved through the world. Did the royal life-guards of the rising heirs of glory, appear in their celestial garments—they would terrify the inhabitants of the earth; but there is a greater wonder, that even the eternal Sovereign should condescend to be the watchman of his people, and keep their going out, and preserve their coming in, so that neither the moon by night, nor the sun by day, shall smite them! And what comfort and security is this—that the eternal God is your refuge, and underneath you are the everlasting arms! Such, O saint! is your renowned state, your excellent glory, who perhaps are kept at short allowance of food and clothing; with a young and needy family sitting heavy on your mind; but God cares both for you and them. What then, though you have crosses of every kind to meet with, bitter draughts of every composition to drink—since it is well with your better part? Yes, afflictions capacitate you for felicity, and enlarge your soul for bliss. But I dare appeal to your own bosom, O child of God! under all your troubles, falsifying friends, loss of relations, or any other grief—if you would exchange your afflictions for the flourishing condition of the wicked? Now you are great, (for the saints, since they live near God, are the greatest men in the world,) though perhaps you know it not. Let your greatness kindle your gratitude, not increase your pride. To keep the saints humble, divers afflictions are allotted them in this life; as a royal father, fearing lest his son, the young prince, under his present grandeur, and prospect of the crown, may swell beyond himself—deals so roughly with him, that often he fears the king intends to disinherit him. Yet so many bright displays of paternal affection assure him it shall not be so. And the truth is, it is out of love, that he may not mount the throne with unsubdued passions, or sway the scepter in thoughtless folly. So it fares with the saints, who should know, in the celestial promotion, that it comes neither from the east, nor from the west, not by works of righteousness which we have done—but it is God alone who exalts. My life, then, is a paradox; I am base—but great; miserable—yet happy; poor—but possessing all things; a beggar—and a prince. Eternity shall unriddle it—taking away the one part, and illustrating the other! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 59: 03.046. WE SHOULD SLEEP NO LONGER THAN TO REFRESH ======================================================================== We should sleep no longer than to refresh the body Long sleep in any man is blame-worthy—but in a candidate for glory it is a sinful. I may indeed rise in time to manage my temporal affairs, as I am seldom behind with the world; but what improvement do I make for eternal realities? "He who loves sleep," though in worldly things he may sustain no loss, yet in spiritual things "shall be a poor man." When I have a long journey to go, I can get up early in the morning. Now, I am on a more momentous, and immensely longer journey, even to eternity, which cannot be delayed a day; therefore, I have need to use my time wisely—before the shadows of darkness overspreads me, wherein no man can walk; or the night of death overtakes me, wherein no man can work. Alas! allowing that I shall live some sixty years, how far am I already advanced towards my limit! The past time is lost, the future uncertain; but eternity is certain and approaching! When I look back, how many healthy hours lost in sleep, superfluous sleep, stare in my face! And now that I am convinced of the preciousness of time, shall I squander it away in sleep? Too long in bed, is a sin of a deeper dye than the sleeper will allow. What will I think, if sickness renders me unfit for anything, if infirm old age confines me to my lazy bed? How will I look back with sorrow on vigorous youthful hours lost in sleep! hours which might have been improved for eternity, and spent in communion with God. Did a friend, whom I dearly love, come early in the morning to visit me, would I not rise to entertain him, not knowing how soon he might go away? Shall I then give the beloved of my soul worse entertainment than my friend? Sleep is a kind of death; therefore, when asleep, how can I have communion with God, for God is not the God of the dead—but of the living? He, out of sovereignty, may speak to man in a dream, in a vision of the night; and sometimes the dreams of his people have been divine, so that, when they awoke, their sleep has been sweet. But the duty of saints is, to seek him with all the activity of their soul, in the full exercise of all her powers; with the psalmist, to awake themselves early, that they may praise him; to arise before the dawn, that they may pray to him. How am I to blame, who indulge in long sleep! See the laborer go early to the field, the hireling to his work; and shall I lie in bed, like one that has less to do than they? Did my dearest Lord continue on a mount alone, all night in prayer to God for me, and the like of me—and shall I not arise and praise him early? The royal Psalmist could shake himself from his midnight-slumbers, to join in the work of heaven; and shall not I rise in the morning? Thus, indeed, I think I am punished, that the more I indulge myself in sleep, the more I would sleep. The multitudes above rest not day nor night. I should rest only to refresh my body, not to ruin my soul. Alas! I have not only long sleep to lament—but that I slumber my time away when awake!—without lifting my eye to God. Pity, in all respects, O fountain of mercy! one who in all respects deplores himself. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 60: 03.047. OUR ONLY JOY IN THE WORLD TO COME ======================================================================== Our only joy in view of the world to come Truly, O worldlings! I pity you. Now you seem to be great and full of fun. But, though you shine on the outside, there is an awful blank within. If in this life only I have hope, I would of all men be most miserable; for the greatest thing I could either hope for, or desire below, are trifling in comparison of the great and glorious things of eternity that I aspire after. What good would my life do me, did I not live to die, that I may live forever? What would my time be—but a rotation of toils and troubles, did it not afford me an opportunity to prepare and improve for eternity? How would every forethought about this present life trouble me, did not the solid hope of a future world sustain me? As for my part, I would not wish a worse hell, than that my eternal habitation were among the wicked in Mesech—where my unsubdued corruptions and carnal affections were perpetuated. But I know in whom I have believed, and that he will not delay to gather his scattered sheep together, that there may be one Shepherd, and one flock, in the fields above. Eternity is already begun in my soul, and my inward part is refreshed with foretastes of fruition and glory. Hence my thoughts take wing beyond the bounds of time, and dwell, (though, alas! too short,) amidst the glories of the better world. Hence I am contented with my present state, and would not exchange my condition with kings. Hence the early beamings of that blessed day, when my Beloved and I shall meet, to part no more—refresh and ravish all my soul. Hence I triumph amidst all the transitory scenes of sorrow which I labor under; and am not moved, either by unjust reproach, or vain applause. O the emptiness of this present world! but O the excellences of the world to come! Faith and hope—fetch me some of the first-ripe fruits, some of the grapes of Eshcol. Surely, this world would be a wilderness to me, did I not look on myself only as a traveler through it—as a way-faring man that shall tarry therein but for a few nights. There is a restlessness in my bosom that shall never be removed until I rest in God. Yes, even now, God is the resting-place of my soul, otherwise I would be tormented with strong pain, and torn with agonies of mind. Yet the most pleasant calm and tranquility I enjoy here, through the imperfections of this state, and remaining corruption—is far from being complete at best, and oftentimes is interrupted. But the rest I wait for, is refreshing, perfect, and eternal. Hasten, then, the day when you shall descend to mount your glorious throne, and appear the second time without sin unto salvation; when you shall accomplish all my desires, fill my longing soul, admit me to the nearest communion, and satisfy me with the sublimest bliss. For this I patiently wait. In the mean time, I lay up my treasures in heaven, where I dwell by hope, and have taken up my mansion by faith in the promise, until the day of my solemn removal come, when by the divine command, I shall be carried over to the land of rest. Miserable are those who have no joy in the prospect of a world to come—without which I would be swallowed up in sorrow. Miserable are those who find their pleasure, and place their happiness—in the painted trifles of a momentary life—but are tortured with the thoughts of eternity, and put on the rack if they glance beyond the grave! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 61: 03.048. ON THE SCRIPTURES ======================================================================== On the Scriptures An entertaining history, or a striking description of some famous battle will challenge our attention, and cause us to light another candle. But a small portion of the scriptures suffices us; yes, some are more occupied with a well-written romance, than with all the interesting truths of the word of God. This is my lamentation. Ah! how am I to blame—who do not more value this invaluable book, where the style is lofty, the images striking, the figures beautiful, the harmony conspicuous, the subjects of infinite consequence, and the glory of God the scope of all. Here corruption and grace are portrayed to the life; and the struggles of the old and new man set forth in an instructive light. Here are arrows that pierce the stubborn heart, and balm of comfort for the bleeding soul. Here kings are taught how to reign, and princes how to judge; and here is an unerring directory for churches in their public, and Christians in their private capacities, to walk by. This is the armory of heaven, from which I may be furnished with weapons for my spiritual warfare; for the sword of the Spirit is the word of God. Like a kindly comforter, the Word stills my complaints, chases away my sorrows, cheers my sinking spirit, revives my hope, strengthens my faith, and sets me above the hurricanes of time. This feeds me with manna; not the manna of the wilderness, of which all who ate are died—but the divine manna, preserved in the golden pot of the promise, laid up in the ark of the covenant of grace, for all the chosen seed. Surely "your words were found me, and I ate them, and your word was the joy and rejoicing of my heart." This is the only food that can support the strength of the traveler heavenward. This makes my table so well furnished, and so richly spread, in presence of my foes. With this my cup overflows; and this is my daily allowance from the King’s table, until the day I am admitted to sit at table with the King. "The words of your mouth are better to me than thousands of gold and silver. I rejoice at your word as one that finds great spoil." Without this sacred book I would have no happiness here, no hope for the future; for it is the Christian’s charter for the glorious inheritance above. The bible is my directory in all conditions, at all times, in all difficulties, amidst all companies, and in all places. To be condemned to read a human composition again and again, would be intolerable; but to be debarred from reading the scriptures, would be death. They are always savory and refreshful to the spiritual taste; as the traveler drinks at the stream that attends him through the desert, as often as he is parched with thirst, and finds it always refreshful. Those truths, which at one time we read with a belief that they are divine, come at another time, when the Spirit breathes on them with such power, that in them we hear God talking with us, and our heart burns within us. Here time is bounded, and eternity brought forth: the world set on flames, and the new creation formed; here heaven and earth talk together, God and man converse; here conscience is accosted, thoughts discerned, and secrets brought to light; so that the Word is both full of eyes, and solemn all around. This is the light of revelation, which dispels the darkness of corrupt nature, shows me the world to come, sets the judgment-throne, sounds the trumpet, gathers the nations, passes the sentence, and brings in eternity! Yes from this sacred volume, I may learn on what hand I shall stand, and what my sentence will be in that tremendous day. May I build for myself a dwelling in the word of promise which shall stand when the hail shall sweep away the refuges of lies. From this dear book, will I choose my songs in the house of pilgrimage; and will count myself happier with a few promises from it, than if possessed of scepters, crowns, and kingdoms. This is the window at which the Beloved looks out; the lattice through which he shows himself—until the day breaks and the shadows flee away. In a word, this sacred word is the beauteous day-star that gives the pleasant dawn, until the Sun himself arises and shines in the sky of glory. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 62: 03.049. TRUE JOY ======================================================================== True Joy Sometimes, indeed, I am amazed at the joy of sinners, while those who have the greatest cause of exultation are rather too sad. Yes, I wonder that, on due consideration, joy of soul bursts not my mortal frame. Though I should never think highly of myself, yet I should never think lowly or basely of the manifestations of the love and favor of God. What shall I, then, think of this quiet of mind, this peace of God which passes understanding—pouring into my soul, and giving me the life of a prince—while one would be ready to conclude that I lived like a prisoner? What of this dwelling under the smile of Heaven? this joy that I have in believing these transforming glances of glory, which give a sweet promise of the fruition to come, and make me long for the day of perfect communion with God? What of my daily allowance from the table of the King, yes, sometimes my being allowed to eat at the King’s table of the hidden manna, and bread of life—and to behold his glory with the eye of faith. Surely, then, I ought to sing and rejoice; for as the sorrow of the world works death, so the joy that is spiritual tends to life. God remembers both the place and time where he lets out his love to his people. Hence, "I remember you, the kindness of your youth, the love of your espousals." Dare I, then, despise the day of small things, or forget what God may be pleased to remember? And if I look but a little further to the end of my life, which is perhaps nearer than I realise—what a flood of glory waits to replenish my enlarged soul, when sin and imperfection shall be put off, and perfection put on! Should not such a happy change, secured to me by the faithfulness of him who cannot lie—but who rests in his love, cause a continual joy in my soul? I daily see sinners, whose life is one scene of joviality, one round of mirth—and yet they know not on what account they are so cheerful. And why should I be sad, who have the truest cause of purest joy? Neither should the outward troubles of time disquiet me—any more than a king riding in his coach of state, attended with his guards, should be disturbed that dust should fly round him, or a gentle shower fall on him, when screened from both. So I am safe in the promise; yes, I ride in the chariot of my Beloved with greater security, and statelier bearing—than the kings of this world, could ever boast of. Hasten your flight, O time, that I may see him whom I love, for whom I long, on whom I have fixed my affection, and with whom my soul dwells by faith. Now will I rejoice in you with a joy superior to those who divide the spoil; and wait for the day when I shall be allowed to bring to the throne of your glory, the tribute of praise for all your mercies to me, and among the rest—for this true substantial joy. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 63: 03.050. ONE FRUIT OF AFFLICTION ======================================================================== One fruit of affliction The world complains of affliction as the worst thing that can befall a man—but for my part I never shall. Were it as bad as we apprehend, how is it that from Adam to this very day, the saints have had so large a share of it? Now, among the many precious fruits of affliction, I shall only name one, and that is—earnestness and importunity with God in prayer. A gracious soul may walk with God in close communion, as Enoch, captivated with the glory of his countenance, and lifted above the world by the outlettings of his love. But as this is not the ordinary attainment of the saints in general—it is their mercy to be driven near the throne, and made earnest in their prayers. A godly man may walk in the course of pious duties—but affliction gives a sharper edge to his devotions, importunity to his petitions, and makes him draw nearer to the throne, stay longer, and cry louder. Of this we have examples in the practice of scripture-saints. See how Lot, when Sodom is in flames behind him; his wailing wife and weeping daughters hanging round him; desolate mountains before him; where he is commanded to escape; terror without, and trembling within. See, I say, how he doubles his request, "It is a little one, O let me escape there! is it not a little one?" See another example in the case of Jacob, who was not long escaped out of Laban’s hand, until he is informed of another and more furious foe come out against him to cut him wholly off. Immediately he pleads the promise which God had made to him, of doing him good, and also bidding him return unto his native land, yet confessing this was less than the least of all his mercies. Then he lodges alone that night, and when alone expresses all that grief, pours out his soul to God: ’Did you not promise that in my seed all nations should be blessed, and from my loins the promised Messiah spring? and that my seed should be numerous as the stars, innumerable as the sand? But where is the accomplishment of the promise, the veracity of the promiser, if I and all my seed are slain?’ This no doubt, was the subject of his prayer, and the theme he insisted on in the wrestling-night; and, lo! the very Savior about whose kingdom in the world he was so concerned, appears to him in the very same likeness which he would afterwards assume, and allows himself to be wrestled with—in weeping, prayers, and supplication—and to be overcome by the all prevalent strugglings of omnipotent faith—until this surprising language drops between them, "Let me go!" "I will not let you go except you bless me!" which was granted, and confirmed by a change of his name from Jacob to Israel. Surely then, never was a sweeter night on earth; and can it be doubted but that was a singular fruit of a singular affliction! Here we must also admire the earnestness of Moses in prayer with God, in the time of Israel’s calamity, through sin: "And now, O Lord, let the power of my Lord be great: pardon, I beseech you, the sin of this people." Of Joshua, when Israel was smitten before their enemies: "What will you do to your great name?" Of David, under his various persecutions—and of Hezekiah when he received the railing letter from the Assyrian monarch. Not to mention any more in the Old Testament, I shall name one in the New Testament. Peter is apprehended by Herod, put in prison, and the day set that he should suffer: this was a great affliction to the church, one of her prime pillars, one of her apostles, so near a shameful cruel death. But prayer is made of the church unto God without ceasing, and the outcome is Peter’s deliverance in a miraculous manner. O! how, when pressed upon by affliction, do we press upon the promise, plead for the performance, and are importunate with God! As an affectionate parent keeps back from his child what he knows to be needful for him, that he may be delighted with its little pretty arguments to obtain it—so deals God with his people. Then rather than that I should grow remiss in my supplications at the throne of grace, through the languor of my love—may the weight of my afflictions add fervor to my devotions, and eagerness to my requests! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 64: 03.051. FROM THE DEPTH OF AFFLICTIONS WE SEE STUP ======================================================================== From the depths of afflictions we see stupendous things Christians, when shut up in the depths of afflictions, "when set in dark places as the dead, when hedged about that they cannot get out," have their eyes on God alone, who can bring them out of the horrible pit, out of the miry clay. Then their thoughts ascend to heaven, and heaven shines down into their souls; while the world, in all its glittering vanities that strike the carnal eye, is cut off on every side. A communication is opened between God and the soul: "To this man will I look, even to him who is poor, and of a contrite spirit," a spirit broken with affliction; yes, with such he will dwell, to revive the hearts of the contrite ones. Again, in the dark night of adversity, there are beauties seen, that were never seen in the broad day of prosperity. Manasseh, all the time he reigned in Judah, though it was a land of light, never knew God until he was taken among the thorns, bound in fetters, and carried to Babylon, where he prayed, was heard, pardoned, and liberated; and "then Manasseh knew that the Lord, he was God." Thus, in the depths of affliction, he learned maxims more sublime, and of higher consequence, than he could attain to when seated on a throne. O desirable distress! that discloses and magnifies heavenly excellences, and diminishes earthly vanities! When much of the world gets into the mind, then little of God is there; for "if any man loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him;" but when little of the world, then much of God. Affliction is also a time of solitude, for the man sits alone; but God sets the solitary in a family, even in the family of heaven, and comforts him with his own children. In no place better than in the profound depth of affliction, does the heir of future glory see the love, the goodness, the mercy, and the wisdom of God; the excellency of true religion, the beauty of divine things, the danger of prosperity, the deceitfulness of riches, the vanity of created things, and the happiness of the world to come! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 65: 03.052. PRAYER ======================================================================== PRAYER No sooner is the child born, than he breathes; no sooner is Paul converted, than, behold! he prays. O incomparable privilege! to be allowed to pour our petitions into the ear of God, cast our cares upon him, plead the performance of the promise, and cast the burden of our sorrows and necessities over on his sympathy and all-sufficiency! The prayer of faith has won more numerous and more noble victories than all the mighty conquerors since war was taught among the nations. Prayer is the furbishing of all the other pieces of the spiritual armor, and as it were the master of all the graces. Prayer is the key of heaven; Elijah prayed, and it was locked; again he prayed, and it was opened. Prayer is the terror of hell, which will put up with anything but prayer. Prayer is the ambassador of the renewed soul—the trumpet of faith—the support of the weak—the employment of the expectant of glory—and the daily exercise of the Christian. It is like a pulley that draws the soul up to heaven; and, like a golden pipe, plunges into that river that proceeds out of the throne of God and of the Lamb, and conveys the blessing down into the soul below. When Job prayed, God turned his captivity. When Jacob wrestled in prayer, he obtained the blessing. When Elijah and Solomon prayed, the fire fell and consumed the sacrifice. When Paul and Barnabas prayed and sang praises, the prison was shaken, the doors opened, and everyone’s bands loosed. And while the church prayed for Peter, an angel set him at liberty. By all which it appears, that God will be inquired after by prayer, and will work wonders for the humble supplicants. This is the time that God will talk with men in a special manner—the audience-hour of the great King, when the court of Heaven receives and answers the petitions of the saints. And many times have the souls of God’s people been enlarged beyond measure, while they have, Jacob-like, been wrestling for the blessing, weeping and making supplication to God. Then Heaven has been pleased to pour in its joys in the soul, so fully, that they hardly could contain; their old bottles being like to burst asunder with the new wine of God. Flowery expressions, and a fine style; a multitude of words, and many petitions; or anything that may seem the wisdom of man, more than the power of God—is not the prayer that shall be heard by Him, who regards one earnest wish, and sincere request, before all the oratory of the schools. We should search ourselves before prayer, and know what sin is least subdued, what duty is most neglected, what grace is most decayed, that we may pray with understanding. Again, we should summon our attention in the time of prayer, that we may speak as to God; and we should look to God after prayer for an answer, and wait on him who is both able and willing to supply all our need, spiritual and temporal, according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 66: 03.053. LITTLE KNOWN OF THE BLISS ABOVE ======================================================================== Little known of the bliss above I verily believe the saints here are like a stranger come from the skirts of the kingdom to the chief city, who never saw anything grand or noble all his life until he came there. When he comes to the palace of the king, he is astonished to see the stately buildings, royal guards, grand attendance, delightful walks, fragrant arbors, the palace garden, and the noble personages who are admitted in. While gazing with wonder at the external appearance, he is filled with surprise to think what must be within. Rooms hung with fine tapestries, furniture gilt with gold, the throne, the crown, the scepter, and the robes of state, and all the royal inhabitants. Even so the saints, who are charmed with the beauties of the church below, which is the house of the living God, wonder what the palace of the great King must be. For if the ordinances of his grace be pleasant beyond comparison, what must the eternal overflowings of his love be, in the land of his glory? If the exceeding great and precious promises, and the scriptures of truth, be better than thousands of gold and silver, what must the fulfilment of the one, and the subject of the other, be in the world above? How may we, when we see the outwalks of our God, the goings of our King in the sanctuary, wonder what the chamber of presence must be above! Happy, you who stand before him, and see him on his throne, even face to face, not as we do, who only get a window-glimpse, and through the dimming glass. What must the glory of the highest heaven be, when such beauty beams in the created skies! What must that glory be that supplies the absence of the sun! What must that beatific vision be which changes the soul at its first entrance into it! What must those pleasures be which ravish every moment! and those delights which surfeit not, even while eternally enjoyed! Surely that divine bliss is too sublime for nature’s light to know about, or see into; and revelation can tell but a little of it, because of our carnality, and shallow knowledge of sacred things. Yes, should the happiness of the blessed be described in the language used before the throne, it would be too sublime to enter into a mortal ear. So that it still holds true, that ear has not heard, eye has not seen, neither has it entered into the heart of man to conceive—what God has laid up for his saints. But such a portion is it, that faith in them makes them endure hardships, patient under trouble, silent in affliction, joyful in tribulation; to trample on worldly greatness, riches, honor, and renown; and to endure all things, as seeing him who is invisible, and thus to wait for his son from heaven! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 67: 03.054. THE DIVINE LOVER ======================================================================== The Divine Lover How many great geniuses have employed their noble talents on subjects of human love! And by their flowery expressions, pitch up the imaginary bliss in these luscious scenes to such a height, as if nothing more sublime could be pursued by immortal souls! And how easy such trifling subjects gain on carnal minds, mournful experience may convince us. But where is he who dwells on the Divine Lover, and expatiates on his matchless grace, with strokes that melt the soul with astonishment and rapture? How often does the poet, in his paean of a created beauty, step beyond the truth, talk at random, yes rove above possibility itself! But here, in the love of the Son of God, we can never exceed. It is higher than heaven, and brought him down from his father’s bosom to our earth! It is deeper than hell, and brought us up from thence! It is larger than the sea, and can never be exhausted! Broader than the earth, and can never be described. How vehemently did the heavenly flame burn, even "when sorrows of death compassed him about, when the pains of hell took hold on him!" How has art and oratory embellished human loves!—What surprising narratives have been written of the amours of princes! and what pages have been filled with the fictitious adventures of lovers! But what has been said to purpose of the Supreme Lover, who loved his own to the end, in the hour of death, in the pangs of dissolution, and amidst the keenest sense of his Almighty Father’s wrath! This is what no mortal ever could do; for death flings another theme into their mind, and as their breath expires, their thoughts perish. Death, in the person loving or beloved, finishes the strongest affection, though their memory may be dear; but death cannot separate from his sacred love. There never was such disproportion between parties loving and beloved, as here; no, not though kings should choose their queens from the ash-heap. Here the Prince of peace, the king of kings, the flower of paradise, the darling of his father’s love, the express image of his person, and brightness of his glory, the heir of all things, the eternal God—loves an ugly, deformed miserable creature, a crawling worm, a condemned criminal, an insolvent debtor, a rebel against heaven, a daring sinner, a drudge to hell, a slave to lust, a captive of Satan, a prisoner of the pit! This is love indeed, love that will be the wonder of angels, and the song of the church of the first-born through endless ages. For shame you celebrated bards! will you choose such lifeless, tasteless, dying themes—and neglect the work of angels, the employment of heaven? How ardently, O Divine Lover! should my soul go out after You! I long for that glorious day, when I shall mourn Your absence no more--when, admitted into Your presence, I shall delight in all Your love, and feast on all Your charms, world without end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 68: 03.055. ETERNITY ======================================================================== ETERNITY Mathematicians have never attempted to measure eternity, or the duration of the world to come. Here the finite mind has no idea of eternity but by succession of ages, and yet succession belongs to time, not to eternity. Days, weeks, and months, are nothing there; years, ages and generations are lost there; hundreds, thousands, and millions are no more there; times, eras, and determinate durations are forever gone there; all is fixed, all eternal there! There is no first and last, sooner and later, in eternity; for though Abel, with respect to time, was sooner plunged into perpetuity, yet no sooner than the saints that shall be alive at the last day, with respect to eternity. The saints are like so many guests assembling to a feast, some are set down, some sitting down, some standing ready to sit down, some entering the door, and some at a little distance from the house, yet all come in due time for the feast. Adam, Enoch, and Elijah, are set down at the banquet of love; the prophets and apostles are set down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb; some are entering the door of bliss, and many are on their way there; but they shall all come time enough to the divine entertainment which shall satisfy all the guests in the mansions of glory. Alas! with what desperate madness am I chargeable—who am thus taken up with transitory trifles, and neglect the realities of the everlasting world? When I consider the vanity of all earthly greatness, I cannot help concluding, that such as pursue after it are intoxicated with poison more dangerous than that of the tarantula; which makes men die by dancing; as the one effects the soul, the other only the body. But even if the pleasures of this world were real and solid, yet they are so transient, that they are not worthy our pursuit. O how wise they are for earthly trifles—but how foolish for eternal realities! For what man, to appear in all the majesty and grandeur of a king for a day, would forfeit his estate, and spend the rest of his miserable life in poverty and reproach? And yet for vanity, for trifles of a day, we throw ourselves away for eternity! I look forward a few years, perhaps a few days, and see myself in eternity: but I cannot look still more forward, and see myself out of eternity into another state. O Eternity! I am to be in you forever; and why should you not be in all my thoughts? You shall shortly overtake me; why then should I chase you from me, or flee away from you? It matters not much to him who is going but out of one door into another, whether it be in a summer heat, or winter-blast—since a few steps finish his journey. Nor should it much more concern him who enters by the gate of death into the palace of the great King, his mansion for eternity, whether it be under the sun-shine of prosperity, or the bitter blast of adversity; because the one cannot profit him, nor the other pain him there. And our journey, from our coming into this world, until our going into the world of spirits, though we should reach the age of Methuselah, is performed sooner with respect to eternity, than our going from one room to another in respect of time. Now, my moments are numbered, and precious; but, O that blessed state when numbers are no more! No incursions there on the adoring soul, from the world, or from vanity, from sin, Satan, or the flesh. No weariness there, where my adorations are not measured by minutes, cramped by corruption, or cut short by bodily indisposition. But when I have stood an ardent adorer before the throne for ten thousand years, I shall be as vigorous in my love, as active in my adorations, as in the first moment I began the work of angels, the employment of heaven. Now vain thoughts mingle with my contemplations, distractions with my devotions, impertinent rovings with my most importunate prayers; unbelief resists my faith, carnality is a clog to the heavenly mind, corruption a dead weight on the soul, and the things of time a hindrance to all. But then I shall be delivered into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. Once a great king made a great feast for his nobles for a hundred and eighty days; nothing less than a royal treasury could support the expense of such an entertainment. But the King of kings shall feast and satiate all his mighty angels, all his chosen people on his own undiminished fullness through eternity itself! Here is bliss without ceasing, abundance beyond all bounds, and possession without end! No matter, then, how long I live in this present world; for whenever the lamp of life expires, the sun shall rise and shine forever! "In Your presence is fullness of joy! In Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore!" (Psalms 16:11) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 69: 03.056. ON LOVING GOD ======================================================================== On loving God To love you—is my honor. That I may love you—is my privilege. And in as far as I do love you—so far am I happy. How is it, then, that this divine duty of loving you meets with so much opposition! Hell and earth bid me hate you; sinners will not let me avow my love to you; corruption within, cares and concerns without, check my love; unbelief cools my love, "for faith works by love," and love bears proportion to faith. Immoderate fear, and love of anything besides you, is a clog to my love; and imperfect apprehensions of your glorious self, deaden my love to you. In what a melancholy case am I! It is death to live, and not to love; yet I live, and cannot love you! I can love my friend, and hate my enemy; but I cannot love my God, nor hate my enmity. I can love what I think beautiful in the creature, with love more than fit; why then not love the Rose of heaven, the chief among ten thousand, who is altogether lovely, and whose love is, like himself, unchangeable! What makes the triumphant eternal state so glorious, so desirable—but because their love is perfect without fear, their adorations without distractions, their conceptions bright without misapprehensions, their praise without interruption, their knowledge clear without confusion, their vision perfect, their views fixed; and all their souls strengthened in God, replenished with God, and going out on God. In loving you, I begin the felicity of eternity, and anticipate the bliss above. I will love you for yourself, and your saints for your sake, for your image shining in them. I will hate my enmity against you, and grieve that I cannot love you as you deserve; and wait for that day when I shall love you as I desire—because I shall see and enjoy you as you are! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 70: 03.057. WRATH ======================================================================== WRATH I have hitherto had faint views of divine wrath, though I have indeed had frightful apprehensions of fire; gloomy ideas of the bottomless pit, and shocking thoughts of the state of the damned. But, there is one expression of our Savior’s, which gives me a clearer view of divine vengeance, than all the anguish of the damned can do. Observe the God-man in his spotless innocence—suffering in our stead, carrying our sorrows, and bearing our grief. Although he knew he would triumph, and come off victorious, that he should see of the travail of his own soul, and be satisfied; and that, though he laid down his life, he should take it up again. Yet see, when the flood-gates of divine vengeance are opening on Immanuel—and pouring out wrath on him—how his soul, which is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death, suffers in such a manner—that his blood forces a passage at every pore, and in great drops trickles down upon the ground! while he puts up a petition which I should never forget, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!" Which is as if he had said, ’Could you be glorified, justice satisfied, and the elect saved, any other way than by my drinking this tremendous cup of wrath—O let it be done! yet not my will—but may yours be done.’ Now, if thus the Son of God in our nature expressed himself under a sense of wrath, how dreadful, terrible, and intolerable must it be! what are streams of melted brimstone, floods of fire, utter darkness, the worm which never dies, the horrid gulf, the bottomless pit, the tormenting company of fiends and devils—but as it were—vehicles to convey wrath into the damned? for the wrath of the Almighty, of which the wicked must drink forever, is something above and beyond all these! "Who knows the power of your wrath!" "Who can stand if you are angry?" How must ’guilt’ scream, when ’innocence’ itself cries out so! How must despair roar, when he who was heard in that he feared, expresses himself in such a manner! Three things may remain my wonder, the compassion of the Father, the condescension of the Son, and the insensibility of the sinner. O, then—be wise before instructed in the world of flames! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 71: 03.058. SENSIBLE COMMUNION WITH GOD SOMETIMES ENJOYED ======================================================================== Sensible communion with God sometimes enjoyed Though every child in the family of heaven has real fellowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ; yet there are happy times and pleasant moments, when a divine fellowship is carried on between the soul and God. A carnal world ridicules the idea; and no wonder, for the "natural man receives not the things of the Spirit of God, because they are foolishness to him." Will not every Christian confess, that communion with God is sometimes sensibly enjoyed; and that the enjoyment of it is—a little heaven, glory in the bud, and a foretaste of their future felicity? Nor is this the effect of fancy, or an heated imagination; it proceeds from a nobler cause, even the sovereign kindness of the Father of mercies. Have not the souls of his people, (Oh that I could say—my own!) been sometimes so refreshed with more than ordinary out-lettings of his love, that they have longed for the eternal uninterrupted vision and enjoyment of himself? And when heaven has opened before them to let them look in, and see the glories of the better country, how have they trampled on the pleasures, and triumphed over the troubles of the present life! At three remarkable seasons God is pleased to hold communion with his people. First, before affliction, to prepare them for it; as with Jacob in that memorable night when his angry brother was marching against him; and with Paul, who was bid to be of good cheer, for as he had testified at Jerusalem, so he should at Rome. Secondly, in the time of affliction, to support them under it; as when Moses was mourning and going heavily under Israel’s grievous idolatry, then God spoke face to face with him, as a man speaks unto his friend; and he made his goodness to pass before him. Likewise, Stephen’s face, from heart-felt joy, shone like an angel’s, amidst his foes, and near his death. And, thirdly, after some afflictive dispensations, and mournful providences. So the apostles, after they had been apprehended, examined, and severely threatened, are filled in an eminent manner with the Holy Spirit, while the place of their abode, as a symbol of the divine presence, is remarkably shaken. Though all his saints are fed from God’s bounty—yet sometimes they are allowed to sit in his presence, and feast with the King. And such a banquet makes the barren desert like the garden of God. It is only in the strength of heavenly meals, bestowed by Jesus, that I travel to the mount of God. Now, these manifestations and communications do not entitle me to bliss—but are themselves a part of my bliss; therefore I must not build upon them—but seek my standing in the righteousness of the Son of God. Even as a servant’s being allowed to eat at the master’s table will not prove him to be a son; yet the son abiding in the family of election and house of God, is always entitled to be fed, and is sometimes admitted to his Father’s own table. If, then, Heaven is pleased, according to his divine sovereignty, to display his glory at times, in a more than ordinary effulgence, why should it be called enthusiasm and delusion? For my part—let me live and die in such delusion! But if thus the life of the least saint be like the life of an angel, in comparison of the happiest worldlings; and if the life of one saint so excel another’s in walking near God, (for it is thus that in the ’sky of grace’ one star differs from another star in glory;) and if the life of a saint sometimes, for a few moments, in comparison of his ordinary attainments, be like the life of a seraph; what must eternal, uninterrupted, full, and free communion be—in the highest heavens, where the new bottles will be able to hold the new wine of paradise; and where the soul, capacitated in every power, shall be replenished with all the fullness of God? Expire, you intervening years—that I may join the adorers around the throne, and commence communion with the Highest in the holy place—for the endless ages of eternity! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 72: 03.059. BREVITY OF LIFE ======================================================================== Brevity of life "What is your life? You are a vapor, that appears for a little time, and then vanishes away!" (James 4:14) What is all this struggle in the world for? Why so many attempts to be something, and have something—in the sphere of nothing? This struggle for passing vanities, is as if the foam and bubbles should contend for station on the rapid stream—but in a moment they are are gone! We forget that we are but of yesterday—and tomorrow we are no more. It is a shame to think so much about these few fleeting days—and so little of endless ages. Let me look to the generations past. How few of our deceased acquaintances are remembered! And how soon, like them, shall we also be forgotten! Perhaps the names of a few, signalized by an uncommon fame, may yet tingle in our ears; but what is this to those who are fixed in their final state? Could it mitigate their misery, who have begun their everlasting howlings, that the whole world were ringing with their praises? Or, could it add to the joy of who have begun their endless hallelujahs, that every tongue were employed in praise to their memory—then well might we be pardoned in our pursuit of fame. How frail is our life! a pile of grass, a withered leaf, dry stubble, a flower, a breath, brittle clay, fading flesh! How swift is our life! a weaver’s shuttle, an eagle, a ship, a wind that passes away, and comes not again. How short is our life! a moment, a breathing. While I bewail a departed friend, death, suddenly seizing me, translates the lamentation to another tongue that is most nearly concerned in me, who also in a little time must follow me into the silent grave, and leave the protracted elegy to be continued by their nearest relations. Thus mourning is continued, though the mourners themselves are hurried away to death in a short time! Surely I need not be so anxious about a life so short, a state so uncertain, and a world so vain—where I am only a stranger, a pilgrim, a sojourner, and shortly leaving everything below. Let the world, then, go with me as it will, this shall not trouble me, who am daily going through the world, and shall in a little while—go entirely out of the world, to return no more. How, then, shall I spend this short life, my few winged moments, which are all appointed to me? Surely, in nothing better, than in looking out, and laying up for eternity! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 73: 03.060. ON THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR ======================================================================== On the last day of a year (December 31, 1758) Time is measured, and is alike at both ends; it began with a day, and will end with a day. Hence the evening and the morning were said to be the first day, as the universal judgment is called the last day. Eternity is the fountain from which it sprang, and the flood into which it shall fall. The most lasting duration of time is but short, and its greatest prolongations come to an end. A given moment is scarcely known, until it is past. A few moments—of which make a minute, which we but begin to enjoy when it is also gone; thus an hour flies away, a day hastens to its end, and a year, (as this year has done,) comes to its last day. As, therefore, at the end of the year trading people cast up their accounts, and regulate their books, let me ask myself—What have my talents gained these twelve months? For, whatever I may think, time itself is none of the least of talents, and another year is added to my account. Thousands who came into the world after me, are called into eternity before me; and is not this a loud call to me to improve every moment of my time? Time is only little thought of—by those who think still less of eternity. But if I look into a future world, I will see of the great importance of every moment of my time, who with my allotted time—must prepare for this everlasting fixed state. O precious misspent, time, which I never can recall! Now this year is gone, and never shall return; what, then, have I done for the glory of God in this past year? Ah! it is passed away from me as a void, though on this side it sparkles thick with mercies, like the starry skies. Ah! did I say a void? nay, worse; for while his love and goodness shone around me like the noonday sun—my sins rose numerous, like the atoms of the sun! This is the last day of this year; and how would I value every moment of it—did I think it was the last day of my life? Yet nothing but presumption flatters me—that I should live another day. I should count every day as my last, since some have found their last, on days they as little dreaded as I do this; and at most, some day soon will be my last, when perhaps this same pernicious expectation will not be dispelled my bosom. Then it is wisdom to be prepared for death. Wonder that he stays away so long—and you will not be surprised that he comes so soon. Always expect him—and you will not be terrified at his approach. Thus I should look on every day as my last, that when my last day comes, it may not come unlooked for, nor overtake me unprepared. But, alas! this year has afforded me more mournful spectacles of sin than all my life beside. I have heard the divine name blasphemed; seen sin in high places; and all manner of wickedness committed. O for what trifles, will men cast away their precious souls! and how can I, unconcerned, look on sin in all its ugly shapes, and the dreadful havoc it makes among immortal souls! But may the divine providence bring me from these chilling objects, and may I through grace never forget what I have heard and seen! Here also patience, worthy of God, is conspicuous; for, when we think how much wickedness is committed all over the world— in public and private—by great and small—on land and sea; and again, that this rebellion against Heaven was not begun yesterday—but carried on since Adam’s fall, for more than five thousand years; it is a wonder that the world has not long ago been devoted to the flames! But that patience which for continuance is amazing, shall at last give place to justice, which in the execution will be dreadful. But while I am meditating on my fleeting time, the midnight-hour strikes, and I am already in another year. Then adieu forever, 1758! Yet let me remember, that by this adieu I look on my life as drawing to its latter end, and that I am advanced another stage nearer eternity—ignorant if a day, or a month, or a year, or two, or more—shall be bestowed on me. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 74: 03.061. SAINTS HAVE THE GREATEST REASON TO REJOICE ======================================================================== Saints have the greatest reason to rejoice! No wonder that Paul doubles his admonition to the converted Philippians, "Rejoice in the Lord always—again I say rejoice;" for nothing better befits the saints than spiritual joy—though none are greater strangers to what they have so good a title, than they. The joy of the sinner and the laughter of the fool are alike—just as the crackling of thorns under a pot—nothing but a noise, and quickly gone. But it is not so with the saints, for there is more joy even in their penitential groans, more consolation in their mourning—than in all the gladness of the carnal world. What should make the children of a King sad—with such a Sovereign as Jesus—who is "the King eternal, invisible, immortal, dwelling in light inaccessible, and full of glory;" who alone has immortality essentially, and in the light of whose countenance saints commence their journey here towards his more immediate presence; and shall hereafter hold on their journey towards his adorable perfections forever! If my hope can lay hold on Jesus; if my faith can fasten here, I ought certainly to be filled with more joy than I have; and, from this divine relation to him who is the Lord of the whole creation, should be possessed of a joy that shall be more than a match for all sublunary sorrow. Indwelling sin, prevailing temptation, and tempestuous corruption only claim perpetual sorrow, and unceasing lamentation; yet, with the great apostle, while with one breath I cry, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" I may in another breath say, in view of the sure and sweet deliverance that shall come, "I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!" Does it befit those to be sad—who are possessors of all things? and, O saints! "all things are yours, and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s." Is it seemly for those to weep—at whose conversion angels joy, and on whose account heaven and earth are in harmony? Is it fitting for a child of God—to bewail the loss of a pebble—when he has a crown set with diamonds, yes, a crown of glory that fades not away, reserved for him? Is it congruous for the expectants of celestial bliss to lament the loss of earthly trifles—when the treasures of eternity are reserved for them? Is it fitting for the spiritual spouse, the Lamb’s wife, to be inconsolable at the death of a carnal relation—when the Husband, who is better than any, than all other relatives, is eternally alive? How pathetic is it, in the one who is born from above—to look dejected because the world looks down upon him—when God beholds him with a pleasant countenance? How foolish would it be, for one traveling through a strange country to be disquieted because the children of every town stare at his foreign dress, or the fools laugh at him in his journey; when he is conscious that his king is acquainted with his character, approves his journey, and will honor his arrival home? In a word, how abject and base for the Christian to complain of the whirlwinds scattering his mole-hill of sand; when the treasures of eternity shall enrich him for evermore! Now I reprove my sorrow, and reprehend my sadness. I will rejoice in the Rock of my salvation with acclamations and shouting! Yes, sometimes I would gladly emulate the cherubim in their sublimest strains, did not the sight of so much dishonor done to the divine majesty by others always, and by myself too often, make my joys recoil, and inward sorrow flow. Yet in you will I rejoice, until the day dawns, when I shall enter into the joy of my Lord, which likewise entering into me, shall be my everlasting strength! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 75: 03.062. INDWELLING SIN ======================================================================== Indwelling sin There is a mysterious wisdom in the way of God with his people—to whom he grants to know but in part, and to be renewed but in part. Were they, while here, wholly delivered from sin, and had the unclouded vision of his glorious face, and full communion with God—there would be nothing reserved for the day of glory. It is with them, therefore, as with ancient Israel, among whom God wisely left some of the heathen nations undestroyed—to excite their faith, and stir up their endeavors to extirpate them, and to be a means of preserving them from sinning with security and impunity. Now, God has promised to subdue all our sins, and so he does—that they shall never condemn us. But such is the corruption of nature, which is sanctified but in part, and of creatures who know but in part, that it is rare to be holy and humble, to be full of God, and empty of ourselves. Even the great apostle Paul, after he had been with God, in a special manner, and seen unutterable glories in the highest heavens—had a messenger of Satan sent to buffet him, lest he should be exalted above measure with the divine vision. A humbling change this! to come from heaven—to combat with hell! Our very critical situation in this world should keep us humble. Corrupt nature, like weeds among flowers, is ready to spring up with every refreshing shower of grace—if not into acts of sin, yet into pride, self-conceit, and security. When we see things above us, we are ready, through the mists of remaining corruption, to forget ourselves—and provoke God to show ourselves unto ourselves, that we may not be puffed up with ourselves. For to the high and lofty One, who delights to dwell with the humble, nothing is more abominable than pride, and no pride more odious to him than spiritual pride. The soldier that is no match for his enemies will always keep in the camp, and under protection of his general; so the believer must dwell by faith, if he would be secure, under the shadow of the Almighty. But it is impossible for us to be delivered wholly from indwelling sin in this world. For, 1. This would be turning earth into heaven, grace into glory, and time into eternity—before the great day of judgment. We must not be crowned with victory until we come off the field of battle; and this we cannot leave until our enemies are subdued before us, or we taken hence in triumph from them. We are still in the dominions of him who is the god of this world, in the territories of the prince of the power of the air; and he will always be seeking whom he may devour—until the God of peace bruises Satan under our feet—until the old serpent is eternally bound, and cast into the burning lake. 2. Were there no indwelling sin, no remains of corruption in the justified, sanctification could not be progressive. But here "the path of the just is like the shining light, that shines more and more unto the perfect day." 3. Were saints from the first moment of their conversion set free from all sin, where would the divine victories of all-triumphant grace be—by which God is glorified, and the saints prepared for the better inheritance? Had not an enemy, and a giant too, defiled the armies of Israel, the power and goodness of God could not have been displayed in killing him. So the divinity of grace, in babes of the heavenly family, shines in this—that they are enabled to resist temptations from the same deceiving serpent who beguiled our first parents in the state of innocence; that they are enabled to wrestle, not against flesh and blood—but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, and against spiritual wickedness in high places. 4. Were the case so with the saints, the book of life would in effect, be laid open to the eyes of men, who would foresee the judgment which belongs to God alone. But indwelling sin, though subdued, is not slain, and therefore breaks out in such a manner, even sometimes in eminent saints, as gives the enemy occasion to reproach; and also makes them doubt of their own state themselves—until God deals again with them after his loving-kindness and tender mercies. Now, in the eyes of the poor penitent—a compassionate, returning, and forgiving God—is dear, beloved, and amiable beyond expression, and divine things shine with an additional luster. Thus, even indwelling sin, contrary to its own nature, advances the glory of God, and the good of the soul. 5. Indwelling sin, or the remains of corruption in the greatest saints, makes them sympathize with others. They are men, and not angels; so that they are to remember, not only those who suffer affliction—but those who are overtaken with a fault, as being yet in the body. Yes what comfort would it be to poor sinners, if salvation were preached to them by any other than men of like natures, like infirmities, and like passions with themselves? How is our consolation heightened to hear them speak from experience, as Paul: "I do not understand what I am doing, because I do not practice what I want to do, but I do what I hate"—in comparison of angelic harangues on the beauty and excellency of perfection and innocence! 6. Indwelling sin keeps us humble and watchful; makes us cleave more closely to Christ; makes us endeavor to make our calling and election sure; excites us to work while the day lasts, before the night shall come, wherein no man can work. 7. Indwelling sin makes us go entirely out of ourselves into Christ, and ascribe the whole of our salvation to free grace. 8. Thereby we learn the goodness of God in making his grace sufficient for us, and his strength perfect in weakness. Also, we are filled with wonder at the riches of his grace—who is glorified to the highest in his patience towards offending sons, and his repeated pardons of their daily sins. Lastly, It makes, at least should make, us long much for that day when sin shall cease, and imperfection be swallowed up of permanent likeness to the divine image—when all our failings shall pass away, while we are lost in the overflowings of divine glory, and replenished with all in the fullness of God, fixed n a state from which we cannot fall—and satiated with eternal pleasures! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 76: 03.063. EVENTS OF PROVIDENCE ======================================================================== Events of Providence Unbelief is my worst enemy, and most disturbs my mental quiet; and no wonder it so harasses me, when it attacks the very faithfulness of God, and concludes so harshly of his unerring providence. Now, my gratitude cannot be silent at this your so surprising, surpassing kindness. A few months ago, matters wore a different aspect—but I deserved worse; yet then hope would not give up its claim to your care, faith would not give up its interest in your promise, in your love; and both are satisfied with your goodness. You have bestowed the very same mercy, though in another way than I sought it. Then I thought that no way was as good as mine—but now I find that your way is best; for as your thoughts are higher than ours, so is your way better than our way. This favor which I sought from you with submission, let it come with your blessing; not signifying your displeasure—but sealing your love; not only filling somewhat my cup—but fulfilling your promise. And as it may moderately feed my condition, so let it feast my spiritual part; and not prove like Israel’s flesh, that while they thought to satisfy their lust, suffocated them outright; nor like their granted request, which was attended with leanness sent into their soul. In the common affairs of life, I cannot look into myself; I cannot look about, to praise princes, or the sons of men; but I must look up, and adore you as only and alone in all. Dare I henceforth sin, who am so many ways hedged about from it? shall not your holiness dissuade me from sinning, your power persuade, your majesty deter, mercy overcome, your love allure, and your kindness bend me to obedience? How shall I praise you, O you hearer of prayers, and answerer of petitions! Let my lips praise you; let my life praise you; my meditations praise you; yes, let all my actions praise you. But how shall I behave under your kindness? It is harder to be godly in prosperity than in adversity. When God spares, it is that his long-suffering may lead us to repentance; and when he punishes, it is that we may return to him; for it is a heavy charge, when he has cause to complain against those to whom he has been a Father. In an afflicted state humility best befits us, because we are laid on the dust; and where but there should we be humbler? In an exalted state we should still be humble, for Heaven can dash us from the highest eminence to the lowest condition of life. And as an afflicted state is not confirmed on us, that we may have hope; so a prosperous condition is not confirmed that we may fear. "Before honor is humility, and a haughty spirit before a fall;" therefore we should always follow humility, and flee pride. As humility lifts us out of the lowest condition, so it keeps us in the highest. Nor is there any state of life but is attended with so many humbling circumstances, that no discerning soul has reason to be proud, considering that it is more disgrace to fall from a high station into a low, than never to have risen, and consequently never fall. He who loses his prince’s favor suffers more, than he who never had it: and those that fall from high preferments, or lose their honorary posts, may expect to have all eyes upon them, and every tongue to dwell on them and their misfortunes. Such, then, is our condition below, that we are always in danger—both from without and from within. Troubles may attack us without; or, if free from these, pride may swell within; and the last is worse than the first. Then, contentment with our present condition; resignation to God with respect to unseen contingencies; hope in his mercy; confidence in his faithfulness; and an eye fixed on the world to come—is our only wisdom in this world which is passing away. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 77: 03.064. MORE OF GOD SEEN IN CHRIST THAN IN ALL THE ======================================================================== More of God seen in Christ, than in all the creation There is a great noise among the educated men of our day, how God is to be seen and felt, as it were, in his handyworks. True, O Lord! you are near in everything around me—but nearer in your Son. In your heavens I behold your wisdom; but in your Anointed I see your grace, and share your love. You are near in your sun, moon, and stars, to convince atheists—but nearer in your word of grace, to convert sinners, and comfort saints. My reason tells me, that he who formed the eye, planted the ear, and put understanding into the heart—must see, hear, and understand all things; but you are seen in more noble and exalted views, in those graces which are infused by your Holy Spirit into my soul. Sense and reason harmonize in this, that God made and governs and will judge the world. You are to be acknowledged in every breathing as the God of my life; but in a more glorious manner, in every act of faith, and heavenly aspiration, as the life of my soul. Human philosophy cries up ’nature’ as the best mirror to see the glory of God in; and surely, therein he is very glorious, for the heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky preaches his handywork. But Scriptural revelation, which is the sublimest philosophy, declares the ’face of Jesus’ to be the brightest mirror in which the glory of God can be seen, for there it appears with a permanent and transforming luster. In the creation of the world, his power and wisdom are admired; but in the redemption of the world, his love and compassion are adored. Let others please themselves with philosophical views of the creation; but, not despising these, let me revolve the volume of revelation, peruse the divine page, and dwell upon the plan of redeeming love, where the glorious Trinity appears in the grand work of man’s redemption—and where all the attributes and perfections of God beam forth, with a radiance and beauty that cannot pass through the grosser creation—but is even too bright for the eyes of seraphim to fix upon. Here, then, I will begin to study for eternity, and learn for the world to come! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 78: 03.065. CHRIST, THE STUDY ABOVE ======================================================================== Christ, the study above I read with pleasure, O philosophers! your lectures, and commend your care to make the mute creation preach the power and wisdom of the Creator. But yet, O you learned commentators on the volumes of nature—I shall never agree with you in thinking that this study, however useful and engaging here, shall employ the saints above. Surely, when carried above the material heavens, their search shall no more descend to our revolving spheres. When admitted by the divine intercessor into the presence of the great Creator himself, shall they carry the creature in its various laws to be their theme and subject before the throne? By the creature they may now rise to admire the wisdom, acknowledge the goodness, and adore the power of him who made the whole; but when arrived at God himself in all his glory, shall they again descend to meditate on even the noblest of his works, which are but the prints of his majesty, and the traces of his power? As the apostle speaks in another sense, "after they know God" in that state of perfection, and are known of him in the communion of glory, "shall they return again to weak and beggarly elements?" For if the law was such when compared to the gospel, much more is natural philosophy such when compared to glory. Though the house be beautiful, yet he who builds the house has more honor than the house. Now, we stand and admire the palace abroad; but when admitted in, to converse with the royal family that inhabits it, would we choose to leave their company, and retire to take a view of the windows, doors, walks, and avenues belonging to the building, while we have the furniture, the immense treasures, and precious rarities within, to behold, and the royal personages to talk width? Even so, when we pass into the highest heavens, and sit down before the throne to hold communion for eternity with Jehovah in his Son, shall we then give up with our searches into his divine excellences and adorable perfections, in order to calculate the return of a wandering comet, study the laws of the starry heavens, and explore the secrets of nature? It is true, everything in which God has been pleased to reveal himself shall the saints study with delight; but as he has revealed himself more in his Son than either in creation or providence—so Christ shall be the uninterrupted, the pleasant, the supreme study of the saints above. His infinite glories shall eternally engage all the ravished powers of my mind to follow hard after God; and I will pursue my study while endless ages roll. I shall be so swallowed up with glory, so enamored with the beauties of my divine Redeemer’s beauties never yet beheld, and so lost in God—that my whole attention shall be totally engrossed, and I shall not have one recoiling thought on the then forgotten lessons of philosophy. In a word, I shall never arrive at that place where I find no more beauty in the Rose of Sharon, no more glory in the Sun of Righteousness, no more satisfaction in continually loving God, and no more fullness in infinity itself. I shall never lift my eyes from off my object—and never change my theme. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 79: 03.066. THE WORLD ASLEEP ======================================================================== The world asleep The whole world is, with respect to the future eternal state, as it were, fast asleep. In this night of universal darkness and ignorance, the greater part are dreaming in their sleep, and believing themselves to be wide awake, are verily persuaded that their delusions are real, because their dreams are regular. Yes, like night-walkers, they perform the actions of a busy world in their sleep; and, confident that they are in the full use and exercise of their reason, they wage war, they buy and sell, they marry and are given in marriage, and weary and fatigue themselves in this continual dream. Now, who can persuade us in a dream, that we ourselves are dreaming? This is the true but melancholy condition of the most part of mankind—They dream, while they think themselves to be awake, and slumber over the day of life, while they seem to exert the greatest activity to obtain solid and substantial good. Alas! neither admonition nor reproof, nor the sad example of ten thousand dreamers who have gone before, can awake individuals, until they are led by the hand of death behind the curtain, and made to look at fully on the eternal world. Nor is the general race of slumberers to be roused, until the last trumpet sound in their affrighted ears, and eternity expands awful and unknown, in their staring eyes. There are, however, a few, (and but a few, alas!) who are spiritually awake, and whose thoughts pierce through the dark shadows of this dismal night, into the light of glory, and the regions of bliss. Such look beyond the glittering and deceitful vanities of honors, riches, pleasures, and applause—which are the present chase, (which should be the shame,) and future cheat, (which shall be the sorrow,) of a comatose world. And yet, in this imperfect state, even they are but like men struggling with the darkness of the night-watches, waiting for the morning-light, and wishing for the perfect day. Such, however, are the only people who have their loins girt; and their lamps burning, in expectation of the Bridegroom, at whose coming the day will break, the shadow flee away, and a light, seven times brighter than the noonday sun, shall shine forever on them. Then, and not until then, shall the darkness pass, and the true light without interruption shine. While in the dark we wander, while in the gloom we grope, waiting for the longed-for day, we are ready to fall asleep, and to spend our time in slumbering thoughtlessness, in drowsy inactivity. But when the day of glory shall spring, when the light of his countenance is lifted up on us forever, and the noon of uninterrupted communion spreads around us, then, unconscious of the falling shades, unconscious of returning night—divine strength from the Rock of ages shall invigorate every power of mind to adore the Most High, with all the ardor of seraphic love—in pleasureful, uninterrupted and eternal worship. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 80: 03.067. STILL IGNORANT OF GOD BELOW ======================================================================== Still ignorant of God below It was a question proposed long ago, by a great teacher, in his divine lectures of God, "What is his name, and what is his Son’s name, if you can tell?" And it remains unanswered unto this day: "No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son desires to reveal Him." Now, this revelation on account of our ignorance, cannot be bright; for if, when the great Teacher told us of earthly things, we could not understand them, how much less if he should tell us of heavenly things, and least of all if he should reveal to us the mysteries of his eternal Godhead! Alas! am not I, in some respects, a Christian heathen—if I may be allowed the expression—while I pay my devotions to the unknown God? I walk in the twilight, I adore in a cloud, and worship I know not whom. But do I not worship God? well, what is God? Is he not a spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable; wise, powerful, holy, just, good, gracious, faithful, omniscient, and omnipresent? But what it is to be infinite, eternal, and unchangeable—I neither can conceive nor tell. I stretch my thoughts towards infinity, until I lose myself in the unfathomable abyss; I revolve his eternal duration before time began, and when time shall be no more, until all my thoughts are swallowed up. But when I have done my utmost, conceptions are only forming some grand ideas of a creature; for as my thoughts of his infinity are circumscribed within bounds, and of his eternity come to an end—they belong to a creature, and not to the Creator. How, then can I repair the indignity done to his majesty by my groveling meditations? Only thus, by confessing, that after all my stretch, his every perfection is still infinitely beyond all that I can say or think. Hence, let me join reverence with my ignorance; holy fear with my shallow conceptions of God; and ardent love, and profound humility, with all my devotions. Mindful that the solemn mystery could be revealed by none, because none has seen, none has known God; let me be thankful, that "the only-begotten Son, who lay in the Father’s bosom, has declared him." Every divine perfection, every adorable attribute, is more than sufficient to engross the study and attention of men and angels forever; and the more they search, and the longer they learn, the more they see and confess God to be infinite and unknown. When shall that glorious morning dawn, when my ignorance, like the early fogs that flee at the rising sun—shall be no more, and the great Apostle and High-Priest of our profession shall, in the light of glory, declare to me the God whom now at best I ignorantly adore? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 81: 03.068. NOTHING CAN PURCHASE CHRIST FROM THE SOUL ======================================================================== Nothing can purchase Christ from the soul "What is your Beloved more than another beloved?" was once asked of the spouse by those who knew him not so well as she did. Now, worldlings! let me hear what you will lay in the balance with my Beloved, that, in refusing your largest offers, it may appear how much I esteem my dearest Lord, and best beloved. Will you, then, give me gold and silver until I can desire, until I can stow no more? Ah! your heaps of shining dust will not, cannot purchase him from me! Will you give me titles, honor, and glory for him? Ah! empty sounds shall never take away from me, him who is true, solid, and substantial bliss! Will you give me the earth for my possession, subjugate its kingdoms to my sway, give the stars into my inheritance, and make the whole universe mine own? This, even all this, will not balance the loss of my Beloved—for, compared with his excellences, all things are but loss and rubbish! Finally, will you give me another beloved instead of him? But where can such a one be found? In him all perfections meet; in him all glories shine; in him all excellences reside; in him all plenitude abounds! All I can wish for, or desire—is to be found in him! Yes, more than I can receive superabounds in him. Now, have you anything in reserve to offer me for him? No! Then take away your dust and ashes, food for worms, and fuel for the flames. These could not all purchase from me one kiss of his mouth, one glance of his countenance, and far less the beloved himself. But, one word of comfort to you before you go. Though I may not, cannot, will not sell my part and interest in my dearest Lord, yet, on his own terms, you may be possessed of him in all his glorious fullness, in whom alone you can be blessed, and without whom, in the midst of all your plenty, you must be extremely poor, and totally miserable. But now, my soul! one reproof to you. You will not sell your interest in Christ for anything—nor exchange your portion for the universe. Why, then, should not Christ; and an interest in him, be an all-sufficiency to you? And if the universe could not content you without Christ, why should not Christ content you without the least dust of the universe? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 82: 03.069. TORMENT ======================================================================== TORMENT People generally have a mistaken notion of torment. I shudder to hear of protracted agonies on the dying malefactor—to hear of the rack, (invented by boundless rage, and improved by infernal cruelty,) decreed by the powerful offended party, to torture to death my fellow-creature. Yes, the groans of dying mortals pierce my ears, and make me sharer of their pains. But what are all human inventions—when we look beyond them, to eternal punishment? what is the glittering sword, or sharpened axe? What the musket, with its deadly explosion? What the gibbet, with ten thousand spectators? What the bastinado clubs, the stamping elephant, the quartering horses? What the piked barrels, the breaking wheel, the boots and thumbkins, the suffocating dungeon, or the calcinating flame? How do they all disappear before these words—DIVINE VENGEANCE—ETERNAL WRATH! But how do the tormentors fall short of their designs, when the guilty wretch is condemned to be put to the torture so long every day by the rack, death is parceled out in the most cruel manner which can be invented, until justice is satisfied, cruelty glutted, or until the sufferer, sinking under his pains, expires, and is no more! Now, suppose this miserable wretch, (whom we conclude happy, because the scene no more affects our eyes,) to die impenitent; and suppose him also to have his choice, whether to stay in the anguish of the invisible world, or to return to the torments he lately left. How soon would we see him fondly so to speak, embrace the flames, present his gaping wounds to the boiling oil and scalding lead, and his naked body to the scourging steel—and weary his tormentors! Such is the difference between the rage of man and the wrath of the Almighty. That reaches to the body—but God’s wrath, in all its terrors, transfixes the soul. The one, finite in its nature, terminates in death; the other, infinite in its degrees, preys on every faculty, and swallows up the whole soul, and its duration is eternity. How amazing the love of the Father that gave his Son for sinners! How amazing the love of the Son that gave his life a ransom for many! that sustained the burning load of his Almighty Father’s wrath, that our torments might sit light, and that our last pangs might translate us into the joy of our Lord! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 83: 03.070. THE SOUL'S GROWTH ======================================================================== The soul’s growth When I look back a few years, I recollect, that my thoughts about common things were much contracted to what they are now. "When I was a child, I thought as a child;" for though I heard surrounding sounds, and the speeches of all about me, yet they were too vast for me to comprehend; nor could I convey my ideas to them in articulate words. Yes, when I rose a little from this infantile state, I could not shake myself free of my ignorance, nor from any proper notion of the embelting oceans, opposite poles, and the earth hung upon nothing. Still I knew nothing of the heavenly bodies, of the glorious sun, splendid moon, or sparkling stars; of the beauteous rainbow, falling showers, and flashing thunders. These things, then too sublime for me to think on, are now, in some sense, both intelligible and familiar; and this arises, not from any addition of new powers—but from an increase of the faculties of my soul. Now, let me turn the page, and let my meditation stretch its wings towards eternal bliss. It is a reviving thought, that this soul of mine, if united to the living Son of God, the life-giving Head, shall know divine things in the light of glory. Things which I have hardly heard of, and which, for the grossness of my ignorance now, cannot enter into my heart—shall then be my darling themes. Moreover, as sun, moon, and stars, appear more beautiful to me than formerly, not from any new addition of glory to them—but my clear knowledge of their nature and magnitude; so that I am convinced, that if the stars were as near us as the torch of day, they would all appear as so many flaming suns; and that, if the sun himself were as near as the moon, whether I looked east or west, south, or north, until my glance were terminated, still I should see nothing but one immense, insufferable, flaming sky of fire! Just so, when translated to the paradise of God, how shall my soul be delighted with the knowledge of the Most High, and ravished with the prospect of growing wiser and wiser in the things of God! Though my soul shall then be perfect in comparison of what she is now, and perfect with respect to all the parts of knowledge, happiness, and bliss; yet as to the extent of the degree, that shall always be on the increase; for though the finite mind can never know all that is to be known of an infinite Being, who only comprehends himself—yet it will be the excellency, the delight, and employment of glorified saints, still to aspire after more and more of God. Now, though no new perfections, attributes, excellences, or glories shall ever be found in God, being all eternally and essentially in him, yet the longer I am in his presence, the more glorious will he be to me, because I shall know him more and more. The more of him I know, the more shall I admire and love him. The more I admire and love him, I shall become the more like him. The more I become like him, the larger and more capacious will my soul become. The more the faculties of my soul are, the more shall I apprehend of God. The the more that God is apprehended and known, the more he is glorified. Thus, in an eternal progression of knowing, admiring, loving, and being assimilated to God, and of enlargement of the soul, whereby she will be enabled still the more to love, admire, and know, be assimilated to, approach, and participate of the communicable perfections of the Godhead—shall consist the uninterrupted employment, and entrancing felicity of the blessed, while, through the whole, God is all in all. Again, if there be such a difference between my thoughts when I first attempted to speak—and when arrived at ten years of age; and between my thoughts at ten years old—and those which I am at present capable; what shall the divine increase of my soul be, when, in the beatific vision of Jehovah and the Lamb, I shall have been an astonished, ravished, ardent adorer for a thousand years—and add to that another thousand—until numbers fail, and computation is swallowed up in eternity itself? Shall I not kindle in his love, brighten in his flame, and be assimilated to him in his eternal irradiation? Again, when I consider the vast disproportion there is among the mental faculties of the sons of men, so that one has the most absurd views of all things, while another has adequate conceptions of most things, and sublime though imperfect apprehensions of God himself—I stand amazed to find, not only that the lowest saint, who is united to Christ, far outshines the wisest men of the world—but that one saint differs greatly from another, not only in this world—but in the world to come. Star differs from star in glory, yet every star is glorious, and full of glory. Now, this difference of degrees in glory is begun below. "He who sows sparingly, shall also reap sparingly; but he who sows plentifully, shall reap plentifully"—forever! The soul that burns in the fire of love, shall come forth in immortal glory; and as beds of gold are said to ripen in the heaths of the sun, so shall they who lie most in the rays of the Sun of Righteousness, ripen into the brightest glory. Now, when all are plunged into felicity and glory, every soul shall be perfect, and replenished with glory; yet every soul shall preserve its attainments, and retain its growth. Therefore, the larger and more capacious the soul is, in an higher manner is God known; and the more God is known, the more he is glorified; and this advantage is to be pursued after, even here on earth. This is the seed-time for a plenteous eternity. This is the ambition God allows, the avarice heaven commends. What are kingdoms, crowns, or titles; what are riches, glory, fame—in comparison of this—to get my soul enlarged and capacitated to receive much of God, by which he will be glorified the more, and in which will consist the quintessence of my felicity forever? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 84: 03.071. THIS LIFE A VALLEY OF TEARS ======================================================================== This life a valley of tears Why have I mistaken this thorny wilderness—for a garden of flowers? Why have I mistaken this place of danger—for a palace of delight? Why have I mistaken this howling desert—for an enchanting grove? If the world has joys, it has none for me—they are carnal or unlawful. My joys must be pure and spiritual. If the creature affords pleasures, they cannot suit my soul—its honey is mixed with gall, its sweet with wormwood, its wine with water, its gold with dross—and all are mixed with poison. The pleasures I should seek are such as my soul may feed on without danger, feast on without excess, and rejoice in without sin. Again, why do I expect comfort in this world? Can I hope, or even desire, to go through the valley of tears—with singing? Can I hope to dwell in the house of mourning—with joy? Would I fare better than my best Friend? While here, he was a man of sorrows—and shall I not taste the briny cup? He was acquainted with grief—and shall I be a stranger to it? Would I be kindly entertained in that very place where he had not where to lay his head? Would I fare like the kings of the earth—when the King of kings fared not so well as the fowls of heaven, or the foxes of the field? Would I go another way to glory—than the saints ever trod? Would I go through ’an earthly heaven’ to the celestial heaven—when it is through much tribulation I must enter into the heavenly kingdom? Can the the bride be glad when the Bridegroom is not with her? Can I be easy, can I be quiet, among the enemies of my Lord the King, where the general voice is, "Shall this man reign over us? We will not have him for our king!" Oh! that my head were waters, and my eyes a fountain of tears—that I might weep day and night for the sins of my fellow-creatures, for the slain of my fellow-sinners! Let sorrow seize on my heart, and grief fix her iron talons there—it is all I can do for the honor of my Lord. I shall know no grief but for you—no joy but in you! I shall know no grief but in you—wounded in your glory, blasphemed in your name, disbelieved in your promises, defamed in your holiness, abused in your saints, despised in your threatenings, slighted in your love, and contradicted in your truth! I shall know no joy but in you—as my only portion, my exceeding great reward! I shall know no comfort but in you—conquering in the everlasting gospel, and worshiped from the rising to the setting sun. This is the night of weeping; and though weeping endures through the night of time, yet joy comes in the morning of eternity. I must fight while on the field of battle; and it is enough to get the crown after the battle. I am worker, and I must not lie down to rest until the evening shadows cover my weary limbs. The world is too barren a soil to bear true joy; for where sin within and round about abounds, how can consolation triumph, which rises only as sin falls, and falls as sin rises? But in this my comfort lies—that though in the world I shall have trouble, yet in him I may be of good cheer, because he has overcome the world. Moreover, in midst of all the sorrow that now surrounds me, I have an inward joy that causes my heart to sing and blossom with the beautiful prospect of eternal joy coming from its divine fountain—which, without the least fear of returning sorrow, shall be the strength of my soul forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 85: 03.072. THE MADNESS OF THE WORLD IN THEIR CHOICE ======================================================================== The madness of the world in their choice Why does the world reject the Savior of the world? Why do they abhor him who is altogether lovely—and hate him who is the best Friend of mankind? Had I the tongue of a cherub, which has heard the language of glory, and mingled in the discourse of the multitudes before the throne for these five thousand years; or could I talk in every tongue, extend my voice to every nation, and speak so loud and long, that the assembled universe should hear—what should be my theme, my darling, favorite theme? Surely the Son of God, the Savior of the world. How would I dwell on his divine nature, and enlarge on his enrapturing relationship to his people—until all the needy nations fell prostrate adorers before the throne of their kinsman-Redeemer, and their God! But if they disdained to listen to a fellow-creature, how would my soul cheerfully pour out herself into articulate thunder, or distinct echo, thereby to repeat his praise, and convey his excellencies into the ear of thousands, and ten thousands of attentive hearers—until they should submit to him, bow the knee, and begin the work of heaven on earth. Then would I, with contentment, drop down into the dust, mingle with my kindred clay—and be no more. Yes, what would it matter though I should no more exist, if ten thousand thousand warbling tongues were added to the general song, to extol the fairest One, the Plant of renown—forever? Such an insignificant nothing as I am, would make no blank in the list of beings, or the roll of creation; and O what massive joy would it afford me to think of the happiness of millions of my fellow-creatures! But this is impossible. I cannot leave you—my life, my love, my God, my all! It is my happiness to forever exist as the friend of God! O men of the world! what good can you desire that is not in Christ? What distress can you dread, from which he cannot deliver you? The excellencies of earth are but his footstool, the excellencies of heaven are but his throne—how excellent, then, must he himself be! His treasures are infinite, and open for you! In Jesus are riches, if you are poor; honor, if you are despised; friendship, if you are forsaken; help, if you are injured; mercy, if you are miserable; joy, if you are disconsolate; protection, if you are exposed; deliverance, if you are in danger; health, if you are in sickness; life, if you are mortal; and, in brief, all things, if you have nothing at all. Time and eternity are his, and he can give you all the good things of this world; and all the glorious things of eternity! Moreover, he can deliver you from all your fears; from sin, the worst of all evils; from self, the most hurtful of all companions; from death, the most dreadful of all changes; from Satan, the most subtle of all enemies; from hell, the most horrible of all prisons; and from wrath, the most horrifying doom of all sinners! Now, where will you find such an one as Jesus? Why, then, refuse life, and seek after death? All heaven is enamored with his beauty; and why, then, will you prefer a midnight gloom before his meridian glory? The longer we look on created gaieties, they grow the leaner and less lovely; so that, by the time we have viewed them forty, fifty, or sixty years, we see nothing but vanity in the creature. But when ten thousand ages are employed in beholding the perfection and beauty of Jesus, he still appears more and more lovely, even altogether lovely! Why will the world not awaken from its fatal dream—and let go shadows—and grasp at everlasting substance? Alas! I can say nothing of his true excellences—they overwhelm my laboring thought, and are too vast for my feeble conception to bring forth! But let the world choose whom or what it will for a portion; still, as for me and my house, and all I can prevail upon, we will choose this well-beloved, and serve this Lord! "Yes, He is altogether lovely. This is my Beloved, and this is my Friend!" (Song of Solomon 5:16) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 86: 03.073. THE APPROACHING HAPPINESS OF THE SAINTS ======================================================================== The approaching happiness of the saints To escape my present sorrow, and triumph in the midst of my present grief, let me suppose eternity is at hand, which may very soon, but must before long—be the case. May I not, then, with the eye of all-triumphant faith, think I see myself walking in white with my well-beloved, along the fields of glory, and my whole soul going out to him in a manner it never could here below! While floods of glory from his reconciled face overflow me, and the smile of his lovely countenance entrances my soul forever! While I join the hosannas of the higher house, the eternal hallelujahs, and begin the song which none can learn but the chosen number—the sealed ones! With what transport do I mingle with the heavenly multitudes, and, to my extreme comfort, realize that there is not one sinner in the heavenly company, or anything expressed against the majesty of the Most High! Where all the heavenly multitudes, transforming in his beams, kindling in his flames, and drinking at his ecstatic rivers—are happy beyond conception! Such is the felicity the saints shall enter into; yes, and in a manner, have entered into already! So short is the interval between now and then, this present and that future state, that their glory is as it were begun. Faith and hope entering like an anchor within the veil, the saints of God rise at one step from this valley of tears, to the hill of God, to the mount of communion. Now, why should the noise of the rabble, or uproar in the street, trouble me, when I am entering the very door of my everlasting habitation, and shall soon be eternally out of the reach of their confusion and murmurs? Henceforth, let the near prospect of that eternal triumph—blunt my present grief, scatter my troubles, and spread serenity in my bosom! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 87: 03.074. WHAT WE SHOULD EXPECT AND WAIT FOR ======================================================================== What we should expect and wait for How are our joys heightened by hope. But sadly—sometimes our hopes may be false! And how vainly are our expectations pointed at some future worldly enjoyment, which, when it comes, shall perhaps disappoint us—even in the enjoyment of it! Yet, for such things we long, though, in a manner—we are actually hankering after our own misery. But how much does it rather behoove me, if I am an heir of God, an expectant of eternal bliss, and a candidate for everlasting glory—to be waiting for him who shall appear the second time without sin unto salvation; and to be hastening unto the day of the Lord, and crying, "Why is his chariot so long in coming? Why do the wheels of his chariot tarry so long?" When will these skies divide—to let my Lord descend? When will these celestial doors fly open, that the exalted One may come in all his his heavenly glory, with his holy angels? When shall the starry way of eternal communion be stretched out between the highest heavens, along with the new earth, wherein righteousness shall dwell? When shall I begin to behold him in all his glory, whom eye has not seen, and to see him without a cloud—who is altogether lovely? When shall my soul be revived with the smell of the Rose of Sharon in the paradise of God, and sit down with great delight under the shadow of the Tree of life, the Plant of renown—and eat of his immortalizing fruit, and drink of his refined wine? When shall I join my songs with the anthems of eternity, and mingle my grateful notes with the harpers round the throne? When shall the hiding hills, the intervening heights—be melted down by the beatific vision of your blessed self; and the valley of darkness, and depths of despondency, rise into the mount of communion with you? When shall I enter into the joy of my Lord, walk with you in white, and be satisfied with your likeness? Then shall I know you as I desire, praise you as I aspire after, and love you as I would ======================================================================== CHAPTER 88: 03.075. THE SPIRITUAL MISER ======================================================================== The spiritual miser Who is more an object of ridicule than the rich miser—who goes supperless to bed, because he will not give one farthing out of his immense sums to purchase food; being afraid to live on what he is never able to spend, and anxious to heap up what he can never enjoy. Shall I, then, act the miser in spiritual things? Shall I be afraid to live on the all-sufficient fullness of my Lord, lest his stores decay? Shall I spare to drink of his overflowing ocean, lest it grow dry before my face? Heaven no less loves a liberal receiver, than a liberal giver. Is it decorous to hunger at the table of the king; or to say to the enriching hand—Stop, you cannot spare so much? The miser’s wretched penny-pinching may, after his death, advantage his heirs, and, in the meantime, accumulate his own riches; but the case is not so with me. My living for the present poorly and sparingly on the promises, will never advantage my after-state, nor leave any greater plenty for other saints; neither will it make the celestial treasures any fuller, that I fetch not daily from them. Though Daniel looked healthier than those that fed on the polluted bread of the king of Babylon, yet my soul will look but thin and lean, unless it feeds and feasts on the daily allowance of the King of glory, whose table is covered with an infinite plenty. All the angels and all the saints may banquet continually without lessening the divine store, which, as to the display and manifestation, increases, as in the days of his flesh, among the numerous eaters, and grows among the happy guests. Why then pine at such a table, starve in the midst of so much plenty, and convert divine liberality into the penny-pinching of unbelief? Shall I confine that bounty that is rather perplexed where to pour its plenitude, (because few will accept of Christ and his fullness,)—than at a loss for a super-abundancy to bestow? Henceforth let my soul by faith live at large on the promises, and live spiritually grand at the expenses of the King, who will not grudge it. Let me put on the royal apparel of the Son of God, the vesture of imputed righteousness; and, as a sign that this is the embroidered garment of my inner man, keep clean hands, and an holy walk. Why should I creep and grovel in the by-ways of darkness, and foot-paths of despondency—when I may ride in the chariot of the covenant, which Solomon has built for the daughters of Jerusalem, and paved its interior with love? Why should I walk by foot through fear and faithlessness—when my seat is empty there, and no one else can sit in my place? Then, to the honor of him to whom I belong, I will appear like one of the royal family of heaven. I will rejoice in him always, and again I will rejoice. I will feast my soul with his divine dainties—and suck the honey of the promises! I will satiate myself with his goodness, and drink at his river which gladdens the city of God. I will not dwell in the shadow of sorrow—but come out and walk in the light of his countenance, in the brightness of his glory. I will importune his sin-subduing grace, and plead for strength to fight the battles of the Lord, that in his name I may conquer all my foes. I will expatiate on the opulence of my treasure, the extent of my inheritance, and the excellences of my Beloved; and live to the glory of him who gives me all things richly to enjoy—according to the magnificence of an heir of God—according to the grandeur of a joint heir with Christ! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 89: 03.076. CONTRADICTIONS ======================================================================== Contradictions I am ever guilty of some folly, some unaccountable folly. Either my faith condemns my fears, or my fears accuse my faith of folly. I may safely trust to God as my guardian and guide, in the darkness of the valley death, where I must walk alone. Why should I distrust him in the high-way of life, where thousands walk with me? Dare I commit the concerns of my soul to him, and hope for salvation in his name; yet distrust him with the cares of my present life, nor hope for its necessaries in his providence? Can I venture my soul into his hand, and think it safe through the intricate mazes of an eternal duration, yet doubt if I may depend on his promise and providence, through the few windings of a transitory life? Or will God care for the soul—but cast off the body? Will he feed the raven, deck the lily—but starve his child? Will he give of the good things of this life, even to excess, to his enemies; and withhold necessary supplies from his people? A supply of the necessary things in this world—is enough for those who shall inherit all things hereafter. Can he guide the stars in their courses, and the orderly revolution of day and night, summer and winter, seed-time and harvest—and not over-rule the occurrences of my life? Can he, who has given up his Son to freely die for my soul—not supply me with all my physical necessities? Do I think God to be the God of the mountains of eternity—but not of the valleys of time? Do I think because his habitation is in the heights of glory—he does not govern the deep places of the earth—which are also in his hand? How great a beast in sacred matters am I, who can devolve my ’great all’ on him, and yet distrust him with my trifling concerns—and what is nothing at all! Now; as all I desire is to enter the gate of glory, and am not anxious what will become of me afterward, or how the vast demands of my enlarged soul, my immortal powers, shall be supplied through endless ages—even so, as I am already among the numerous beings of this lower orb, all which are supplied from his bounty, preserved by his power, and governed by his providence—I have no cause of anxiety about my present situation, about my passing life—except, in the lawful use of lawful means—to commit all into his hand, who does all things well, and gives to all his people, their expected glorious end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 90: 03.077. THE CONFUSION OF THE WICKED AT THE GENERAL ======================================================================== The confusion of the wicked at the General Judgment Alas! men now sin with impunity and boldness—but when I dart my thoughts beyond the grave, and see the unrepentant sinning multitude gathered before the dreadful bar, the angry tribunal—of the vindictive Judge—how will they then look? Have I ever seen one affronted, and put to the blush? One sentenced to infamy, or one condemned to death? All this is but like modesty blushing—in comparison of the confusion of guilt, and the eternal gloom of horror—which shall take fast hold on the unrepentant, when the incensed Judge pronounces their sentence in these killing words, "Depart from Me, you evildoers!" Where will they hide their guilty heads, and where conceal their shame? They will not be able to cover their condemnation with a smiling countenance, as they now cover their sin which causes it. How will the ground shake, and the earth quake beneath the trembling multitude! What fearful countenances! What remorseful looks! What rolling eyes! What frightful gestures! What lamentable howlings! What doleful bewailings! What preposterous complaints! What despairing expressions! What agonizing groans! What intolerable horror! What gnawing anguish! What stabbings of guilt! What roarings of awakened conscience! What horrible blasphemies against the divine Judge himself—shall they be subject to, and employed in, in that tremendous day! How will they call to the hills to hide them, and run to be lost in the ruins of the tumbling rocks—but in vain! But from whence will these specters come, these trembling ones be gathered? From another world? Ah! No! They are these mirthful and proud ones, who now walk the round of life, jesting and unconcerned! But they shall then be overwhelmed, and that forever, with a grief too vast for language to express, too tremendous and unintelligible for conception to apprehend; but such as every person, in the time of hope, the place of repentance, and day of grace, should study to escape. For even Bedlam, compared to them, is a house of sober-witted men! "Who knows the power of God’s wrath?" Who know it but the damned? And yet they know it not, for an eternity of torment is continually teaching them the agonizing lesson! Who dares to know it—but the bold, the blind, the headstrong sinner, who never puts the question to himself, which concerns him most, and might awaken him—"Who of us can dwell with devouring fire? Who can dwell with everlasting burnings? How shall we escape the wrath to come?" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 91: 03.078. MERCIES ABUSED ======================================================================== Mercies abused Many are the mercies we receive from heaven. It is shocking to think how we convert these mercies into an occasion of sin, and make them the cause of awful miseries. By the senses of the body the soul is wounded. Our eyes, which should look straight on, and by which we may search the scriptures of truth—are full of adultery, and used only in conveying vain objects to our mind. Our ears, which should hear the sound of the everlasting gospel, the words of life—take in only blasphemies, backbitings, evil reports, impure discourse, vain blasphemies, and contentions; and, alas! are entertained with these evil things! Our lips and tongues, which should move only to mutual edification—are employed in detraction and slander, and dwell on profane and trifling themes. Our feet, that should carry us to the house of God, and about our lawful affairs—run only to mischief, and are swift in the ways of wickedness. Moreover, we abuse common mercies also, turning—a full table into gluttony and drunkenness; God’s bounty into luxury; plenty into extravagance; apparel into pride; prestige into vain show; riches into presumption; honor into haughtiness; and power into oppression! Yes, we also abuse mercies of a more noble nature, while we employ—our wisdom in wrangling, our minds in worthless disputings, our attainments in ostentation, and our knowledge in pride. Finally, in everything we offend God. While under afflictions—we are faithless; in trials—we distrust his promise; and when disappointed—we despond. Of God’s deliverance—we are forgetful; in prosperity—we are carnally secure; in sickness—we are sullen; in health—we are full of levity, and a delight in earthly things. Thus, by the abuse of mercies, we turn the grace of God into sinfulness. Surely the mercies of the Most High are above all his works, and fill the earth. He continues to bestow those very mercies on us, which we so much abuse—when he might at once strike us blind, dumb, and deaf; when he might at once blow upon our blessings, and cause our table-comforts to decay; when he might tread us in the mire of adversity, and cause the waters of affliction to flow over our heads; when he might blast our mind, sense, and reason, and turn us into pitiful idiots; and when he might hide his countenance, and make us go mourning without the sun. To him whose mercies know no bound—let our praises know no end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 92: 03.079. THE FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES ======================================================================== The Forgiveness of Injuries To forgive our enemies, and forget the injuries which have been done to us, is a noble, though very difficult duty. And from the opposition it meets with from within, I find that it is above the natural man to perform. Nature would make less resistance to it—if forgiveness were less godlike and divine. There are some men who have done me injuries; and, alas! I find that I can scarcely recollect their names without remembering their injuries injuries against me—though done to me years ago—presenting themselves as if they had happened yesterday! This shows the bitterness and resentment of my mind, and the deep impressions such things make there; while the continual and abundant mercies of the Most High God are shamefully forgotten! But now let me compose my mind, and reconcile this to the duties of Christianity. The whole law hangs on this—to love God and my neighbor; and if I love the one, I shall love the other. But if I don’t love him whom I can seen—how can I love him whom I have not seen? Now, ’my neighbor’ is not he who does kind things to me; for such the worst of sinners love and regard. But my neighbor is everyone round about me. Whatever they do to me, that cannot cancel a relation that is indissolvable. When they defame me—I must speak well of them. When they revile me—I must entreat them. Though they would starve me—I must feed their hunger. Though they strip me—I must kindly clothe their nakedness. Though they curse me—I must bless them. Though they persecute me—I must pray for them. Though they rise up in war against me—yet I must not slay them—but protect them, pour oil into their wounds, and supply their necessities. Yet this universal forgiveness is not, by a too extensive clemency, to oppose the exercise of justice in respect of murderers, nor infringe the moral law with regard to those that should die. But, alas! instead of being in danger of erring on this side—I am on the opposite extreme. For while I should forgive what they do against me, and pray for forgiveness of that whereby they have sinned against God—I neither forgive them myself, nor seek forgiveness from God to them. Now, if I should thus behave with the evil men of the world who wrong me—how should I behave with the saints, who are the excellent ones of the earth? However they may deal with me in this world, that cannot loosen the tie, or dissolve the brotherhood, which is firm in Christ—of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named. Can a trivial difference break a bond that is firmer than flesh and blood? They can never much harm me in worldly things, who are for Christ in spiritual things. And though the ’old man’ should argue between us, yet the ’new man’ shall ever be friends. If the contention between corruption and corruption is so sharp, that conversation for a time is broken off—yet I shall talk with them in love, and embrace them in affection. We should only esteem one another like friends separated for a time—who will have greater joy at meeting. Here we are in the body of Christ—and therefore should bear one another’s burdens. We cannot live like angels in this imperfect state; why then should I strike like a serpent—at the failings of others? Will the hand refuse to feed the mouth, because the foot has stumbled? Is it lovely for the members of one body to fight with one another? Is it lovely for one Christian to cast off his duty to love—because another Christian has some failings? If every Christian in the world despised and abused me—I should still love them, and delight in them. For when the sanctified ones are all assembled before the throne, there should eternal harmony reign; and concord and love prevail. There differences should be swallowed up in the divine overflowings of eternal love. Why then, on any account, should my affection be cold towards them—towards whom it shall glow forever, when they are arrayed with the divine likeness of the Son of God? Let me therefore bury all my injuries in the deepest oblivion, be reconciled to my friends, however badly they have dealt with me. And if ever I remember anything they have done amiss, let it be only to magnify the goodness of God, who excels so far the best of creatures, and outdoes in sympathy and kindness the most tender-hearted friend. Whether the difference be civil or religious, the time approaches, O saint! when you and I shall forget our sharp contests, as waters that flow away. When we meet on the heavenly Mount Zion, we shall meet as angels, and embrace each other as seraphim. When we put on the perfection of the triumphant state, we shall put off sinful self, the narrow spirit, and uncharitable thought. In the light of glory, we shall see eye to eye; and as we are all united to Christ—so we shall be united to one another, being all one in him. Were not shame the daughter of sin, which therefore ceases when sin is no more—surely we would blush that ever the your and mine about perishing things, should hinder us—who shall see the whole world in flames, from conversing about that after state, those new heavens and new earth, wherein dwells righteousness, that perfect plenitude that remains for both. Come then, and let us precede eternity—by throwing differences of every kind away, and becoming one in harmony and grace. Let us crucify self, and the better part will reunite. It is not strange that men of such passions should sin against one another—but it is strange that Christian men should live and die holding grudges. Let it not, then, my soul, fail on your side. Forgive, forget, remember injuries no more than if they had never been done you. Triumph in oblivion. Be valiant in conquering pride, wrath, and revenge. Expect not the concession on his side—who has done you wrong; but you yourself should yield, and win him by your gentle and Christian behavior under your injuries. Fix your eye on that future tranquility which shall be enjoyed in heaven, and that will instruct you how to guide yourself now. Anger resides only in the bosom of fools! Entertain not a disposition of mind that you would gladly be done with, when going into eternity. Think little of yourself—and you will not take it badly that others think the same. Strive for the highest degree of Christian purity, gospel-perfection, attainable below. Lift up your eye to the other world, and in all things remember, prepare, and look out for the coming of the Lord—who will be the joy and peace of his people to eternity! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 93: 03.080. THE EXCELLENCY OF RELIGION ======================================================================== Solitude Sweetened by James Meikle, 1730-1799 The excellency of true religion The world may say as it will of the Christian religion—but it is only by it that the human mind is exalted, and men rise into eternal glory. The pleasures of piety sweeten my acid griefs, and blunt my acute pains. In this I triumph over my troubles, defy my enemies; and outrun my woes. Here I relish unseen realities, taste spiritual joys, and eat of the hidden manna. Here, in the chariot of the covenant, seated in the promise, Elijah-like, I leave the whole creation, and wing to the inheritance above, where at once I am possessed of the divine plenitude of the Eternal, bathe in life’s crystal streams, bask in his meridian ray—Where I shall drink, (and the time is not far distant) the immortalizing draught, and eat the bread of life in the kingdom of God—Where my raptured tongue shall join its anthem with the harpers around the throne, and never cease, and never tire—Where I shall see him who is altogether lovely, in the brightest displays of his glory, and hear the tenderest expressions of his everlasting love—Where I shall share of his excellences, participate of his divine nature, and put on his amazing similitude—Where I shall enjoy an ineffable union with my living Head, and know, in the largest meaning of the word, that "he who is joined to the Lord is one spirit,"—Where communion between the well-beloved and his spouse shall be full and free, to the ecstasy of every power of the mind—Where I shall be allowed an access so near, that it shall astonish me in my very approaches—Where I shall sit before his throne, walk with him in white, and in his temple speak of his glory—Where I shall launch out into the unfathomable ocean of his infinite perfections, and be eternally lost in the divine glory—Where I shall no more be vexed with an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God, but have my soul immovably fixed on the unchangeable God—Where my body in all its members, my soul in all her faculties, shall be holy and pure, and go unweariedly out to God—Where the least temptation shall not whisper in my ear, nor the carnal speech, nor profaning tongue, (O happy days!) grate the sanctified ear—but loud praises to him who loved us, from all the multitudes around the throne, convey the harmony of eternal song, to soothe my every power into the profoundest ecstasy, and to excite my song to confess his essential glories in sublimest anthems—Where I shall see the King eternal in his immaculate beauty, worship him without hypocrisy, serve him without wearying, behold him and not die, approach his throne without terror, know him as he is, see him in all his greatness, yet not, Daniel-like, be weakened—but strengthened by the vision; delight in him without slavish fear, love him without reserve, and be like him without contradiction—Where I shall see him in his resplendent robes, in his essential glories, dwelling with redeemed men, though the heaven of heavens cannot contain him, and showing them his beauties, his majestic steps in the highest sanctuary, the holy of holies, and making all his goodness to pass eternally before their wondering, their adoring, their ravished eyes! With such endearing prospects, such reviving expectations, as these, my soul is refreshed in true religion! But what is on the other hand? What have the ungodly, who relish none of these things, to expect—but gulfs of horror, pits of despair, seas of fire, oceans of vengeance, chains of wrath, floods of indignation, unutterable anguish, utter darkness, eternal torments—and such a scene of agonies as chills my thoughts! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 94: 03.081. CHRIST, AND NONE BUT HE, SATISFIES DESIRES ======================================================================== Christ, and none but he, satisfies desires There is a restless, a boundless desire in the mind of man for something which this world in all its glory is unable to bestow. This immortal appetite, this living desire, blinded mortals seek to gratify—some with honor, others with pleasure, some with riches, others with empire and glory. And need we therefore be surprised that they are never satisfied? Though I could trace my pedigree through illustrious heroes, and renowned kings, back to the first foundation of kingdoms, this would not furnish my soul with all it would desire. Though I had the knowledge of all educated men summed up in myself, so that the wisest philosophers might come and learn at my feet, still my desire would have its void to fill. Though I had all magnificent titles, honorary epithets, aggrandizing distinctions, and appellations of renown, even these would not fill the extensive blank. Though I had the uncontrolled dominion of the whole universe devolved on me, so that my name were revered in every nation, statues set up to me in all lands, and my fame and glory echoed through every kingdom, still would my desires be making new demands. Though Arabia, as my possession, should present me all her fragrant spices, the Indies, as my inheritance, amass for me all their riches, and all kingdoms, as tributary, send me their wares; though the earth should burst open all her silver veins and golden mines to enrich my treasures; though my throne were of one pearl, and my crown of one diamond; though my guards were kings, my menial servants princes, and my immediate subjects nobles; though the daily guests of my table were thousands and ten thousands of honorable personages; and though, for the entertainment of my table, my flocks should cover every hill, my herds range over every flowery valley, and the fowls of every wing alight around my palace, while the fish of every fin came, when needed, spontaneously ashore; though the fountains should flow with oil, the rivers stream with wine, and the forests drop honey—yet my heart would not say, ’It is enough!’ Though perpetual summer should shine on the place of my habitation, and storms and tempests stand at a distance from my abode; though, according to the philosopher’s conceits, the worlds on the other side the sun should bow to my scepter, though the sparkling stars, the glories of the higher skies, which rise sphere above sphere innumerable, were added to my inheritance; though I had the faculties of an angel, and the insight of a seraph; there would still be something lacking, without which I could not be happy. Though my health were never attacked by sickness—but my family flourishing as the blooming flowers, my offspring numerous as the piles of grass that clothe the verdant plain, and never lessened by death; and though in this happiness I should multiply my days as the grains of sand; yet my desires would then be as far from being satisfied, as when I began to enjoy this shadowy, this imaginary all. Where, then, is this all-sufficient plenitude to be found? or what is it that will satiate my immense desires? A triune God reconciled to me in his own Son, and conveying himself to me, in the infinite plenitude of his spiritual riches; and the eternal portion of my immortal soul. All the gathered parts of creation—knowledge, titles, honor, riches, renown, attendants, dependants, family, friends, dominion, health, longevity, and every other excellence—are but like a drop to my parched soul, of which I could swallow many, and yet be altogether faint beneath the scorching beam. But Christ is an ocean of overflowing fullness! I stand on this shore, and am astonished! I look, and in its boundless extension lose myself! I possess, and am replenished—so that I can desire no more. What a divine plenitude is this divine One! All things without Christ cannot give satisfaction; for truly without Christ all things are nothing—but, with him what seems next to nothing is more and better than the worldling’s all things! Material things, however excellent, do not suit; and cannot satisfy the immaterial and immortal soul. But in Christ there is something that satiates, refreshes, and enraptures the believing soul, even when my prospect is towards that tremendous day, when nature shall be set on flames; or further still, towards eternity, where the creature dares not present itself as a proper portion for the soul. "In him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." My desires are complete in him. I can go no further, I can wish no more than he has. Then, for the present, I am happier than the happiest worldling, having a heaven in possession! While a heaven of rapture and delight, floods of ecstasy and bliss, are in reserve for me! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 95: 03.082. THE AGGRANDIZING VISIT ======================================================================== The aggrandizing visit If a fellow-creature, who has gathered together more riches than many of his acquaintance, or has attained to more honor, and has more high-sounding titles than others, condescends, as they call it, to visit an inferior, or to admit an inferior to visit him—the whole neighborhood is astonished, and the men that receive the compliment consider themselves as highly honored by it. Yet what is this person with whose visit they are so delighted—but a ’fellow worm of the earth’—a mere insect, which crawls on the face of the ground? As, however, infinite wisdom has divided the inhabitants of the world into different classes, distinctions, and orders, for a time, the sons of men are not to despise such a visit; but as it is only for a time, the saints the sons of God, are not to idolize it, or think that riches and honor are the channel through which the favor and love of God to his people is conveyed. But how stupid are the world, who never observe the great honor done to the saints, when the royal family of heaven makes them an abiding visit! "Behold I stand at the door, and knock; and if any man hears my voice, and opens to me, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." There the Creator and creature sit at one table! and God, to the astonishment of angels, is gone to be guest with men! Such a visit is to be contended for; such a guest is to be received with open arms, and entertained with flowing love, like that of the spouse, who said, "While the King sits at his table, my spikenard sends forth the smell thereof." Nor is the heavenly visit a transient one, like those among the sons of men; for, says the glorious visitant, "If a man loves me, my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." It is much to see a great person visit a poor man, more to see a king enter the drab hut; but most of all, if ever after the visit he were to keep his residence at the humble cottage. However lowly the saints think of themselves, yet since the King and the King’s Son, even the eternal, undivided family of heaven, dwells with them, there must be immortal angels and thousands of fiery chariots, to defend them from all dangers, to deliver them from all foes. How happy, then, are the saints of God! how happy the select number, whom the world think so basely of—and count so miserable! But, again, great men may make a visit to poor creatures, without changing their condition. It will not make a poor man rich, that a rich man visits him, unless he proves a liberal donor, or a generous benefactor also. Nor will it exalt a subject, a slave to a throne, that a king comes to see him. But it is otherwise here—Heaven is always bestowed—in the visit of the Most High; and regardless of his past sinfulness, the man is assuredly an heir of glory, with whom God comes to dwell. For as by his Spirit he dwells in and with his people for eternity; so by faith here, and vision hereafter, they dwell in and with him for the same desirable eternity. O then that the saints would think more highly of themselves, in living above the world, and its vanities, and in walking like those whom the King Eternal honors with a visit! Should any other of their surly and ill-natured neighbors make them sad of heart—when the Lord of heaven and earth countenances them in so singular a manner? Now, if it aggrandizes men, that the nobles of the earth visit them, and that great men take any notice of them; surely the saints are the most excellent of all men, with whom the God of glory condescends to dwell. But how shall I evidence that God dwells with me? By walking like one who has been with Jesus, with a heavenly deportment and divine carriage. Then, let the King of glory visit my heart, and I shall never seek to tread in the courts of mere earthly kings. Let my conversation be in heaven, and I shall not care, though the great men of the world never converse with me. Between my soul and the throne of God let a daily correspondence be kept up—and I shall cheerfully live in the most complete solitude, and retirement from all mankind. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 96: 03.083. CAUSES OF HUMILITY ======================================================================== Causes of Humility As only in night dreams I cross impassable rivers, climb tremendous precipices, or fly in the open air; so it is only in spiritual slumber that I mount on the imaginary wing, climb the height of self-conceit, and stand on the precipice of pride. Were I truly awake, instead of being puffed up, I should tremble at my situation. In truth, there is nothing either in the fortune, persons, or minds of men, that ought to make them proud. We should never be proud of riches; for, besides the disquieting nature of them, we can never be possessed of so vast a sum—but we may die beggars. We should never be proud of honor—for our glory may turn into disgrace, and our character into reproach. We should never be proud our children—for death, like a lion, waits only God’s permissive nod, to devour every one of them. We should never be proud of strength, health, or beauty—for disease lies dormant in every bodily part—ready to break out into the canker of corruption. We should never be proud of any faculty of the mind, seeing our brightest wisdom is but folly to God, yes, to angels; and sickness can deprive us of our boasted intellect, and render us objects of pity unto all. I see, then; that pride springs from blindness and thoughtlessness. But how surprising is this, that one who has his eyes open to the things of God, should be guilty of pride! Now, as spiritual things are more noble and more excellent than carnal things, so ’spiritual pride’ is more abominable than worldly pride. For the Christian, of all men, should be most humble. Whence, then, these risings of heart? whence this self-conceit, and high opinion of myself? Is God good to me—and must I turn the grace of God into pride and vanity? Surely, if ever I have cause to fear the sincerity of my graces, it is when I grow proud of them. Grace is a humble thing. It thinks lowly of all but Christ. It keeps an eye ever open to its own failings; and though believingly bold, yet being conscious of its imperfection, it wears a blush before the throne. The reasons of my pride are merely imaginary—but I have a thousand real causes for the profoundest humility. I have many carnal thoughts—even in my solemn devotion. I am guilty of ambitious lustings, unbelieving circumscribings of the power of God, misimprovement of God’s judgments and of mercies, over-attachment to the things of time, dullness about the things of eternity, ignorance of God, and of spiritual, heavenly, and divine things. Yes, besides all these, the daily iniquity of my heart and life—should always keep me humble. But, my soul, your very situation, (for you are yet on enchanted ground,) may keep you humble. Though you were as spotless as a seraph, yet that flood of iniquity that swells around you may keep you humble; but though you were in the midst of a paradise of innocence, yet there is such a world of wickedness within you, as might banish every spark of pride forever. And when these considerations fail, and pride again begins to appear, the very appearance may plunge you into the profoundest abyss of humility and self-loathing, out of which you should never rise, until raised to the perfection of the sons of God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 97: 03.084. HARMONY IN GOD'S PROCEDURE WITH THE CHURCH ======================================================================== Harmony in God’s procedure with the Church Wonderful are you, O Lord! and stupendous are your ways. The harmony that prevails, and the glory that shines in all your government, fills every pious soul with adoration and wonder. All your subjects approve of whatever the King does, and are surprised and pleased at once. Let me cast together the first and last ages of the world, and compare his conduct with the church under the law, and under the gospel, and I shall find a beautiful correspondence and agreement in all his ways. When God would have a church to himself, he calls Abraham, and blesses him; so our Savior, when he founded the New Testament church, called whom he chose, and blessed them with spiritual gifts and heavenly graces. When God made promise to Abraham, that Messiah should spring from his posterity, circumcision was instituted; and when the promised seed came into the world, baptism was brought into its place. At one great occurrence, when Israel was delivered from tyrannical Egypt, the passover was appointed; and at another greater event, when Jesus, to deliver the true Israel from the bondage of sin, was to suffer, the supper was instituted. The Old Testament church had Egypt to leave, a land of bitter bondage; and we have the kingdom of darkness to come out of, a land of cruel slavery. The church of old was composed of twelve tribes—the Christian church is founded on the twelve apostles of the Lamb. The one, though few at their beginning, grew into a great nation—the other, though small at their commencement, spread through many nations. By miracles Old Testament church was delivered, fed, and defended—by miracles the doctrines of New Testament church were disseminated and confirmed. The Old Testament church had a sea to pass through at its first escape—this had a flood of afflictions at its first appearance. The former was guided by the cloud and pillar of his presence—the latter by his word and Spirit. The one had to go through a vast and howling desert—the other to struggle through a world of sin, vanity, and vexation. The Old Testament church tabernacled the wilderness forty years, and lacked nothing—the New Testament church has a place given her in the wilderness, where she is fed for many days. Manna was the bodily or natural food of the first; the true manna is the spiritual food of the last. A refreshful river out of the rock followed them all the way—and to us, "that rock is Christ." To them the typical serpent was suspended on a pole, that whoever was bitten by the fiery serpents might look and live—and we have the glorious antitype lifted up on the loftier pole of the gospel, that we may behold and be healed of all the wounds given by Satan, the old serpent. The Old Testament church had their feasts and solemnities—we have ours. The Jews, after all their toils and pilgrimages, subdued the heathen nations—the first founders of Christianity, after all their trials and persecutions, subdued Paganism itself, and idolatrous nations submitted to the truths of the gospel. When the Jews were settled, and in a flourishing condition, Jeshurun waxed fat, and kicked, yes, became worse than the heathen who were around them; so, after the Christian church enjoyed rest and tranquility, they turned to do worse than the unconverted nations around them. When Israel fell from the worship of the true God into idolatry, Babylon was the scourge that brought the church into captivity and bondage—so, when idolatry sprang up in the church of Christ, an apostatizing Rome—bloody Babylon, that great city, which reigns over the kings of the earth—became the cruel oppressor of the church of the faithful. And as the destruction of ancient Babylon preceded the church’s delivery—so the destruction of spiritual or mystical Babylon, (for the time approaches when she shall be cast as a mill-stone into the sea, to arise no more,) shall precede and promote the church’s enlargement. As the Jewish deliverance was by a temporal Messiah, a Cyrus—so the Christian liberation is by the heavenly Messiah, the Savior of the world, who shall destroy the man of sin by the breath of his mouth, and by the brightness of his coming. As our Savior’s first coming was the fulfillment of the prophecies, and finished the Old Testament dispensation—so the second coming of our incarnate God shall be the fulfillment of the promises, and finish the New Testament dispensation. His first coming was as a Savior, to take away the sin of the world—but his second appearance shall be as a judge, to condemn the sinners, acquit the saints, and carry them to heaven! Hasten, then, this day of glory, when all things shall be accomplished, to the entire satisfaction of every saint—and to the bright display of every divine, every adorable perfection. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 98: 03.085. A PLEASANT CONSIDERATION ======================================================================== A pleasant Consideration There is one consideration that may make me endure affliction with fortitude, and triumph in my trouble, which is—That what I endure today, I shall not feel tomorrow. Every sip of affliction lessens the bitter cup that is put into my hand, which contains its given quantity, and is not always kept full. So the more frequent, or the more largely, I drink at one time, the less remains for me; and some time or other I must drink it all, and glut down the last drop in the expiring pang. The afflictions I feel today I shall feel again no more forever; that is, in their first onset, though they may follow up and repeat their stroke for many days. Though the shower is heavy upon me, yet, to my comfort, the same clouds shall not return after the rain. And though clouds and darkness, tempest and storm, should fill my sky all the days of my life—yet after death my heaven shall brighten, and be obscured no more. My troubles diminish in the enduring of them—but my consolations are of another nature; they are a flowing spring, at which I may daily drink, and still they overflow. Affliction is like the foam of a river, that perishes as we pass over, and can be found no more; but the divine comforts are like Israel’s stream in the wilderness that followed them all the way. The present loss of dearest relatives, which brings most pungent sorrow, would cease; were I assured that in a few years they were to rise again. Then, should it not cease, when I reflect on the certainty of enjoying my relations, where spiritual friendship is pitched up to sublime heights, never known below, and that to endure forever? I look a little further—and my afflictions are no more! I look a little further—and infinite consolations are mine for evermore. Why, then, should I suffer much from any grief that passes, never to return; when pure joy, to comfort me with mighty strides approaches, never to pass away? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 99: 03.086. CRUCIFIXION ======================================================================== CRUCIFIXION There is a reciprocal crucifixion which I should desire and seek after. First, that the world may be crucified unto me. And, secondly, that I may be crucified unto the world. This is a noble figure representing the Christian’s full and free disentanglement from the world. It is possible to break the connection, and cut asunder the bands between two people of the closest friendship, sameness of sentiment, and oneness of interest enough that one party be crucified; for the other may still have affections and feelings after the mangled, though once amiable companion. But when both are crucified, all bonds are broken, and all ties are eternally dissolved. When a person becomes noxious to society, an enemy to the commonwealth and a rebel against just authority—then he merits such an ignominious death as crucifixion. Well, then, the world is an enemy to the life divine, noxious to the welfare of my soul, and a rebel against the authority of Heaven. Therefore I should earnestly seek to have it crucified to my affections—and my affections to it. When a person is crucified, his friends need expect no favor from him, and his foes need fear no harm at his hand. So, if the world be crucified to me, I shall neither court its smiles, nor fear its frowns. I shall expect nothing—and I shall never be disappointed. I shall dread nothing—and I shall never be in danger. He who would win heaven must crucify the world. For while the world lives in the affections, it will all ways come between the soul and heaven. Now, what a mighty mountain, what a steep ascent is this—the sad experience of unhappy thousands can tell, who never could climb over the terrestrial globe to the heavenly land! But, intoxicated with pleasures, choked with cares, and crushed with the ponderous mass—sink down to endless woe! Again, as a crucified man, whose extremities are bored through and whose body is besmeared with blood, and his countenance disfigured in death, is a very moving spectacle to every feeling beholder; so the world, crucified to the believing soul, will appear vain and empty, vile and abominable, and loathsome for the fond embraces of mental affection. And as a dead body soon becomes stinking carrion, so a crucified world, in the nostrils of a renewed soul, can send nothing up but a vile odor. All its perishing pleasures—which are rich perfumes to carnal minds—will be but like open graves to gracious souls. Finally I shall be an immense gainer by this double crucifixion; for as no man will hoard up human skulls, bones, and putrefying carcasses, for a treasure; so the world thus crucified, and all its vanities—shall be the object of my deepest contempt and loathing! While things spiritual, heavenly, and divine—shall share my whole esteem, and enrich my soul for eternity itself! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 100: 03.087. ALL GOD'S WAYS EQUAL ======================================================================== All God’s ways equal This is a truth at all times, and in all circumstances, to be acknowledged, that all God’s ways are just and equal. Yes they must be so, seeing he is infinite in his wisdom, excellent in counsel, free in his degrees, independent in his procedure, and holy in all his works. When Adam was in a state of innocence, all God’s ways were equal in his eyes, and admiring the wisdom of the Creator, he gave names to all the beasts according to their nature; hereby showing his own wisdom, without quarreling at the size, shape, or end of their being. But no sooner did he fall from God, and become unequal in his way, than he complains even in the face of God, that his ways were not equal. "The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat." Such, alas! is the language of my complaining at the dispensations of Providence. If adverse, I dare even go so far as to wonder how or why God deals such and such with me, such and such with his people. And because my unequal soul, that is set at war with itself by sin, cannot fathom his ways, which as far transcend my conceptions, as the heavens transcend the earth—I shortly conclude them unequal. Ah! foolish, vain conceit! Can anything be crooked in the Eternal Mind? Can any action deviate from the standard of equity in the Judge of all the earth? Can he who is harmony and unity—be at variance with himself? Could I glance the glorious plan in the infinite mind, I would fall down astonished, and confess, "He has done all things well!" His wisdom is the same—though I cannot fathom it. His kind design the same—though I cannot comprehend it. His equity is the same—though I do not understand it. Although, in the death of my dearest relations, or distress of any kind, I cannot learn why Heaven deals such and such—and why the time, the place, and circumstances are such and such; yet I may be assured, that there is a divine equality in the spotless procedure—for he will never depart from the rule of rectitude, to afflict his people. But, again, what condescension is it in God, to make his people see the equality of his doings while in this world—so that they cry out, "Now I know that you have afflicted me in faithfulness! It is good for me that I have been afflicted!" Yet, what though such a prospect should be reserved until eternity—when the veil shall be taken down, and all the ways of God shown to his people? It is enough that he does it—who is righteous in all his ways, plenteous in justice, and superabundant in goodness. And though I know not the meaning of present painful dispensations, yet it ought to satisfy me, that he who sends them is not only the Governor of the nations—but the Shepherd of his people, and perfects what concerns his saints. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 101: 03.088. SELF-FLATTERERS ======================================================================== Self-Flatterers "The fool says in his heart, ’There is no God.’ They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds, there is none who does good." (Psalms 14:1) The ungodly flatter themselves with false hopes—that all shall be well with them, "until their iniquity be found to be hateful" by the tremendous omniscient Judge in the decisive day. The most heinous people flatter themselves, that they are not in so bad a state, and that they will safely arrive in heaven. True, salvation is offered to the chief of sinners. But then they must be saved from sin—but cannot be saved in sin; which is the error here. Some conceive such a notion of mercy as would destroy the other attributes; as if God should trample on his holiness, truth, and justice—to exalt his mercy in saving a sinner, or in pardoning sin without any atonement. But this is repugnant to what he himself has declared. Others flatter themselves, that as God is just and merciful, he could never make so many rational creatures to be damned. Yet they refuse the one true and living way, which God has pointed out—by which they must be saved. Others would gladly believe that God will never condemn them for committing some sins, which, say they, are implanted in their nature; and thus (O horrid blasphemy!) they make the Author of their being the author of sin! But God planted man at first wholly good, though he is now turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine. Others, again there are, that through a pious education, common convictions, knowledge of the truth, and such like, are convinced that their present course of life is sinful and dangerous—but flatter themselves that all shall yet be well; for, when they are aged, and have wearied themselves out with sinning—they intend to amend their lives, repent and turn to God; and in this they promise themselves success, since God never refuses the penitent. Thus they set themselves above God, making themselves Lords of their own time, and promising themselves years to come; although they cannot boast of tomorrow. They also make themselves proprietors of divine grace, in thinking they can repent at any time of their own appointment. But such fair promises to their own conscience, who dare delay to an uncertain futurity so momentous a matter, which claims to be chief in our concern, and to be done with all diligence—are the worst performed promises in the world. Moreover, mournful experience tells us, that those who reserve their youthful sins to be repented of in old age, often, alas! too often—live on as they began, and die as they have lived. Again, there are some that conclude theirs a unhappy situation, because they are honest and upright in their dealings with others. They do no man an injury, they speak evil of no man; but are friendly-hearted and frank-handed to all. But they know nothing of living a life of faith on the Son of God. Again, there are others, who because they have given up the grosser follies, extravagances, and excesses—which were the game and the grave of their youth—and live a sober regular life—conclude themselves to be converts, and to bid fair for heaven—though they never felt one pang of the new birth, or knew what it was to be born again. Lastly, to name no more, there are some who account themselves saints indeed and would not question their state for anything, because they have been sober all their life long, have hated the grosser acts of wickedness, commend religion, and religious people, and have a form of godliness; but they have never seen the necessity of being divorced from the law, and denied to their best actions, as well as their worst deeds with respect to salvation. And, however fair their character may be, they know nothing of union to, and communion with, the Son of God. Therefore they are dead while they live, dead before God; though alive in their own opinion, and in the opinion of the world. Now, how fatal such self-flattery is, is evident; yet how full is the Christian world of such fatal delusion! May their eyes be opened to see their danger—and their hearts persuaded to embrace the Savior! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 102: 03.089. THE HEAVENLY VISION ASSIMILATING ======================================================================== The heavenly vision assimilating There are a thousand unfathomable depths in divine love. Who can open the everlasting treasuries, or look into these unseen glories? And this is not least to be admired—that the sinful worms and potsherds of the earth should be admitted into the visions of God. Here on earth we see something of him though darkly, his back part being only presented to view—and even of that we have an imperfect glance. But in the world to come, the saints shall see him as he is, and thereby be happy above their highest hope, beyond their most extensive faith. Now, how astonishing that the saints should be admitted into the perfect visions of God! and how entrancing that this vision should so assimilate them to him, that the soul, accustomed to unremitting longings below for this crowning bliss, shall remain eternally satisfied with her divine conformity to God! How, then, of consequence, must the saints shine in glory, since their conformity is not to an imperfect vision—but first, they see him as he is, (and what that is, who can tell?) and then, according to this dear sight, is their assimilation to him. If here there be such an excellence in the saints, from the imperfect views of the glory of God in the face of Jesus—what must it be where the darkness is past, and the true light shines? Surely it may be said of the saints in that state, "You are all sons of the highest." Nor need we wonder that John had almost worshiped a fellow-saint, who shone with so much amazing glory. This assimilation is in part begun below; for "we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed, or transformed, into the same image, from glory to glory." And it is perfected above, when the whole soul is assimilated, as far as finite can receive of communicable perfection, to him who is the Father of spirits. If a broken heart be a burden here that cannot be borne, surely the harmony that shall arise from a sense that all the powers of the soul have put on the divine likeness, shall be ineffably sweet. Thus the whole family of heaven shall have one appearance, and prove themselves to be of one Father; and, being like their elder Brother, shall look like the children of a King! Briefly, then, this blessed similitude to God consists, 1. In being holy, as he is holy. 2. In knowing all things to their satisfaction; as God in his infinite knowledge rests satisfied. 3. In willing, through the perfection of holiness, nothing but what is good; as God, through the perfection of his divine nature, can will nothing but what is holy. 4. In being happy in their condition, and ravished with their felicity in God; as God is supremely and eternally happy in himself. 5. In never being fatigued; they rest not day nor night, and yet are never weary; as the Creator of the ends of the earth neither faints nor is weary. 6. In being made kings and priests to God and to the Lamb, and reigning with him forever; as God sits king forever, and of his government there is no end. And, lastly, in being fixed in their supreme felicity, above the fear of change, or end; as God is from everlasting to everlasting God. How complete must their happiness be, who possess God in all his plenitude, in all his perfections, and are like him in his communicable glory! There is some difference now between the saint and sinner, though both are in houses of clay; but how vast will it be then, when the one shall be all deformity and darkness, the other all loveliness and glory! For to these the Christian shall be revealed in the nearest and most open views, in the face of Jesus; but hid from those in the darkest and obscurest manner forever, when "they shall be banished from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power forever." This is the excellency of true religion above reason, that it reveals God as he is! this is the happiness of the saints above sinners; that they see something of God now, and are somewhat like him, though imperfectly; and this is the privilege of all saints, that, like Moses, they may seek after, and receive repeated views of his glory. But the crowing vision is reserved for eternity, when "we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 103: 03.090. STILL DESCRIPTIONS FALL SHORT OF GLORY ======================================================================== Still descriptions Fall short of Glory Oh! what must that happiness be, which is laid up on high! that glory that is reserved to be revealed! When God sets forth the heavenly bliss, it is by the metaphors, figures, and shadows, adapted to our shallow conceptions. Thus as God himself is said to have hands—which point out his power’ eyes—which show his omniscience, and such like condescensions. So the glory above is set out to us by the most excellent things that come within our cognizance—as kingdoms, crowns, scepters, gold, precious stones, pearls, anthems, life, health, liberty, light, endless day, perpetual summer, and eternal autumn. But how dull are golden harps—to the rapture of celestial song! How dim are streets of gold—to the paved walks of glory! What are the reflections of clearest crystal—to glories! What the languid sparklings of all the precious gems—to the noon-day blaze of uncreated perfections! What are the apples of paradise—to that spiritual feast on divinity itself, which the saints enjoy above! What is a tree planted on either side a stream—to him who overshadows all his chosen ones! or twelve kinds of fruits yielded every month—to the innumerable blessings of divine love! What is a river—to him who overflows eternity, fills immensity, and is the plenitude of every ransomed soul! In one word, what are all things—to God! Can the creature set forth the enjoyment of the Fountain of being? O happy eternity! when I shall plunge into the infinity of your excellencies, and, to my eternal gain, be lost in the immensity of your glory! and enjoy God in a manner that the noblest metaphors never can set forth, that the most exalted description never can exhibit, nor the most enlarged conception conceive! In view of this glory, unfathomably great—let me prepare, and in hopes of it rest until its full unveiling! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 104: 03.091. SAINTS HONORABLE ======================================================================== Saints honorable Among the failings with which the saints are chargeable surely this is one—Too low apprehensions of their own greatness—which they have in Christ. The poor man who has many troubles every day to combat with, and is subjected perhaps to daily indigence, would think it presumption for him to believe that there were orders given in the court of heaven concerning him by name, that necessary supply should be sure to him; and that no less than angels, who attend the throne, were commissioned to secure his safety! But since God’s eternal Son condescended to come to save his people, "and give his life a ransom for many," it well befits the brightest of the angelic multitudes, to minister unto the heirs of salvation. Truly, O saint! a serious consideration of your high estate, (for "since you were precious in his sight, you have been honorable,") ought not to puff up your mind with pride—but to fill your heart with holy admiration and wonder, and to swell your soul with ecstasy and love! The men of the world may scorn your poor cottage; but had they but one glance of the angelic guards that do duty there, they would conclude it to be the palace of a king, or the gate of heaven. Elisha’s servant was of the same mind with the world; he thought his master was a helpless, though a holy man—"Alas! my master, how shall we survive? we are undone, for we have no power to withstand the Syrian army." But, presently, he sees the mountain shining around them with celestial guards, and covered with the flaming chariots of the King of glory. Now, O saint! Elisha’s God is your God, and the standing forces of eternity are still the same, being truly the immortal legion; yes, their employment is also the same, until all the saints are brought safe to glory! When on a journey you put up at an inn, you may be obliged to take the worst room, while others, who have a grand retinue, and numerous attendants, have the best lodgings. But what do you think of this—that not only angels should be your guards—but the Lord God himself should be your watchman? How secure, then, are you—seeing your omnipotent Guardian neither slumbers nor sleeps! If, under your earthly sovereign, you are called to the battle field, you may pitch your tent in the open field; while the general of the army fixes his splendid pavilion in the center—yet only men encamp around him. But wherever you pitch, "the angel of the Lord encamps round about you." What, then, should your conduct be, O you who are highly favored of the Lord! You should study holiness in the highest degree, in gratitude to him who deals so amazingly with you; and humility, that you may never forget yourself, and so cease to wonder at the heavenly condescension! Is it your part, O saint! when so honored, so defended by the King, to hold disloyal conferences with his implacable enemies—self, sin, Satan, against whom the "Lord has sworn that he will have war forever?" When he, in redeeming grace, has raised you up to heaven, will you through sin debase yourself to hell? Now, O saint, you are no less happy, and your condition no less grand than this. Live, then above the world and its vanities, with a greatness of soul that evidences your divine pedigree—until the day comes, in which you shall be exalted to that glory—of which you are now an expectant, candidate, and heir! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 105: 03.092. MERCIES, THOUGH APPARENTLY DELAYED, ======================================================================== Mercies, though apparently delayed, come at the appointed time How is it that thoughts rise in my mind about the promise proving abortive? or how can I conclude that the delays of Providence are ill-timed and unkind? Yet God, notwithstanding all the risings of unbelief in my bosom—is punctual to a day. Hence says Moses, that God brought forth the children of Israel in the "self-same day" that he had promised, and that their sojourning in the land of Egypt was completely expired. But what a groaning time did the poor Israelites undergo! Their service was with rigor, their bondage was bitter, their oppression unsupportable, and the cruelty of their foes had arrived at that infernal pitch, as to plunge their helpless babes into the river! At length, in this melancholy time, Moses was born; but this sad season was spun out until he was forty years old, before he hinted to his brethren that he it was that would deliver them. Yet this faint dawn of relief immediately disappears; Moses is no more to be seen or heard of in all the land of Egypt, and the night of sore affliction is protracted for another forty years. Now, what cogitations of heart, may I suppose, struggled all this time in the bosoms of Jacob’s sons, in the bosom of Moses! Well he knew, in what deplorable circumstances he had left his brethren, nor knew he how their bondage might be increased in his absence; yet, in the account of their glorious deliverance, he confesses that God was a God of truth, and that, however he seemed to delay, still his suffering people were brought forth from the iron furnace at the appointed time—and not a day later than the promise! Have I, then, any reason to complain of days and months of delay? No! God has appointed a set time, and at the set time will remember me. And it well befits me, though the time should seem long in my view—to wait with patience for it. God has in all ages so dealt with his people—for the exercise of their graces. And these trials, like the instruments of the farmer, breaking up the fallow-ground of their heart, make them bring forth a plenteous crop of precious fruits, whence accrues an increase of glory to God, and unspeakable joy to their own souls, through the ages of eternity! And is not this more than all that can rise from the present and speedy performance of the promised blessing? Then sit still, my soul, and calmly wait the end, wondering more that justly-deserved judgments are not immediately executed against you; than that expected blessings are for a while withheld. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 106: 03.093. THE WORLD DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE AFFECTIONS ======================================================================== The world deeply rooted in the affections How often, when reading the history of the children of Israel going up out of Egypt, have I condemned their longing for their flesh-pots, and other things with which they had been entertained in the land of their bondage, when they had Canaan before them! But now I may turn from them, and leave my complaint upon myself, since I am guilty of the same sin. If my hopes are fixed in eternity, why do I take pleasure in the things of time! Will I by profession seek after immortality, yet practically pursue dying vanities? O! when shall the world cease to allure me, cease to find reception in my soul? When shall the beautiful field, while I behold the better country, become as a barren wilderness to me; and the fine flower garden, as the top of a rock that is neither plowed nor sown? When shall honor be to me as disagreeable as the din and confusion of great cities; and fame as the tumultuous noise of an enraged mob, when the most part know not why they have come together? When shall my well-informed judgment esteem riches no better than wild brier, whose single flower on the top, is attended with innumerable prickles round about below? When shall I possess unenvied solitude, and retire into my own bosom, counting it a happiness neither to much know, or to be known, in a vain, a transitory world? Can an old man, who is half blind, and half deaf, be delighted with the harmony of sounds, the neatness and richness of attire, and the frolicsome amusements of youth? And should not the mature believer, (how sad my condition!) give a greater disrelish to the pleasures of the world, than the decays of nature? Henceforth, may I use the world as not abusing either it or myself! How would it look in one sent expressly from his prince, on matters of the greatest importance, to sit down by the first pleasant grove he came to, and forget his mission, until the night had enrapt him up in darkness, when he could not pursue his journey? So I am on the journey of salvation, by order of the Prince of the kings of the earth, who has commanded me to run while I have the light, and work while I have the day; not to cast off my pilgrim-staff, ungird my armor, or forego my traveling posture; nor to let my affections settle on anything below, lest the shadows of the everlasting evening be stretched out, and thickest darkness cover me! As men look on children, in all their mirthful imaginations and sportive jollity, with pity and disdain; so should I look on the grandeur of the world, which is more so in comparison of diviner glories, of sublimer bliss. But, when Israel came near the promised land, the pleasant inheritance—there was not one word of Egypt and all its dainties. So, as a sign that I am drawing near the better country to inherit it for eternity, let the things of this world not once be named by me, as becomes an expectant of the vast reserve of love. O happy day! when all shall be tasteless and insipid but Christ—when this struggle between my carnal desires and renewed affections, shall issue in complete victory over the creature and its enchanting charms! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 107: 03.094. TRUE RICHES ======================================================================== True Riches "All things are yours!" (1 Corinthians 3:21) What, Christian! do you complain of poverty? Do you cry out of need? If you are poor in anything, it is in your views and apprehensions of your glorious inheritance—they are so shallow and confined. But, as God said to Abraham of his seed, so says he to you of your possessions, "See if you can count them all up!" Do you know the measure of your inheritance, or the breadth and boundary of your kingdom? Survey the midnight-sky, and see the sparkling orbs above—these are all your own! And if they can advantage your soul, and bring about your good, not one of them shall be withheld from you, seeing you are the King’s son. Now, how rich are you! Can you, then, be cast down for a few difficulties in this world below? "But, Oh!" reply you, "you would not talk at such a rate, did you know my troubles. Heaven is conscious that I am daily groaning under poverty and affliction, and that my thoughts are divided and distracted. Fear of miseries at one time assails me—and at another time, hope in his mercy composes my mind. Now I would gladly have confidence in the promise—and then am all anxiety about God’s providence. Now, if it were as you say—why is all this befallen me? Why is it thus with me?" What, saint! Do you think that the promises are illusive words, or that God speaks ironically to his people? No! He speaks with the sincerity of a true friend, with the affection of a tender father. It fares no otherwise with you in all your complaints, than with a young heir to a great estate, who is fed sparingly, and put under severer discipline than others, who have not such great expectations. He is not able to comprehend the meaning of such hard usage, until he grows up, and then he finds himself possessed of a healthy appetite, a fine state of health, and a vigorous constitution, as well as of an extensive inheritance, which gluttony and licentiousness in younger years might have destroyed. Just so you, O saint! when grown up to the measure of a perfect man in Christ Jesus, (for while in this world you are but of yesterday, and know nothing,) you shall see God’s excellent use of afflictions, and the noble design of keeping you at a poor table, and poor comforts—lest the satisfying of your carnal appetite had sent leanness into your soul. Then all his ways shall be made plain, which must remain unriddled until the mystery of providence be opened up in the light of glory. All things, then, are yours; and the earth and the fullness thereof, sun, moon, and starry heavens, are but the least part of your possession. You have a right to the bright and morning star of eternity, to the Creator of the ends of the earth, to God Almighty, as your shield and exceeding great reward! How like the Possessor of heaven and earth are you! for as this is his footstool, so the woman, (the church in all her members,) that is clothed with the sun, has the earth under her feet! Why, then, anxious about a possession on that which is not only God’s footstool—but should be yours? Would you appear in all your noble state while in this desert, the land of your pilgrimage; since the better country, where the King of glory has his royal pavilion and residence, lies before you to be inherited? Your eyes may climb to the stars, and say—These are mine. But why terminate there? Faith may rise higher, and claim him who made the stars, and gives them all their names. O how at once your possessions grow too vast to be described, and extend infinitely on every hand! God, in all his glorious perfections, reconciled in his Son, who is appointed heir of all things—is yours! And you are his! Why, then, be disquieted about dust and ashes, wind and vanity—when the unseen realities of eternity are before you, and shall give the purest joy, and most refined pleasure in the eternal possession of them! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 108: 03.095. THE CASTING OF THE SCALES OR BALANCES ======================================================================== The casting of the scales or balances There is a real difference between the righteous and the wicked. The one is the heir of bliss, the other the child of the curse. But O how is the appearance misrepresented and inverted, in the eye of carnal men! The wicked are accounted happy, and the saints the most miserable of all men. But let us fight the worldlings with their own weapons. The wicked are traveling through the evening twilight of declining grandeur—to the darkness of eternal night. But the saints are marching through the growing beams of morning light to the perpetual splendor of glory. Truly, the wicked now seem to have the upper hand on the godly, and their rod lies heavy on the back of the righteous; but they shall be found on the left hand in the day when distinctions most avail, and over them shall the godly have eternal dominion. The one may go mourning, and pour out their complaint before God, while the others spend their days in mirth, and rejoice at the sound of the organ. But the sorrow of the one shall be turned into everlasting joy, while the songs of the other shall issue in eternal howlings. Great men weigh valuable in the balance of the world, while the saints are accounted as the offscouring of all things. Nevertheless, in the balance of the sanctuary, when both are weighed, the sinner shall be found lacking—but "the precious sons of Zion shall be comparable to fine gold." Now, dare I calculate with the world, and call them happy, whom the world counts happy? Or, more daring still, dare I choose to be where happiness, sacred happiness, is not to be found? However beautiful the evening be, it is soon black night; but however cloudy the morning be, it is soon broad day. So it was with Dives, who, dragged from his luxurious table and flowing cups, is plunged into the lake of fire, and lifts up his eyes amidst devouring flames—parched, and petitioning for one drop of water to cool his scorched tongue. While Lazarus, full of sores, and without attendance at the inhospitable gate, except for the kindly dogs, is wafted by angels from all his sorrows, and set down to banquet richly at the table of eternal love. Surely, then, my choice shall be to live in their humble condition; die in their hopeful condition; and rise to their happy condition! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 109: 03.096. AFFLICTION THE COMMON LOT OF THE SAINTS ======================================================================== Affliction the common lot of the Saints When I consider the conduct of Providence towards all his saints, I should rather be astonished that I am permitted to pass through the world not more chastised—than suppose that I am chastened too severely. And surely, were I free from afflictions, whereof all are partakers, I might infer, that I were an illegitimate child—not a son. Whatever my affliction is, the wisdom of him who sends it should make me embrace and bear it without a grudge. Afflictions do not spring out of the dust, nor come at random. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Some of God’s favorite ones have, for wise ends, had the severest afflictions. The wisdom of God, however, in afflicting his people, is folly to the world, who would compute love and hatred by common providences; and therefore they cry out, as the ignorant Jews of old, to the Captain of our salvation, who himself was made perfect through suffering, "Let God deliver them, if he delights in them." Again, as the infinite goodness of God shines in sending afflictions, though the scales on my eyes hinder me from seeing all their beauty, insomuch that I often wonder why it fares such and such with me, and would sincerely attempt to swallow up all in submission and faith, believing the veracity of the promise, that all things shall work together for good to those who are the called and chosen of God—I say, as his goodness appears in sending them, so the divine wisdom is conspicuous in their variety. Abraham, the friend of God, had a trial which would have startled the whole world of believers. Isaac and Jacob, heirs of the same promise; Moses the man, and Aaron the saint of God; Joshua and the Judges; Job, David, and his royal line; Samuel and the prophets; yes, the Lamb and his Apostles, had afflictions of every kind, in substance and estate, in relations and connections, in name and character, in soul and body. Now, such has been the universal conduct of God these five thousand years with his church and people. And had not his government been both for his own glory, and the good of his people, such a wise Father, would by this time have changed the manner of his procedure towards his own people. But who can doubt the wisdom and goodness of his conduct, who considers, that through this discipline many thousands have gone to glory, and are this day happy in their joyful harvest, after their weeping seed-time? How happy is it for me—that the world often gives me the slip, that I may forsake the world, and look more out for the better country—That men often prove false to me, that I may rely only on the God of truth—That needs beset me on every side, that I by faith may set myself down at the gate of heaven, and, in the promise, and in his fullness, find a rich supply—That death now and then cuts off a beloved relation, that I may more remember my own end, the immortal world, and him who is the resurrection and the life. Affliction renders the creature tasteless, the world barren, and dispels the intoxicating juice of carnal pleasures and sensual delights! It breaks the sleep of security, and awakens and rouses up to duties. Even the saints themselves are more frequent and fervent in their devotions, under the rod of affliction; and many in trouble visit the throne of grace, (dear throne! to which all have access,) and pour out a prayer when his chastening hand is upon them—who before were utter strangers both to the place and the employment. I verily believe that every Christian is a ’child of the cross’, and has drunk of the cup of affliction, sweetened by Christ’s drinking so largely of it. Now, would I go another way to heaven than all the redeemed have trod in? Would I walk Zion-wards out of the King’s high-way, out of the covenant? However much in the dark I may be about particular providences, and singular afflictions, until all things are cleared up above; yet, I should welcome whatever afflictions loosen me from this world, and bring me nearer God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 110: 03.097. THE GLORIOUS FRUITS OF SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION ======================================================================== The glorious fruits of sanctified affliction "For our momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison!" (2 Corinthians 4:17) Two things render affliction either easy or intolerable, namely, its kind, and its continuance. If it is ponderous and crushing, and continual—this makes affliction break all the bones, and wound the very spirits. But when it is light, and over in a moment, which is the case with all the afflictions that befall the children of God, I wonder why or how I can complain. But how astonishing beyond expression must it be, that this light and transitory load of affliction should work for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory! Truly I have no reason to complain because of my troubles and trials, since they work more good for me than now I can conceive. And little do I think, while grappling with my afflictions and fears, that they are procuring for me in the highest heavens. God has so connected the seed-time of tears with the harvest of glory, that those who sow weeping, shall reap with everlasting joy. Would I grudge to carry a stone for a day or two, if assured that when I laid it down, I should receive a crown of gold? Why, then, repine under my afflictions? But, again, what proportion is there between—the cross and the crown; the trial and the triumph; the affliction and the comfort; the burden of grief and the exceeding weight of glory? Here our afflictions own the creature as the instrument, and sometimes have their origin in imagination; here they are light, and they are transitory; but the glory above is massive and weighty, is permanent and eternal, and is the immediate gift of God, neither by nor from the creature. Moreover, affliction works for our good, even here—For, (1.) To the saints, it bears, as it were, its own reward in its bosom, yielding to all that are rightly exercised therewith the peaceable fruits of righteousness. It deadens the pleasures of sense, and gives the soul a relish for spiritual things; yes, it divorces the soul from the creature, and draws it near to God. (2.) There is no proportion between all that can befall the saints in this state, and that joy wherewith they shall be comforted in eternal glory. In no person, do all afflictions meet at one and the same time. Job’s case came nearest it—but at all times he had the exercise of his reason, and the testimony of a good conscience, with an invincible faith in God, which made him conquer, even while he seemed to fall. The afflictions, then, of saints, are verily light; but their future glory is a weight filling every power, replenishing every faculty, overflowing the whole soul, and satisfying every desire. Now, in all the sons of God, the heirs of glory, every heavenly gift, every blessing of love, every degree of felicity, every beam of glory—centers, meets, and rests forever. Therefore, there is no proportion between their sufferings and their consolation. (3.) Affliction is of no continuance; the apostle elegantly expresses it by a moment, which of all times is the shortest. And indeed though the affliction were severe and very ponderous, yet this lightens it much—that it is over and gone in a moment, no sooner felt than fled, to return no more. But the exceeding weight of glory, to pitch up their felicity to the highest degree, is also eternal. But some may think, How can affliction be thought either light, or but for a moment, since, for their part, it is all they can do to survive under the pressure and weight of their many adversities? And as to their being over in a moment, they rather think with Heman, "that they are afflicted, and ready to die from their youth up;" or, with Asaph, that they are "plagued all the day long, and chastened every morning." Yes, though the outward man be crushed, and seems to perish, yet it is to our advantage, for thereby the inward man is renewed day by day, and grows up in strength unto eternal glory. And this mitigation arises from the divine sympathy of him, who in all their afflictions is afflicted. Moreover, how often does the joy which God pours into the soul, in the time of affliction, overbalance and outweigh all the sorrow that arises from them. And, as to the second complaint—of continuance. As a moment bears no proportion to one’s life; so our whole life bears no proportion to the eternity of glory which shall take place, when the hour-glass of time has not a sand left. A moment stays not, and when gone cannot be remembered; for even millions of moments put together make but a duration, which, when past—is only like a tale that is told. Now, life consists of so many moments, therefore a moment bears some proportion to our life, though very small; but eternity is not composed of moments, life-times or ages—therefore the whole life bears no proportion to eternity. That which endures but for a while may be divided into the smallest parts—but what continues forever cannot be broken down into numbers. Now, is it much to pass through the shallow stream of affliction, that can rise but to the ankles, in order to plunge into the pleasures of God’s right hand, which are a great river, even waters to swim in? Can any child of heaven quarrel with the kindness of God, who makes light and momentary affliction work for them a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory? Take courage, then, my soul, and be strong! Look into God’s dealing with you, for his ways can stand the strictest search, as through them all, even in the afflicting hand, Fatherly-kindness and eternal love shine forth. Now I see what I never saw before, that afflictions sanctified are indulgences; and trials the special gifts of Heaven. And I do not wonder that all the saints are, I say not punished—but privileged with them, of one kind or another; since they here keep sin low, and for them accumulate eternal weights of glory in the eternal world. My not looking into the ways of divine wisdom, and to the extent of the promises, has made me have very odd thoughts of afflictions; and, concluding them to be the signs of divine displeasure, I have been ready to question my saving interest in God, and was bewildered how to understand the word of truth. But now I see, that though sometimes he sends afflictions to chastise his saints for sin, and curb their carnal affections, (and how kind is it thereby to punish sin, and prepare them far glory, and glory for them!) yet, that at other times he sends them to improve the soul, and exercise every grace in his saints. "We also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope." (Romans 5:3-4) Why, then, do not I, like the great apostle of old, rejoice in afflictions, which, where grace is in exercise, sets all the wheels of the soul in motion—affliction producing endurance, endurance producing proven character, and proven character producing hope; and hope, being no way ashamed to confess her confidence in him who has shed his love abroad in the heart by the Holy Spirit, gives a heavenly boldness. Should I then be disconsolate, because some fogs dwell on the eyelids of everlasting morn, which, when the sun arises, shall never more be seen? Should any shades in this early twilight give sorrow, which are to be swallowed up in the brightness of eternal glory? A little patience—and I am past every one of my troubles—and, possessed of all the transports of perpetual glory! Even from the vastness of my affliction and sorrow here, solid joy may rise; for if affliction sometimes almost crushes me, and I am sometimes likely to fall under it—ought I not to consider, that this eternal weight of glory shall far, very far, exceed the present burden? Now, if my afflictions are so much—how much more, infinitely much more, will my glory be! Yes, it shall be such, that were I not replenished with immortality, and upheld by the Most High, I would fall under the insupportable emanations of divine glory! But I shall be all power in that happy state, where, to my sweet experience, I shall learn—that my light afflictions, which were but for a moment, wrought for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 111: 03.098. GOD HIS PEOPLE'S INHERITANCE ======================================================================== God his people’s inheritance The priests in Israel were allowed to approach nearer to God than others, and were enriched with many excellent privileges; yet these favorite ones were to have no possession in the land. Was this because he loved them less than the other tribes, or would show himself unkind to his them? No! It was because he loved them extremely, and would give them no less than himself for their inheritance! Why, then, should it seem hard to me to have little or nothing in this world—who has such a possession as the Most High God, possessor of heaven and earth? But, replies repining Incredulity, "These priests were secured of the tithe, and a certain portion their sacrifices; now, had I only means for a sufficient and honest livelihood, I would seek no more." Ah! wicked fears, impious doubts! Is it not in the power of the same Lord to furnish two tables alike? They fed at his altar, at the table of his offerings, that they might ever be present with him. Was not this kindness? I feed at the table of his providence, that I may daily make my prayer to him, "Give us this day our daily bread," and depend upon him. Is not this kindness? Is not the one as sure as the other? A bad season made a thin harvest, consequently the tithe was less. The provider is the same Lord—the promise is the same truth—and all things are still in the same hand. Now, how agreeable and befitting is it, that such as are ’a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people to be his very own’—as all his saints are—should be deprived of these creature-enjoyments, which might deprive them of nobler privileges, and more spiritual possessions! It is the wisdom of those who would dwell near God, to be divorced from the world. But since this, in the greatness of our folly, is not our choice—it is good in God, in his infinite wisdom, to confer such kindness on us, as it were against our will; thus keeping us empty-handed of worldly possessions, that we may inherit eternal glory. He who is, though deprived of all earthly things, not only pleased—but transported with this promise, "I am your possession, I am your inheritance," has a blissful life! If the whole world were bestowed on that man—that would not make him more happy. Oh! consummate madness!—to mistake between imaginary and real happiness; shadowy and substantial pleasures; transient and eternal joys! This world at best, is under the curse. But the divine inheritance contains fields of glory, paradises of bliss, rivers of life, oceans of love, scenes of pleasures, heavens of ecstasy! Yes, in a word, the plenitude of God! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 112: 03.099. DISTANCE DIMINISHES VIEWS ======================================================================== Distance diminishes views Things at a distance seem vastly less than what they really are. The lofty hill that seems so large when we are at its base—so lessens when we recede from it—that it soon seems no larger than a mole-hill, and then sinks out of sight. Now, how true does this hold of spiritual and eternal things! What narrow notions and confined conceptions have we of the world to come! Nothing but the eye of faith, through the telescope of Scriptural revelation, can view the eternal state. But how often do mists of ignorance darken the eye, and clouds of unbelief obscure the glass! Hence, the pleasing thought is often interrupted, and the view at best falls very far short of what it shall be—when faith is changed to sight in the day of glory. What a poor and partial opinion we now have of the celestial paradise! It is so distant from our sight and affections, that we are apt to think the garden of God no better than a barren desert, and that there is neither fruit nor flower in all the heavenly Eden. We think nothing of the hosannas of the higher house—and nothing of the howlings of the lowest hell. What unconcerned views have we of the wrath to come—and of the glory that shall be revealed! We dwell at such a distance from the throne of grace, that we are little benefitted by the healing beams; and the throne of glory is so far distant, that we behold but little of the heavenly splendors. Alas! like children who peep through the wrong end of the telescope—we conceive a future world to be of no great importance; and we set our own death at such a far distance—that it almost disappears from our sight! But, were our glances of eternity rightly guided—we would believe that obtaining heavenly glory would be all our concern; and behold our death as always at the door. The sun which lights the world, by his great distance—appears to us only as a small globe of fire. But, were he as near as the clouds, his vast bulk would make a magnificent and dreadful appearance—and wherever we would roll our eye, it would be all one sky of fire! Even so, how little do we see of him who kindled up the sun, and lighted all the stars! Though he be not far from everyone of us, yet we see him not—who is all things in all! But when our eye is spiritually enlightened, we shall see him in all things—in heaven above, and on earth beneath—in creation and providence—in the scriptures of truth, and in the Son of his love—in the heavenly multitudes, and in his people on earth—in his own perfections, and in every power of the soul. No wonder that true religion appears ill-favored and ugly to the men of the world—who have never taken a close look at her countenance and charms. But the nearer we live to the Savior, the more of his loveliness we shall see, and be the more enamored we will be! The more we exercise ourselves in piety, the duties thereof will still be the more amiable and engaging. Now, if glory at this great distance, (for what can be more removed from each other—than time and eternity—this and the eternal world?) be so desirable, so divine, whose very anticipation sheds a heaven into the soul, which rejoices with exceeding great joy, in hope of the glory of God! What must eternal glory be—when possessed to the full! If the numbered drops that water the fields below be so refreshful—what must that overflowing fullness be in the regions above, which satiates and replenishes the soul! If the Sun of Righteousness shines so bright in the skies of grace, through all the clouds; where he is but beginning to arise—what must his clear, his unclouded beams be in the skies of glory, where his meridian splendor is eternal! If this eternal bliss, this happiness, this life, this joy and glory—be accounted by us, while little known—immense, excellent, and infinite; what must it be, when beheld in full light, possessed in a higher capacity, and enjoyed to its full extent! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 113: 03.100. JUBILEE ======================================================================== JUBILEE Everything that was written of old, was written for our instruction, on whom the ends of the world have come. Now, Israel, when redeemed from Egyptian bondage, had both a sabbatical year appointed them, and the great Jubilee. The first was every seventh year; and the last when fifty years were completed. There was also a release, when, after six years service, the man-servant and maid-servant were set at liberty. All these Israel, by divine command, observed; and though their deliverance from Egyptian bondage was thereby commemorated, yet it respected a much diviner and more interesting liberty. In the year of Jubilee, the land was to rest In the Sabbatical year the laborers were rest. And by the third the lawful heirs returned to the inheritance of their fathers. And, may not this prefigure, the deliverance of individuals from the slavery of sin, into the glorious liberty of the sons of God? Is not here shadowed out the salvation of the world, from the ignorance, idolatry, and darkness, that had overspread all nations? But though the Jews had both their sabbatical year, and great jubilee, yet they could not be made perfect without the gospel-dispensation. Therefore, all their grand epochs were only typical of "the acceptable year of the Lord," when the great High Priest of God, with the trumpet of the everlasting gospel, proclaimed liberty to the captives, the opening of the prison-doors to those who were bound, not only through all the land of Israel—but to the ends of the earth. It was not strange, that the saints who lived in the times of types and shadows, should not be made perfect without us; but it is strange that the saints who fall asleep in Christ, and so have past their week of trouble, and entered on the year of release, on the sabbath of rest, (so graciously has God connected things,) though possessed of all felicity, cannot, without us, who are expectants of the same state, be made perfect; as their souls wait for the resurrection of their bodies; that the whole man may exalt and enjoy him, who is very God and very man. Now, though the seventh year Sabbatical was very pleasant and divine, yet the fifty year Jubilee in all respects excelled it very far, being proclaimed with loud sounding trumpets to the ends of the land, inviting the captive to liberty, and the impoverished heirs to their paternal estates. But the Jubilee of the glorious gospel is the glad tidings of great joy to all people, and a general proclamation to disinherited spendthrifts and bankrupts to return, through their elder Brother, who has redeemed the mortgaged inheritance, to the full and ample possession of spiritual things, of which they shall never be again despoiled. But the grandest and most glorious Jubilee of all, is the jubilee of glory—when the great trumpet of eternity shall be blown, and the saints, who now seem outcasts in the land of death, shall hear and assemble, and enter into the full possession of the everlasting kingdom. In this great and last Jubilee, all former deliverances shall be summed up, so that there shall be no after-mortgaging of the inheritance, as might take place among the Israelites, no fears of being dispossessed of the land of promise, which often vex the Christian’s bosom. The blast of the ram’s horn was heard all over Israel, the sound of the gospel all over the world; but the last trumpet shall be heard in heaven, earth, and the grave! So that the saints in all ages shall be equal sharers in this jubilee—which shall end all their sorrows, and begin their everlasting joys. Then shall they enter, not into a sabbatical year, that can be succeeded by time—but into a sabbatical eternity, even an eternal Sabbath of rest which shall never have an end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 114: 03.101. GOD'S KNOWLEDGE ======================================================================== God’s Knowledge "No creature is hidden from Him, but all things are naked and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must give an account." (Hebrews 4:13) How do we admire a man who is a little wiser than ourselves! Yet the wisdom of all the human tribes, of all the angelic multitudes—is but folly before God!—in whose infinite knowledge all our thoughts are laid open—and all our conceptions are swallowed up! How divinely glorious is his universal knowledge—which extends to all! Man cannot know or retain every thought that has flowed from his own heart, every word that has dropped from his own mouth—much less those of his neighbors. But it is not so with God. There is not a man on either side the globe—which God does not have his eye on. Every single thought is brought forth in his presence. Every single whisper pours into his ear. Every single work is wrought before him. And all these things are forever with him! How must the mortal judge examine again and again the criminal, and the witnesses, and yet sometimes be doubtful what sentence to pass! But all things are naked and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must give an account! He presides over every purpose, guides every step, terminates every action, and governs every individual. What amazing knowledge is this—that not only kingdoms and provinces, in their several revolutions and changes—but people in their particular occurrence and circumstances, are minutely overruled by him! Now, how many must the actions, the words, and the thoughts be—of so many millions of people, who are at one and the same time acting, speaking, thinking! Yet all are known to God—as clearly and distinctly as if there were only one person in the whole world! Nor is the far greater part or number of people who have departed into the eternal world—some in pleasure, some in pain—less in his knowledge. Neither does his knowledge and concern about the human race diminish his care of the irrational beings—for he feeds the young ravens which cry from the top of the rock; and the lion’s cubs which roar from their dens; and kindly makes grass to grow for the gentler inhabitants of the globe. Every insect, which vain man in a manner despises—is both produced and preserved by him, and crawls within his omniscient cognizance! God sees and sends the life-juice through every fibre of the vegetative family—and gives the flowers their rich variety of colors, and plants their various virtues. He creates the infants which are daily born into the world—to supply the daily loss of those whom he sends them to their eternal home. By him the falling hairs of our heads are numbered. Not a sparrow hops to the ground without his permission. The trees of every forest and every land, are green at his command. Every blade of grass and fragrant flower, every bud and blossom, every seed and root, every fruit and leaf—grows and fades, flourishes and withers—at his command. Heaven and earth are open to him, death and destruction have no covering. The raindrops from the clouds, the dew on the grass, and the billows of the vast ocean—are numbered by his hand! Now, how perfect must his knowledge be, when all things present are so perfectly known to him, and are still as clearly in his knowledge when past and gone—as when present; as they also were in the same perspicuity known to him from eternity—before ever they existed. Nothing is past or to come in his knowledge; in an unfathomable degree of perfection—all is forever present in his sight. From the above shallow thoughts of his infinite knowledge, how should I learn to admire God, to walk as always under his eye, and to inscribe on all my ways, "You, O God, see me"; and to rejoice, because he who sees me—disposes of me according to his wisdom! Moreover, though the heavens and their inhabitants; the world of mankind, dead, alive, or to be born—in all their thoughts, words, and actions; the animal, reptile, and insect creation, in all their motions and changes; trees, plants, flowers, and whatever else exists—were to populate other worlds—and this population continued until infinite space was replenished, and conception overpowered by the tremendous augmentation—yet, even when thoughts, words, actions, were multiplied almost to infinity—still everything would be as clearly, plainly, and distinctly known to him—as if only one angel, one man, one insect, or one atom existed! Hence, we may understand how infinite his power must be, which is of the same extent with his knowledge—as are all his divine attributes—his holiness, justice, goodness, and truth! And, O believer! what may the joy of your heart be—seeing his love to you is of the same extent and duration! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 115: 03.103. ELIJAH AND ELISHA, A DIALOGUE ======================================================================== Elijah and Elisha—a dialogue When the Lord would take up his dear servant Elijah into heaven by a whirlwind, the pious Elisha attends his venerable master, and, when desired by him to stay behind him, protests that he will not leave him; he says not, until death parts them. But made to understand that Elijah was to ascend to bliss as Enoch had done before—Elisha is determined to attend him to the very gates of glory. When the godly prophet sees the firm resolution of his promising pupil, he desists, and proposes what he would desire of him as the last service of kindness he could do for him before he would be taken from him. The one having mentioned, the other having replied to the petition, they continue the divine dialogue, and walk on in expectation of the parting moment. And well may we conclude, that the subject was of the sublimest nature between such holy souls, and at such a period. Might we suppose the dialog thus? Elijah. My dear Elisha, you are now attending with mixed joy and sorrow, your aged master through the last stage of life. I am not like other men, expiring on a death-bed—but am to be wafted to the other world without the separation of soul and body, and in a little you shall see me no more. Elisha. O! then, my master, my father, let our converse be about the glory of the better country into which you are soon to enter! Elijah. It already refreshes me; the heavenly gale blows into my soul, and sheds a joy divine—Today shall I behold his face in glory; a glory so exceeding great, that I cannot describe it—but only pant after it. Let him come and take me to himself. Elisha. What, I ask, are those transcendent excellences of the heavenly inheritance, that make you so desire it? Elijah. The bliss above is unbounded, pure, and permanent! The joys are transporting and divine. There God is enjoyed through his son the Messiah, who is to assume our nature, suffer for our sins, take away our iniquities, and win eternal life for us! The Messiah is the one whom all the sacrifices pre-figure, all the types, washings, and sprinklings represent, and put us in remembrance of; to whom all we prophets bear witness. And our seeing him in glory, shall make us like him, and change us from glory to glory. Divide, you heavens, that I may enter in! Elisha. Does it create no uneasiness in your bosom, to leave the world, your relations, and other concerns in it? Elijah. Truly the world is to me as barren a waste, as wild a desert, as ever the wilderness was to our forefathers. And as to relations, as I received them from God, so I give them back, and lose them in God, who is himself to me all in all. Other concerns in the world have I none. I commit the people of God, to his protection, who will be a wall of fire about her, and the glory in the midst of her. Yes, to leave the world makes me leap for joy, for sinners shall no more create sorrow for me, and I myself shall henceforth cease to sin. There I shall join the church of the redeemed. O how shall I sing to the eternal name, and never cease and never tire! My bliss shall know no bounds, my rapture no restraints, my gladness no alloy, my day no night, my sky no cloud, my light no shadow, my glory no decay, my praises no interruption, my delight no excess, my strength no weariness, my transport no decrease, my pleasures no cessation, and my eternity no end. Eternity! let it begin now! Elisha. O how would I rejoice to enter with you—even through the dark passage of death—into that triumphant state! Elijah. A triumphant state, indeed! where God dwells in the full display of his glory, and where, (not as below,) the holy of holies stands eternally open for all the worshipers of God, who with freedom enter in. Trouble is debarred from those seats of tranquility, and pain is excluded from the regions of immortality. No sinful tendencies disturb the soul; and perfect love casts out all fear. There the glories of Immanuel enlighten the unbounded extent of paradise. My dear Elisha, in a little while, you will not recognize your aged friend Elijah! Now I am wrinkled with age and sorrow; as you know I have been jealous for the honor of my God—and he is now about to translate me to his ineffable glory! But then a smile, known to none but the inhabitants of bliss, shall settle on my countenance for eternity, and make my face shine as an angel of God. O the hidden treasures of eternity—which glorified saints possess! O the vastness of that glory—which eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor the heart of man conceived—that awaits to be revealed! I stand on the borders of the heavenly Canaan, on the confines of eternity—and glance at all that glory which in a little shall be mine! With transport I shall enter his temple, where everyone eternally talks of his glory. I pant for the approaching opportunity to prostrate myself before the highest throne—wholly dissolved in love. Let the hour shorten into a minute, the minute into a moment, and the moment be no more! is done! The heavens divide, the fiery chariot quick as lightning rolls away—My blessing on you, my dear Elisha. Welcome, my only Lord God! Heaven opens around about me, glory overflows me, and the transforming beams enfold and bear me to everlasting day! Elisha. "My father, my father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!" And he saw him no more. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 116: 03.104. THE COMPANY OF THE WICKED CORRUPTS ======================================================================== The company of the wicked corrupts Under the law, one who touched any dead carcass was defiled. And one who had a running sore—even if he was to wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water—he would be unclean until the evening. Now, if thus that which only represented sin, defiled under the ceremonial law—how must sin itself, the source of all uncleanness, everywhere defile! Alas! As he was rendered unclean, if he had but touched, though unawares, the bed whereon one who had the running sore lay; so am I defiled, not only by sin rising in my own bosom—but by hearing and seeing the sin of others! For the corruption of my nature is so great, that I am ready to catch the contagion. And if I do not detest, hate, and abhor it, as I should—then am I polluted by it. How pernicious, then, is the presence of the ungodly! How are these these fools to be avoided, whose companions are sure to be destroyed! How gloomy that company, and how disagreeable to enter into it, where God never comes, where his glory never shines! Surely grace rather needs oil to support its flame, than water to extinguish its fire; but water is all I can expect from the wicked. O! miserable man, who has no other to walk with you by day, no other to talk with by night, none else to deal with abroad, or to discourse with at home! Yet, out of the world we must go, unless we have dealings with the men of the world. Let that, however be only in the common affairs of life, let it be dispatched with little expense of precious time, and without contracting an intimate acquaintance with them—unless in view of doing good to their immortal souls. And still, may the saints, the excellent ones of the earth—be the chosen companions of my life. Hitherto, alas! I have been ignorant of my danger; for the wicked are ever casting arrows, fire-brands, and death, in their sporting with true religion, and trifling with a world to come! Among such madmen must I not be wounded? Hence, let me every day beware that their filth may not cleave to me; and bathe myself in the righteousness of the Son of God by faith; and purge my daily walk, (which, like the flesh under the law, is apt to receive the infection,) by sincere repentance; that, at the evening of my life, I may not lie down polluted in the grave, and rise in the morning of eternity with the putrefaction of sin! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 117: 03.105. TO ESCAPE WRATH SHOULD SILENCE UNDER ALL ======================================================================== To escape wrath—should silence under all afflictions When I contemplate a choice thought or two in my mind, I wonder that ever I can have a downcast countenance for all the trials which can befall me in the world. To be delivered from wrath, and destined to glory—is a composing, a silencing thought! When I have a tooth-ache but for one night, and keep tossing and tumbling from side to side with the excruciating pain, how long the night appears! But what, then, must the everlasting night of wrath be—that eternity of woe? Had I a due sense of divine vengeance—I would think myself happy in the midst of my bitterest afflictions—if I might entertain the sweet hopes of being delivered from the wrath to come! Dare I, then—who has made myself obnoxious to the irrevocable sentence of an angry Judge—complain of the chastisement of a Father? Am I displeased that in providence he sits as a refiner of my graces—when in justice he might be a consuming fire to devour me? Can I cry out of passing through the fire and water of affliction—when he might set me up for his mark, cause his arrows to enter into my soul, and the poison thereof to drink up my spirits through eternity? Should I complain of trouble and pain—who deserves to be tormented day and night forever and forever? Dare I be disconsolate under the loss of relations—who might have been chained through all ages with the fraternity of devils, with whom I had joined in rebellion against God? Alas! what shall I say? What can come upon me, that I can justly complain of—when I am delivered from the wrath to come? Could I look into the burning lake, and see the tortures of the damned, how would I bless the most miserable condition of the world, and embrace the bitterest afflictions—if sweetened with the hopes of escaping that place of torment? If faith, divinely bold, on solid grounds, can claim the heavenly inheritance—what in the world can make me miserable? To be delivered from everlasting flames, should afford me a lasting joy in the midst of every and any sorrow. Has Jehovah dealt so kindly with my eternal duration, and will I, dare I—quarrel with his conduct of my few moments of time? The griefs that vex me are short lived—but the anguish he has rescued me from is everlasting! Under all my temporal adversities, it should make me silent—that I shall not roar out under his avenging hand forever. And it should turn my murmurings here into a song—that I shall not howl hereafter in eternity! He who escapes out of his house when on fire, will not much mind stubbing his to in his flight. So if I escape the wrath to come—it does not matter if my way lies over thorns of trouble, and briers of adversity. The soul which is delivered from the pit of corruption, should with pleasure walk the rough way of affliction towards the paradise of God. Moreover, the God who delivers us out of hell, and bears us to heaven, cannot but bless by the way. He can even bless with crosses, (flesh and blood cannot believe this,) benefit with adversities, enrich with losses, and nourish with disappointment and pain. Therefore will I, without reserve, cast onto his good pleasure—all the transient moments of my life—to be distributed as he pleases—since he has rendered my eternity happy and glorious! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 118: 03.106. ADOPTION ======================================================================== ADOPTION Every true Christian is a freeman; and while the rest of the world are slaves of Satan—the saints are kings and priests to God and the Lamb. They are all sons of the Highest, and no relation comes up to that of sons of God. For though the servant may remain long in the house, yet he "abides not in the house forever—but the son abides forever." Noble progenitors are the pride of the world. People boast of their high birth, and noble blood, as Pharaoh’s counselors of old—"I am the son of the wise, the son of ancient kings." But when, in Christ, we can say, "Now are we the sons of God, and it does not yet appear what we shall be—but we know, that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is!"—then we may boast a heavenly descent. No beggar would refuse to become the adopted son and heir of a rich king. None so poor as men in their natural state—and none so rich as God. What an enormous blessing, then, for sinful outcasts to be made the sons of God; for bankrupts to be made the heirs of bliss! But, what madness is in those who despise the heavenly privilege! What are all our contendings about rank and pedigree—which must end in corruption, and terminate in dust? It will avail us nothing, though royal blood runs in our veins—unless the Spirit of adoption be sent forth into our souls, whereby, with the voice of faith, we may cry, ’Abba, Father!’—and know, as a fruit of this divine privilege, what it is to go with freedom to so near and compassionate a relation, who, being both all wise, all good, and all tender-hearted—will never give evil things to his children. But, O! how should the adopted son of God walk, and behave according to the character of the divine family, whereof, in free grace, he is made a member! The adverse events of our terrestrial pilgrimage will often scatter a family far and wide—but once a son, always a son in the celestial and invisible society, and always in the Father’s presence. When adopted into this relation which aggrandizes, the honor is not only divinely glorious—but the privileges ineffably great. Though they come not within the glance of the carnal eye, yet they are not, on this account, the less real. Possessed of them, the poor saint, whom the world perhaps disdains to notice—may survey, with grateful songs, the extent of his felicity, the vastness of his bliss. He may shout with triumph, "God is my Father, Christ is my Savior and Elder Brother! Afflictions and chastisements are the signs of my Father’s love and care! Heaven is my reserved inheritance! Glory is my future portion! Life and death, things present, and things to come—are all mine!" What empty sounds are all honorary titles to this—"sons of God!" How poor to be the heir of an earthly crown—compared to the solid expectation of eternal life! Surely the child of God’s adoption is the happiest man in the world. Angels, these superior beings, are even ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation. Whoever injures them is said to "touch the apple of God’s eye"—a figurative, but most expressive speech, as there is no part so tender as the eye, and no part of the eye so precious as the pupil, or apple, which we defend from danger with the greatest care. Such a one has a right to all the privileges of the sons of God! What privileges will not such a Father, whose affection is infinite, and his power unbounded—bestow on his sons? Whoever rises against them, offends the whole family of heaven; for, "he who despises you," says Christ to his disciples, "despises me; and he who despises me, despises him who sent me." And if the command is given to guard one chosen soul, suddenly is he surrounded with celestial chariots, and horses of heaven—glorious in their fiery majesty! It is true, that now the adopted sons of God are like nobles dwelling secretly in a foreign land. Their pedigree is not known, their grandeur is not seen, and therefore their nobility is neither admired nor coveted. But, there is a day coming, when all the sons of God shall make their glorious appearance in one majestic throng, in the sight of an assembled world, who shall be ashamed that ever they spoke so highly of those who were but sprung of the earth; and despised those who were born from heaven. What beauty shall shed itself round about them! They shall be clothed in robes of glory, with palms of victory in their hands, and the charter of the covenant, containing all the privileges of adoption, spread before them, and a majestic proclamation shall be made, in the hearing of men, angels, and devils—"These are the sons of the living God!" Now, if I am received into the royal family of heaven, let me break off correspondence with the King’s enemies—sin and vanity—and show the greatness soul, the refined sentiment, and elevated thought—in hating what he forbids, however sweet to the carnal mind; and in choosing what he commands, however adverse to flesh and blood. If God is my Father, let me honor and reverence him, who will never be dreadful to me as a Judge. Let me receive correction at his hand, and instruction from his word; and let me prove myself to be one of the celestial family, by speaking the language of the better country, and having my affections fixed above; and loving all of his other adopted children. Let me remember my former deplorable condition—and be humble. Let me remember my present privileges—and be thankful. Let me anticipate my future hopes—and be holy in all manner of life and conversation. And let me daily wonder at that love, and adore the sovereignty of that free grace—which admits hellish worms among the sons of God, and enriches them with so many privileges—privileges which contain not only what is in this world—but the glories and felicities of the world to come! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 119: 03.107. CONNECTIONS ======================================================================== CONNECTIONS Ignorant mortals are always rash in their conclusions on the conduct of Providence, being blinded in their views, and impatient under woes. But, to compose my combating thoughts, and make me wait the outcome of all things with patience, let me look into some remarkable scripture-narratives, and see the fair sunshine of kindness, after the storms of trouble and clouds of indignation are gone. First, then, let me look into that which befell Abraham, the friend of God. Think what joy filled the patriarch’s bosom when promised a son in his old age, and how this joy was increased when the promised seed was born, and grew up to be a pretty boy—the joy of both his parents. But, look again, and see the amazing trial, the tremendous scene that ensues! The promised seed must be sacrificed, and that by the hand of a most affectionate father! Yet, see his aged joints tremble all the way to Mount Moriah, to offer up his beloved Isaac, as it were resigning the promise again to God, trusting God to make it out some other way, though it were by raising him from the dead. Now, let us view the beginning of the trial of his faith; how dark and gloomy, how opposite to reason, affection, and piety too; but, let us connect the beginning with the latter end—and all at once is beautiful and bright. There his faith is tried—here it triumphs. There God commands—here he commends his obedience. There he requires—here he restores Isaac. The voice of God at first seems to strike at his former promise—here it confirms all with new promises, enlarged blessings, and this glorious name superadded, "The father of the faithful." Abraham comes home full of gladness and gratitude; and we have the divine account, to teach us to await the end—before we draw our conclusions of God’s providential way. The second is the account of Joseph. In the first part of the scene, see his young heart ready to burst and break with bitter anguish! Hear many—but fruitless supplications to his cruel brethren! How melting are his cries, while his hard-hearted brethren draw him out of the pit, to sell him for a slave!! Nothing can save him; compassionate Reuben is not within the reach of his cry. The price is agreed upon, the money is paid, and away he must go; and neither his parting importunities, his piercing cries, nor piteous back-looks, can move them to relent. Later, after a little advancement in Egypt, he is thrown from the liberty of a servant—into the confinement of a prison. This at first sight is a melancholy scene; but if we look to the sufferings of a tender-hearted father, it is heightened to the highest pitch. All his sons and daughters gather around the grey-headed mourner, to comfort him—but in vain; for still he thinks he sees the wild beast tearing his beloved Joseph to pieces, who screams out for help—but none to help is near; and then he is ready to faint through the excess of sorrow. Now, this is the first part of the providence, which indeed has a very dejecting aspect, and if we had never heard more of the matter, we would have concluded them both very miserable; but let us see how the dear connection stands. Jacob, who had mourned many years, is at last overflowed with tides of joy. Joseph, the lost, the long-lamented Joseph, is still alive! The youth who was sold into Egypt as a servant—has all Egypt at his service! He who had his feet hurt with fetters—may now bind princes at his pleasure, and teach senators wisdom! He who lately drudged about in a dungeon, to attend prisoners—becomes a father to a king! His brothers, who envied him for his dreams—now bow before him, as the accomplishment of those very dreams which bred their envy! He whose life they so little valued—saves the lives of thousands. At his word, whose supplications his brethren would not hear—all the land of Egypt is governed! The long separated relations meet, and melt in kindness on one another’s neck! We have, (not to name others,) a similar instance in the great apostle Paul, and by his own observation too, in his epistle to the Philippians. This great man, after his singular conversion, preaches Christ unweariedly in many trials and sufferings; until, at length he returns to Jerusalem. There by the enraged and unbelieving Jews he is set upon, and would have been slain, had not the Roman captain rescued him. But he is so persecuted with their cruel rage, malice, and underhand dealings, that he is compelled to appeal to an heathen emperor. Now the great apostle of the Gentiles, to the great grief of the church, is a poor prisoner; hence says he, "the prisoner of Jesus Christ." He is a long time confined in Judah, then sent to Rome, where, though shipwrecked in his passage, he arrives, and is kept two years a prisoner at large. But, says he to the Philippians, "Now I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has actually resulted in the advancement of the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard, and to everyone else, that my imprisonment is for Christ. Most of the brothers in the Lord have gained confidence from my imprisonment and dare even more to speak the message fearlessly." How noble the connection! Paul intends to visit Rome at his own expenses, to preach the gospel there; but Providence, on the Emperor’s expenses, brings him to make converts, not only in the royal city—but in the very palace. The Jews think they have succeeded to their very wish, when they have thus got rid of a pestilent fellow, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes; but they could not have fallen upon a better method to spread his doctrine, and support his cause. To appearance his success must end, when his imprisonment begins—but it is quite the reverse; not only Paul persists in preaching the gospel without prohibition—but the brethren are emboldened to speak the gospel message fearlessly. What reason, then, have I to complain on the first part of providence, while the outer wheel is only seen? Should I not wait, until the inner wheel turns around—and I can read plainly the last connection? And what though that should be reserved for eternity? There every providence shall be completed to my everlasting comfort, and all things concerning me connected in the most beautiful harmony. There shall not be the least gap in my lot or life, when time is no more; but all things shall be made up to me in Christ Jesus, to the entire satisfaction of my soul. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 120: 03.108. DEGREES OF NEARNESS TO GOD ======================================================================== Degrees of nearness to God There are different degrees of nearness to God, which the saints enjoy. One of these is essential to the very being of piety in the soul; namely, when the lost soul is brought near to God, through the blood of Jesus, and made a fellow-citizen with the saints, and of the household of God. But, another and higher step is the special indulgence of Heaven to some saints, and but at some times. In the nearness of faith, (for none that have true faith can be far from God,) I walk with God in the duties of religion. In the nearness of sense, he sometimes walks with me in special manifestation—of himself, of his love, and his glory. The one is sure and satisfying; the other is sweet and comforting. Without the approaches of faith, I cannot expect sensible communion. But I may have the first, when the last is withheld from me. The one is my daily allowance from the King’s table, without which I could not live. But the other is my sitting down at the table with the King, to the feast made by him, for the joy of his chosen ones. The one makes me obtain the victory over the world; the other makes me weary of the world. The former is the King’s highway to heaven; and in the latter, I walk on it in the sunshine of his presence. The one gives a continual relish of spiritual things; the other, a refreshful foretaste of heaven and of glory. In the first, I have access to God in all my perplexities, that I may not despair; but I am favored with the last only at times, that I may not presume. The joy of the first excels the worldling’s gladness from all his abundance, as far as light excels darkness; but the joy of the last is a akin to the joy of saints in glory. In acts of lively faith, the world is to me but rubbish and loss, for the excellency of the glorious object; but in near access to, and communion with my Lord, I would gladly put off corruption, put on immortality, and become an inhabitant of the world above. O how does a beauty beam on my soul, in the few moments of communion, as if heaven opened before me, and eternal day shone full in my face! What sacred joy prevails within, and how am I refreshed in every power! Though the Christian must not build on them, since without them his soul may live, yet they are not, as scoffers would affirm—delusion, enthusiasm, and such like. For always after this divine fellowship—Christ is dearer to me, self more loathsome, sin more odious, the world more vain, piety more pleasant, my affections more refined, my desires more on spiritual things, and heaven more desirable. But now, if a pleasure so great, of which we can only conceive while we enjoy it—springs from a few moments communion in a more glorious way than usual, (for every has saint communion with God,) how divine is a pious life! And what a tragic scene is the most pleasant life of the most mirthful sinner, compared to this! And, in a word, what must the life of glory be, where communion, of a greater nature than ever known below, shall be the privilege of all the heavenly family! where God shall shine in all his glory, and shed abroad his love in every glowing heart! and where it shall be the ineffable bliss of every ardent adorer, to see more and more of God’s goodness, and approach nearer and nearer to him, in the uninterrupted freedom of rapturous communion, through an endless evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 121: 03.109. UNBELIEF ======================================================================== UNBELIEF Few, I believe, read the history of Israel’s deliverance from Egypt, passage through the Red Sea, and daily miraculous provision in the wilderness; on the one hand—with their doubts, quarrels, complaints, murmuring, and rebellion; yet on the other hand—but are ready to cry out, O hard-hearted Jews! O unbelieving Israelites, to doubt in the midst of such a glorious display of divine goodness! Well, then l truly believe that no Christian ever lived any while below but one time or other had providences exercised towards him in such a manner as forbade him any more to doubt. Therefore, we may convert our cry against the Jews into a complaint against ourselves, and condemn our own unbelieving hearts, which can, in the midst of so many exceeding great and precious promises, under the sunshine of so much tender mercy and loving kindness—cry out, ’I perish, I perish!’ How horrid, how hateful, and how hurtful a sin is unbelief! It spits in the face of the promise, and accounts the faithfulness of God a lie. Unbelief forgets all the great things which God has done before—and despairs of ever seeing again the like displays of divine power. Unbelief heightens the calamity, doubles the distress, and concludes deliverance impossible. As the prayer of faith opens heaven—so the despondence of unbelief shuts it. Unbelief starves the soul, and disturbs sweet tranquility of mind. Unbelief musters fears, multiplies enemies, and says, like Solomon’s sluggard, "There is a lion in the way, I shall be slain." As strong faith glorifies God most, so great unbelief dishonors him to the highest degree. It binds up the very arm of God, who cannot, who will not do many mighty works where unbelief prevails. Unbelief draws death out of the book of life, by gathering up the threatenings, and passing over the promises. As the most perfect degree of faith, which is assurance, is heaven begun below—so the highest degree of unbelief, which is despair, is hell begun in time. How daringly does it contend with God, and dispute the matter with the Most High! Says God, "Put me in remembrance of my promise," but says unbelief, "You have forgotten to be gracious, and in your wrath have shut up your tender mercies." Says God, "Remember what enemies consulted against you, and what enemies answered, that you may know the righteousness of the Lord;" but says unbelief, "This evil is from the Lord, why should I wait for him any longer?" Says God, "I have blotted out your sins as a cloud, and your iniquities as a thick cloud;" "No!" says unbelief, "they are marked before you in a book, for time to come, forever and ever!" Now, shall I harbor such a monster in my bosom—which would turn my whole soul into confusion? Shall I circumscribe that power that has often displayed its glory in my deliverance? Shall I deny the merits of the sufferings of the Son of God, or the virtue of his blood? Shall I be afraid that his grace be not sufficient to strengthen me for the performance of every duty to which he may call me? It is not only ungenerous—but sinful, to entertain thoughts so detracting from the glory of God, and so destructive to my own soul’s comfort. Henceforth, let me be strong in the faith, giving glory to God. Let me lift my eyes from growing difficulties of every kind, on every hand, and look to God—so shall the mountain become a plain, and over the ’stream of affliction’ I shall go dry shod. But why condemn Israel, and not myself? The God who did those wonders, is the same with whom I have to do. As I believe them to be true, I am as much bound to believe as they were who saw them—seeing he changes not, nor faints, nor is weary, and since his care over his church and saints is the same in all ages. And though I am not to expect miracles, by which he confirmed the church to himself in those times, yet I am with as great confidence to depend on that God, to whom miracles are as easy as the common course of nature—as if I were governed by the interposition of miracles. Let me not, then myself commit, what I condemn in others—but learn spiritual wisdom from spiritual folly! Yes, how flagrantly guilty shall I be if I retain a transgression in my right hand, for which I have seen, in the sacred records, men so awfully punished, and with which God has shown himself so highly displeased! And no wonder, for unbelief strikes against God; whatever the language of other sins be—this still speaks against God, even in every murmuring whisper! Unbelief speaks against his faithfulness, as if his promise might not be depended on, nor his record received! Unbelief speaks against his power—as if he could not perform and bring to pass! Unbelief speaks against his wisdom—as if he could not foresee! Unbelief speaks against his providence—as if he could not protect, defend, provide! Unbelief speaks against his Counsel—as if he could not direct! Unbelief speaks against his mercy—as if he had no compassion! Unbelief speaks against his conduct—as if he could err! In a word, unbelief speaks against all his glorious perfections—as if he were not God! If my unbelief respects my sin, I look more to the demerit of my transgressions—than to the dignity of the divine Redeemer, who takes away the sin of the world. Now, as the Creator is infinitely greater; so the Savior, who is Immanuel, God with us—is infinitely above the sinner, and from eternal wrath can save to the uttermost, all who come to God through him. It is but cruel unbelief at the bottom, however I may pretend to put honor on the holiness of God—when I say that my sins are too atrocious to be satisfied for, by the death and sufferings of our incarnate God—and too black to be washed away by the blood of the Lamb of God. Again, if my unbelief respects the affairs of this life—I measure omnipotence by my weakness, infinite wisdom by my folly, and God by myself. So, when I am bewildered—unbelief thinks that God is also perplexed—else why should I be disquieted in any condition, were not my thoughts of this detestable stamp; seeing he can rescue his people out of all distress? Then let me look, in all cases and afflicting circumstances—beyond the appearance—above the probability—yes, above apparent impossibilities—to God alone, and I shall never repent my confidence, nor be ashamed of my hope! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 122: 03.110. OUR SHORT LIFE SHOULD NOT GIVE MUCH CONCERN ======================================================================== Our short life should not give much concern My mind is like a piece of ground, which, being overrun with weeds, no diligence can render quite clean; and no care can keep them from appearing again—even after they have been plucked away. Surely so it fares with me and my sinful anxieties. They are ever springing up anew and troubling me, and nothing will utterly and entirely destroy them—until the ground be turned up by the plough of death, and left fallow until the resurrection. Yet that I be not altogether barren and unfruitful in the work of the Lord, let the busy hand of faith be ever plucking up the base weeds of noxious unbelief! Again, why am I so much concerned about a world which I am so soon to leave? I am but a stranger, a sojourner, and a pilgrim; here today—but gone tomorrow, to return no more. Yes; this night, what dare I boast of tomorrow, not knowing what the silent watches of the night may bring forth? And if I am not sure of one day, far less of many, may I boast. It is but a look—and I have lost sight of this world eternally! Why then set my heart on that which shall one time or other so terribly deceive me? A few moments, and my eternal state is begun, and I am forever in the eternal world—and dashed out of the roll of the sons of Adam; yes, out of the remembrance of all my nearest relations! Should I then, mind much what kind of entertainment I meet with on the way—if I may make a happy journey’s end? The traveler ought to think more on his home—than how he fares on his way home. Surely, one would be ready to think, that men carried their riches to eternity with them, yes, and were more welcome on that account—or why these unwearied endeavors—to obtain them? O folly! O fear! O faithlessness! Folly, that I concern myself with moments—and neglect eternity! Fear, that I should be distressed about a day, which scarce has dawned until done—and dwell not with joy on ages to come! Faithlessness, that I should doubt the promise, yes, the addendum to the promise; for salvation from sin, and eternal life, is the promise; and all things that respect this life are only addendums thereto; as if he who is faithful in salvation from sin, could falsify in trifles. Now, though my whole life were one continued scene of affliction, yet the very shortness of it might sweeten it. Though my life is—a vapor, a shadow, a wind that passes away—surely the attending calamities can be of no longer continuance, than that duration upon which they attend. Nothing can pass from this world to that; but my immortal soul. Yes the painful remembrance of my troubles and present distresses, shall cease when I am swallowed up of everlasting joy. I see, then, that my concern turns on a wrong hinge—and my care terminates on a trifle. All my concern should be—not to provide for the few moments of a transient life—but to improve for the glorious ages of endless eternity! And that care which in despondency I expend on the vanities of time, and how to obtain them—I should lay out in piety, on the treasures of eternal glory—how to prepare for the divine possession. Well may I commit to him the sustaining of my necessities along the way—who has adopted me for his son, and made me an heir of his kingdom—to which l am traveling home! My time has become less since I began to write—and soon it will be wholly gone! How foolish, then, to worry and fret myself about time to come—which I may never see! But I am certain of eternity! Therefore, into grateful admiration at those approaching glories which I shall there possess, I should convert my ungoverned lamentations over the present gloomy aspects of time, and keep silence in the composing exercise of faith; remembering that he had never a bad day—who had a good night; nor a miserable life—who died the death of the righteous; nor his time full of agony and grief—which ended in an eternity of glory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 123: 03.111. FAITH ======================================================================== FAITH Faith is a divine grace, and the very life of the soul below. Hence we are said to "walk by faith;" and if our lives are spiritual, it is by faith in the Son of God that we live the spiritual life. It is a strange definition of faith given by the apostle to the Hebrews, yet divinely true; "Now, faith is the substance of things hoped for—the evidence of things not seen." That is, though we can only hope for those felicities and glories which are future; yet faith, in its glorious acts, can suck the honey and marrow out of them, so as to supply the soul even in the present time, with the substance of that which is still future; and by refreshful foretastes of bliss, bring the brightest evidences of celestial excellences, which are not visible to flesh and blood. Thus by the first-fruits of glory, the soul is ascertained of entering into the land of promise. Faith is begun vision, or seeing things at a distance, and through a glass—Vision is faith finished or perfected, and seeing things at hand, and with the naked eye. Faith is the bond of union between God and the soul, which can never be broken by all that can befall us in the world; "for this is the victory that overcomes the world, even our faith." He who believes in God endures all things, as seeing him who is invisible, and waits for the brighter, the diviner views of glory. Faith is a mutual inhabitation. It is Christ in the soul; hence says the apostle, "I live, yet not I—but Christ lives in me." Faith is also the soul in Christ; hence we are said to "put on Christ," and, being dead to the world and to sin, to have our spiritual life hidden with Christ in God. Faith brings to God the greatest honor—and to the soul the greatest happiness; as unbelief does the opposite of both. Faith accounts him faithful who has promised, and composes all within. While unbelief makes the God of truth a liar, and sets the whole soul, in all her powers and faculties, in an uproar. Faith has won its victories, wrought its miracles, and done wonders in the world; "for to him who believes, all things are possible." A ’warrantable faith’ never fell short of its expectation; yes, often has the goodness of God gone beyond the faith of his saints. Everything for which I pray in faith shall be granted, and mountains shall become a plain, and seeming impossibilities disappear. Yet I am not to pray for impossibilities; for though to God all things are possible, yet I could not pray in faith, (and whatever is not of faith is sin,) for things I am convinced I have no warrant in the word of God to seek or expect; such as, for the sun to stand still, water to flow out of a rock, seas to divide, and rivers to part asunder; though all these things have been done. Again, I am not to pray for or expect things to be done in a miraculous manner for me, when in the common course of providence, whatever I need can be bestowed on me. I am not to expect the heavens to drop down manna to supply my daily necessity, or that my clothes should wear forty years without waxing old; but I am to believe, in the midst of my needs, that I shall be every day supplied in a greater or lesser degree, as seems good to God, by the same liberal hand that showered down the manna in the wilderness; and perhaps in a manner that shall convince me of his special care, and confirm my belief of his singular favor, as much as if the drops of rain were turned into bread for me. His exercising his providence in providing me with clothing, should be as endearing to me, as if he exerted his power in keeping what I had from waxing old. But, if I am shut up in some circumstances, where, as far as I can see nothing less than a miracle can deliver—then faith is to believe the miracle, rather than doubt the promise, or distrust the power of God—as if anything were too hard for him. But, how comfortable is it, that when I pray, with submission to the divine disposal, only for warrantable things, in faith. Then I may be assured that I shall both be heard and answered! But, if I doubt, then unbelief overturns all—and this is the reason why I cannot prevail. How terrible, amidst my petitions, to doubt if God is able and willing to perform my request, when he has declared himself in the affirmative in both! When I do so, I turn the great God into a mere feeble creature—in denying his power; and (O horrid!) into a liar—thinking that he has no intention to perform his promise. I see, then, that I should make my petitions with submission, leaving it wholly to God, what he will refuse, what he will choose for me. But that to doubt his love, his power, his faithfulness, is a heinous sin—his power to perform to the extent of the promise, either as to spiritual or temporal things—his faithfulness, that he will perform whatever he has promised—or his love, which, so to speak, waits and longs for the fittest opportunities when his glory and my good may be most advanced in performing the promise for me. Now, as his glory rises, so should my felicity—as I should count it all my happiness to have his glory set on high. Faith, then, is a triumphant grace. By faith, wrestling Jacob prevailed; and Jacob’s wrestling sons still prevail with God. Faith always wins the day, secures the blessing, and is never sent away empty. Faith will not, cannot be denied. And by this boldness and confidence of faith, which is the gift of God, God is greatly glorified. Faith looks above created opposition, dwells in eternity, and hangs on the omnipotent arm of God. It wraps itself up in the promise, and cannot be divided from it until it is performed in every respect. Faith is not terrified at storms, nor disquieted by disappointments—but looks beyond the storm; above the disappointment; rests on the compassion of God; and fastens on the faithfulness of its glorious Author and Finisher. Faith stretches beyond the narrow confines of time, and takes broad views of the world to come. Faith takes a tour through the land of bliss, the Canaan above, and converses with eternal ages. Faith, looking to the Promiser, sees the way of duty plain; while fear cries out, "There is a lion in the streets—I shall be slain! There is danger and difficulty in the way—I cannot go." Surely, to him who believes, all things are possible! But to him that doubts, a mole-hill becomes a mountain! In after ages, I shall be ashamed of my fears and unbelief—but never of my faith. Henceforth let me be strong in the faith—with submission; make my requests—with resignation; pray in the confidence of being heard; and believe all things—with patience and composure. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 124: 03.112. THE THREE-FOLD STATE ======================================================================== The Threefold State Three changes go over the NATURAL world: 1. the black and dark night; 2. the fair and beauteous moon-shine; 3. the bright and noon-day beams. The same also prevail in the RATIONAL world: There is the black and dark night of a natural state, in which the unconverted nations sit. There is the fair moon-light of grace, in which the saints walk until admitted into the eternal sunshine of glory in the highest heavens. Night sat on the face of the deep at first, until God said, "Let there be light," and scattered the eternal darkness with his manifesting ray. So every soul is not only in darkness—but darkness itself, until made light in the Lord. This darkness would be eternal—did not the divine beams break in upon the soul, and dispel the awful gloom. There is a vast disproportion between those nights which are overcast with thick and heavy clouds, when the moon shines not, and not a star appears—but the angry heavens open in tremendous thunders, as if about to convey our destruction from the chambers of the sky, while the glaring lightnings, only like so many torches—flash, to make our funeral more solemnly dismal. And there are also those nights when not a star is hidden—but in the beauty of the full-faced moon, which sheds a day in comparison of the former night, through the serene skies, on the silent earth, where not the least breath of wind is felt, nor the least confusion heard. But the disproportion is still greater between those that remain in their natural state, and those that are renewed in the spirit of their mind. For the poor sinner is in perpetual fear of being consumed by the angry thunders, and devoured by the wrath of the Almighty; nor is his case less deplorable by his insensibility, for he shall at last be awakened with a vengeance, when he shall find his misery consummate, without any possibility of redemption! But the happy saint has a whole heaven shining on him, all the divine perfections smiling in his face, everything around him quiet, and everything within tranquil. Nor can afflictions of any kind, or of any quantity, or any continuance, deprive him of this peace which passes understanding. Now, we have this pleasant moon-light properly from the sun, being part of his emanations received by her, and reflected on us—So all the beauties and excellences of grace are like so much divine glory seen through a glass, or reflected on us from the word of truth—by the operation and blessing of the Spirit of all grace. Again, if we only enjoyed nights, beauteous by the unclouded moon and transparent sky, and knew that this light was from the sun, how would we long for day—to be lighted with beholding that bright orb! Yet I very much question if we could conceive of the sun according to that transcendent brightness whereby he illuminates the extensive sky. We might conceive him to be beauteous like the moon; and a vast deal larger—but could never form any just idea of his fiery beams, insufferable rays, and sparkling effulgence—too bright to be beheld by our weak eyes. Even so, while so many excellences, and so much beauty, are to be found in sacred things, in true piety, here in this day of grace, which is all but a part of Immanuel’s glory reflected; how divinely bright must the Sun of righteousness shine above! What amiable beauty! What assimilating beams! What adorable perfections! What magnificent emanations! What entrancing delights! What majesty and splendor shall pour from him above! Our thoughts recoil on us, and our apprehensions fail—when we think on his infinite glory. This created sun, which we so much admire, would disappear in the presence of one of his remotest rays, as happened when Paul was converted. What brightness, what effulgence, what emanations—where he sheds around all his glory! No cloud, no eclipse, no mist, no decline, no setting—to lessen his eternal blaze! Surely, now our thoughts are in the dark about this Sun of righteousness, and Fountain of glory. When admitted to perfect vision, we shall find that our clearest apprehensions and brightest uptakings of him below, differed but a small degree from ignorance. How ineffably, how inconceivably glorious must he shine above! when on the blessed beholders around the throne, life descends in every ray, assimilation in every beam, transport and delight in the eternal emanations of all his divine perfections! How is it, then, that when I have seen something of the beauty of grace, I have not more desire to see all the excellences of glory? How is it, that I have not more desire to turn about from the reflective glass, and see him face to face? How is it, that I have not more desire to scale the wall behind which he stands, and see him as he is? How is it, that I have not more desire to change the transient glance into an eternal beholding of him in his glory? How is it that I do not watch with more concern for the morning-light and look out more eagerly for the dawning of eternal day? Is night to be preferred—to noon? or created joys—to the pleasures that overflow in the divine presence? Finish, then, your work with me, and glorify yourself by me, before I go hence and be no more. Then, through the same grace shall I say, and with the same sincerity as it was at first spoken, "I have a desire to be depart, and to be with Christ—which is far better!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 125: 03.113. CORRUPTION ======================================================================== CORRUPTION Happy they who have put off—not only mortality, but sin; and have put on—not only immortality, but perfection; and, in triumph, trample on the neck of all their enemies—having neither foe without, nor foe within. But my daily complaint may be, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" Satan watches and waylays me; temptation attacks without; corruption rises up within! And, alas! too often I offend him who is all love, mercy, and goodness! O for the happy day—when I shall cease to sin, and to offend the best of friends—the Savior of my soul! O for the happy day—when my whole soul shall be pure and holy, and not one seed of sin be left within! O for the happy day—when Satan shall tempt no more, and I yield no more to the temptation! O for the happy day—when my bitter complaint against corruption and sin, shall be converted into sweet praises on redeeming grace—"To him who loved me, and washed me from my sins in his own blood—be glory, and honor, might, and dominion, forever and ever!" In view of that blessed day will I rejoice; and, confiding in all-sufficient grace, I will travel to the mount of God with courage; and, leaning on my Beloved, I will journey up through the wilderness undismayed. For it is when I go in my own strength, or walk alone, that I stumble into sin. I must rectify my mistaken notions, spoil my vain confidence, and depend on God alone! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 126: 03.114. GRACE ======================================================================== GRACE Heavenly grace implanted in the soul, is the magic stone—which turns everything in our possession into a more excellent nature, and greater value. Grace turns iron into silver, and silver into gold. Shedding divine contentment through the soul, divine grace turns our water into wine, our pennies into pounds, our poor cottages into splendid palaces, bare supply into abundant plenty, and everything into sufficiency—because our satisfaction is the same in this, as if possessed of that. Grace diminishes distress, magnifies mercies, lessens grief, enlarges love, despises vanities, breathes after future bliss, rectifies our desires, subdues our corruptions, regulates our desires, restrains our ambition, raises and refines our affections, removes the present world, and presents the world to come. By grace we are refined in affliction, triumph in our troubles, in all our conflicts we are more than conquerors, and win the battle. By grace, we listen to rebuke, are instructed by the rod, submissive under crosses, silent under losses, patient in tribulation, meek under reproaches, humble, though exalted, forgetful of injuries, mindful of benefits, faithful to our duty, merciful to our enemies, and friends with the whole world. By grace we tremble at judgments, rejoice in mercies, observe providences, wrestle against our unbelief, are grieved at our ingratitude, and struggle against our daily failings. By grace our souls taste divine joys, and loathe the light food of worldly vanities. Grace sweetens our sorrows, mitigates our misfortunes, pierces the shadows, and seeks after unseen realities. Where grace is implanted in the bosom, everything turns out to the advantage of the soul. The way of life, to others thorny—is flowery to us—and our path to our latter end is peace. What to the carnal world is a curse, is to the possessors of this precious gem a blessing. By grace our pains are banished, our pleasures are purified, expectation honied, burdens lightened, weakness strengthened, storms scattered, and harmony diffused within. What a noble thing is grace—or Christ by his spirit dwelling in the soul! No wonder, then, that such a glorious change is made, and all to the better, so that we can look towards eternity undismayed, expect the solemn judgment with unshaken faith, meet the king of terrors with undaunted courage, and have hope in the expiring pang. Let gold be a portion to the misers; honor to the ambitious; pleasures to the voluptuous—but let grace be mine! For thus my afflictions are sweeter than the prosperity of the wicked; my reproaches preferable to the applauses of a giddy world; and my very death more desirable than the life of the most splendid, if impious monarch! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 127: 03.115. LOVE AND IMMORTALITY ======================================================================== Love and Immortality Welcome change, that waits to begin my happiness, and put a termination to my troubles and pain. When this languor and lukewarmness shall be turned into immortality and love, I shall be all life and vigor—and this vigor shall be all love and praise. Now my corruption is a counterbalance to my love; and mortality a clog to my devotion. But then every power shall be life, every faculty active, every thought winged, and every motion heavenly. I shall praise with transport, and sing with rapture! I shall adore with ecstacy, and love with delight! And all this, day and night, without ever ceasing, or being exhausted, being then perfect in every grace, and immortal in every power! Receiving my fullness from the divine plenitude, as a pipe supplied by the vast ocean—I shall pour out perpetual streams of praise, and torrents of love; and be more and more capacitated, enlarged, and replenished—by this eternal employment! Such is the happy state my hope claims, and to which, soon I shall attain. Then shall my love be wholly a vigorous immortality, and my immortality exercised in nothing but love. On the Sun of Righteousness, divinely bright, tremendously glorious—I shall fix my eyes, which shall be strengthened as they gaze, and never cease to behold and admire the divine object! I shall emulate the seraphim, and strive, not out of self-conceit—but from the glowings of sacred gratitude, the prevalence of divine love in my bosom—to sing as loud, and love as intensely as they—the exalted One, whom I can call my Brother, my Husband, and my God! I shall go out, in all the faculties of my soul, to Him, without one moment’s intermission; and yet my eyes shall never be so satisfied with seeing, as to shut them on the glories above; nor my ear fatigued with hearing the hallelujahs on high. Sleep shall be as foreign to my immortal perfection then, as it is impossible for my immortal frame to subsist without it now. There is no comma in the hosannas above. There is no night in the years of the right hand of the Most High God. There is no interruption in the warbles of eternal splendor. No distractions shall disturb the adorers before the throne, where perfect love casts out fear, where bliss is as boundless as their wish—and measures with eternity itself! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 128: 03.116. EXTREMITIES ======================================================================== EXTREMITIES God has in all ages been pleased to let matters come to an extremity, before he sent the deliverance; thereby teaching his people patience, and to hope unto the end; thereby also making the deliverance more glorious, and his care of them more conspicuous, than otherwise it would have been. Why then, do I magnify every difficulty into a mountain which cannot be removed, and distrust that divine power which can do all things, and to the greatest extremity? Now, to dispel these dark and dismal clouds that hang over my mind, to my great uneasiness; let me glance at his divine procedure with his people, from the days of old down through many ages. See, then, Abraham—the father of the faithful is old and stricken in years, and Sarah is well past the age for bearing children. Yet that extremity is God’s opportunity; for he is born, in whose seed the nations should be blessed. But, again, young Isaac is, by divine authority, to be offered for a sacrifice, and that by none other than his aged, affectionate father! Nor is the order to sacrifice his son revoked, until the altar is reared, the wood laid in order, the boy bound and laid upon the wood, and the hand stretching out the knife to give the fatal wound! Now, what an extremity of extremities was this! but not too late for God to deliver him. Again, wandering Hagar sees not the well as soon as the bottle of water is all used; but after she had laid down the parched boy, and forced herself a good distance from him, that she might not hear his mournful cries, nor see him struggling with the pangs of death—God opens her eyes, scatters her fears, and removes her sorrows! Also, just Lot makes his escape out of Sodom only on that very day in which it was destroyed; and it was destroyed early in the day. A narrow escape indeed! Perhaps the heavens were thundering round about the brimstone, and fire falling behind him, while he fled. Yet he was safe enough under his protection—to whom extremity is the noblest opportunity. Let me also look at Jacob when returning home. He is distressed at his brother’s meeting him in such a hostile manner; but when he has arranged his little company for flight, or meeting the armed bands, the kindly embrace removes the doubt, and cheers his very soul. Joseph is to be exalted—but he is first sold by his brethren, then sold again as a slave, then a prisoner. But, at the last extremity, when he could be brought no lower, he was advanced, until he could as it were, be raised no higher. Even so, his aged father’s sorrow, which had all this time mingled his other comforts with bitterness—is heightened by the story of his sons, about the rough dealings of the man who was Lord over Egypt. But from this despair and woe, Jacob is in a moment set into a palace of delight, when he hears that that same governor is his own son, his own beloved, his long-lamented Joseph! Again, the promise is, that Israel shall be delivered from Egypt, and possess the promised land; but see how subtlety their enemies deal with them, and what murdering designs are formed against them! Yes, when the deliverance begins to dawn, their task is doubled, and their bondage rendered next to intolerable. Such was their extremity before they were brought out with an mighty hand. Nay, after this, their danger seems to be greater than ever, while, pursued by enemies, on many accounts more enraged than ever—they had impassable seas before them, and inaccessible hills on every side. Yet Omnipotence is at no loss to deliver, so that seas divide, and are the defense of his people—but the destruction of their foes. This divine way of procedure, delivering in the greatest extremity, shines also in the whole history of the Judges; in the narrow escapes of fleeing David; in the case of the widow of Zarephath, whose provisions were almost spent, before the blessing was bestowed that multiplied them—in the case of her son afterwards, and the Shunamite’s, who appeared beyond all possibility of help, when restored to life; in the sudden deliverance of Hezekiah and Jerusalem, from the besieging Assyrians, whose mighty men and leaders, a mightier angel slew in one night, to an amazing number of 186,000. Also in the astonishing story of the three Hebrew children, who are apprehended, bound, and thrown into the flaming furnace, now heated seven times hotter for their reception. What can help them now? Yes, in the midst of the furnace they walk at liberty, in the presence of a glorious person, whose form is like the Son of God. Such was the remarkable deliverance of pious Daniel from the lion’s paw, when cast among their bloody jaws, and left a whole night to the mercy of the fierce devourers. And of Jonah from the swelling sea, and the fish’s belly, which to him was as the belly of hell. And, in fine, of the Jews from captivity, who went even to Babylon, and there were delivered. And these being brought to an extremity, did not perish in Babylon—but were delivered after a most glorious manner. This was the way he dealt with his church and people under the Old Testament dispensation, for many hundred years; and it continued under the New Testament dispensation. Hence see how our Lord delays his going to Lazarus, that he might not only relieve him from his disease—but raise him from the dead, which was a more glorious display of his divine power. Such was his way also with Jairus’ daughter, and the widow of Nain’s son, who seemed to be the captives of death, until the Lord of life commanded their release, and that at a time when, for hinting at it, he was laughed at as proposing a thing impossible to be done. See how also, in the utmost extremity of danger; he rescues his apostle Peter, by an angel from heaven, who awakes the sleeping prisoner, guides him through the guards, and leads him on, before whom the doors and gates open of their own accord, and let him pass into perfect liberty. What, then, is difficult for God? What extremity is beyond the reach and strength of his arm? Yes, since he is pleased to delay blessings and deliverances to the last—it is my duty to wait on him until the last, and to wait with hope—and in patience to possess my soul! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 129: 03.117. THE ASTONISHING PORTIONS ======================================================================== The astonishing portions! The treasures of kings have sometimes been so vast, as to become proverbial. And yet, what were they but gold or stones dug out of the bowels of the earth, which, amassed to ever so great a sum, could neither give contentment, ensure health, nor lengthen life? But there is a portion of a diviner nature, and infinitely more excellent, which falls to the share of every child of God—and God himself is this stupendous portion! "The Lord is my portion, says my soul." Now, the astonishing wonder here is, that God, in all his perfections, should condescend, through his Son—to be the portion of his people. But this wonder is not alone—but is joined with another, that is in a manner more surprising still, expressed in these words—"The Lord’s portion is his people, Israel is the lot of his inheritance." We know how highly we esteem that which we account our portion. And the pious breathing of the saint is, "Whom have I in heaven but you? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail—but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever." Then, may we not see what value he sets upon his people, that he, who possesses all things, and has all perfection in himself, should call them "his portion." A rich man may condescend to be the helper and friend of a poor man—but will scarcely allow the pauper to be of great account to himself. But with God it is otherwise, to the praise of his glorious grace—which is not less astonishing in receiving than in giving. He gives the treasures of eternity, which enrich forever; and receives the ciphers of time, which cannot profit him at all. He gives himself to be ours in his infinite excellences forever, and receives us, in all our needs and infirmities, to be his for evermore. We so not know whether he is most glorious in accepting the lispings of faith, "You are my God,"—or in returning the mutual "You are my people." Because God is the portion of our soul, we have hope; and because he sees the travail of his soul, he is satisfied. O what condescension is this, not only to bow down to give himself away to us—but to take us up to himself! Let philosophers dream on of ten thousand inhabited worlds, yet, among them all—the Lord’s portion and inheritance is his redeemed people! The heavens are his throne, the earth his footstool—but his portion are dearer to him than both—purchased at an amazing price, and preserved by almighty power—to an immensity of bliss! Precious and costly things are in the peculiar treasures of kings; how noble, then, and precious must they be, whom the eternal King of kings has chosen to himself for his peculiar treasure, for whom he will give his Son for their ransom! Again, a treasure is that which is laid up for time to come; then God will never cast off his own inheritance, give up with his portion, or throw away his treasure—but reserve all to eternity! Finally, if God is the portion of his saints—why do they struggle to fill their coffers with perishing things? And why so disquieted if they do not succeed? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 130: 03.118. NOAH'S ARK ======================================================================== Noah’s Ark When the ark, which had floated many a day on a fearful flood, rested on the happy Ararat, and Noah, and the numerous creatures which were to replenish the world again, had the pleasant sight of spacious fields, just delivered from a dreadful deluge—how vast must have been their joy! And with what transport must they have gone forth into unbounded liberty, called the earth their own, and appropriated the whole world, without any to dispute the amazing possession! So, when the ark of the covenant of grace, built by a greater than Noah, and wherein is contained the seed of the new creation, shall rest on the heights of glory, how shall all the happy ones go forth with transport into the liberty of the sons of God—to possess a paradise of pleasure, an heaven of ecstacy, and a world of bliss! And though they shall never go out of the covenant through eternity, yet, so to speak, they shall spread abroad to people the heavenly Canaan, and possess the many mansions that are in their Father’s house. Here, in the covenant, we are borne above the floods; for the curse, like a deluge, overspreads the whole world, so that all are in a perishing condition—except those who have gotten inside the ark! And in a little while, when the great deeps of eternity shall be opened, the floods of vengeance swelling high shall sweep the whole unbelieving world into oceans of eternal wrath! It is true, indeed, our safety is the same, being ravingly interested in him whom the Father has given for a covenant to the people, whether the ark be floating on the waters, or set down on the stable mountain’s top; but there is a difference between fluctuating on the waters of adversity, and sitting down on the mountains of bliss, in the presence of Jehovah and the Lamb. Again, as their safety was secured, and their provision plenteous in the ark of old; so, in the New-Testament ark, we are secure, being hidden in him who sits on the floods, and governs in the storms, and who will never let the deluge overthrow his own people—but cause them to swim safely among the swelling billows, and walk securely, as Israel of old, amidst devouring deeps. And our provision is not only plenteous and profuse—but spiritual and divine. Besides, in this ark, by the eye of faith, even while the deluge is not wholly gone, we get, which Noah could not boast of—reviving views of the tops of the eternal mountains and gladdening glances of the heights of glory. Again, when the flood of wrath shall be at the highest with all the wicked world, our ark shall sit down on the celestial Ararat. Then, as Noah sacrificed to God when he was gone forth from the ark, which he could not do while in it; so, in that triumphant state of glory, we shall worship him in a manner to which we never could attain in the militant state; and, to our eternal joy, shall look up and see the "rainbow about the throne," in its most beauteous colors, showing, as it shines, that the flood of divine wrath, which once pursued the human race to swallow up all who had not fled to the sacred ark for safety—shall never return again to swallow up the ransomed nations. Then, dwelling in that land where "there is no more sea," we shall walk at liberty, enjoying beatitudes unlimited as our thought, and extensive as conception itself; and through the unnumbered years of his right hand we shall proclaim the compassion, and dwell upon the love of him who was himself our divine, our glorious ark—who bore us above the waves of vengeance, (though, to perform that kind office, he himself for a while was carried "into deep waters, where the floods overflowed him,") and brought us into his presence, where rivers of pleasures flow evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 131: 03.119. ACQUAINTANCES ======================================================================== Acquaintances We are fond of contracting acquaintances with great and famous men, and sometimes lament the death of some before we were born, and our distance from others while we live. What pleasure would it afford me, had I known the first worthies of the world! To have had an hour’s company and conversation with the first man, the father of us all; to have been acquainted with the divine Enoch, who was wafted deathless to glory; with Noah, the preacher of righteousness; with Abraham the Father of the Faithful; with Moses, the man of God; with Isaac and Jacob, heirs of one and the same promise; with the deeply afflicted, and highly advanced Joseph; with Elijah and Elisha; with Samuel, David, and Solomon; in a word, with all the prophets, apostles, evangelists, and martyrs, and all the New Testament worthies down to the present times. I say, to have been acquainted with all these great men, what secret pleasure would it afford! What instruction from their conversation, and what joy to behold so many sparkling graces in each of them! But this is what can never happen; yet there is one thought that abundantly supplies the loss. That all those who are united in the living Head shall meet together in the state of eternal glory! There shall I see Adam, not in that shameful anguish he sustained when driven out of the terrestrial paradise—but with a fullness of joy proper to one entered into the heavenly paradise for eternity! There shall I see Enoch walking in very deed with God, and enjoying eternally and uninterruptedly, that communion he delighted in below. There shall I see Noah, not preaching to an inattentive world. but praising in concert with all those who in the ark of covenant were saved from the flood of wrath that swept away the wicked! There shall I see Abraham, not traveling to the mountains of Moriah to offer up his son—but dwelling in the mount of God to offer up his song, his sacrifice of praise, possessed of greater glory, and more noble blessings, than even his strongest faith ever could expect! There shall I see Isaac and Jacob, not sojourning in a strange land—but dwelling in Immanuel’s land, without any more removing to and fro! There shall I see Joseph, not in that anguish of spirit he was in when sold for a slave—but in a nobler condition than when governor over Egypt! There shall I see Moses, not struggling with a rebellious Israel in an howling wilderness—but triumphing with the true Israel, in whom iniquity is not beheld, and entered on the possession of the heavenly Canaan for eternity! There shall I see, also, Samuel the reformer, David the upright, and Solomon the wise; along with all the prophets and apostles, the evangelists and martyrs, shining with additional luster, and inconceivable glory! Yes, not one of all the saints of God, though the names of thousands of them were never heard of in the world—but I shall be acquainted with, and know everything about them, that can set forth the glory of God, and the praises of redeeming love! I shall know who and what they were in the world, whence they came, and what they suffered for his name’s sake! Had I been acquainted with them in their imperfect earthly state, either corruption in them might have restrained my regard toward them; or corruption in me might have deadened my affection for them. But my acquaintance with them shall be when both they and I have put off all corruption—and are spotless as the angels of light! How is it, then that I have concluded all the worthies of the old world as gone from me forever, when, in a little while, I shall come into their company, into their assembly—to depart no more? Further, what will sweeten all, is, that my acquaintance with them shall be in and through Christ—in whom all his saints are one! And my delight in them will spring from their resemblance to Christ, and rise according to the degree of that. Then, like so many stars, they shall reflect the glory of the Sun of Righteousness—and he who reflects most glory shall be the brightest star. Besides, as the Lamb is the light of the holy city—so he shall be the fullness of the higher house—replenishing all the inhabitants, who shall have Christ in them, once "the hope of glory" but then the harvest of glory—and with them as such shall I be acquainted. Hence shall Christ be to everyone all in all, even in their delight in, and acquaintance with, one another; because, loving him who begets, supremely and eternally—they cannot but love those who are begotten after the same divine likeness. What a friendly office, then, (though to the greater part of humanity, unwelcome,) does death, in the hand of Christ perform to his chosen ones—in convening the saints together from remotest corners, scattered kingdoms, and distant ages—and, with a smiling countenance, ushering them, not only into the presence of one another—but into the presence of their common Redeemer! On the other hand, how miserable must the wicked be, whose acquaintance with the great, of which they are now so proud—at the hour of death shall cease forever! For beings in torment can be no entertaining company to one other but, by being once companions in sin, shall mutually increase their horror, and heighten their anguish forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 132: 03.120. AN ARGUMENT ======================================================================== An Argument Would any person be cast down for an affliction, enduring but for a day—if assured, that his whole after-life should be felicity and peace? Though for this short time he were hungry, thirsty, naked, imprisoned, reproached, reviled, envied, hated, despised, ridiculed by flatterers, abandoned by friends, insulted by foes, and made the gazing-stock of all; yet, would not the certain knowledge of so sudden a change in his favor take off the edge of all? Would not the forethought of the sumptuous table at which he should forever sit, and the generous wine that should go around, abate his hunger, and allay his thirst? Would not the thought of his expensive clothing, take a way the shame of his rags? Would not the thought of his unconfined liberty render supportable his few hours confinement? Would not the thought that renown, love, and respect, which he would possess in a little while—take away the anguish that might arise from the opposite insults? Now, O Christian! your case at the worst can be no worse than this—to suffer, through the short day of your life, much tribulation, and many afflictions; much distress, and many troubles. Yes, though some singular distress—as war, persecution, or pestilence, should bring your death along with it, yet your eternal state is secured, and your exit is into eternal glory! What! should poverty make any impression on your mind—you who are an heir of God, and joint-heir with Christ—who shall walk on streets of gold? Should imprisonment trouble you, who shall walk at liberty in the paradise of God through eternal day? Should shame produce a blush in your countenance—who shall be confessed by your divine Master before his heavenly Father, and all his holy angels? Should need of any kind affect you—who are complete in Him in whom the fullness of the Godhead dwells? Should disappointments, repeated, aggravated disappointments, deject you—whose assured friend governs the universe, and never will forget, and never will forsake you? In a word, should any cross events in time distract you—who have an eternity of felicity before you, where your happiness shall stretch beyond your most extensive thoughts? Take the scales and balances, then, and sit down and weigh the lightness of your troubles, the transitoriness of your afflictions—even allowing them to harass you through your whole life, which is not one day, one minute, or one moment—compared to eternity, and that boundless, ineffable bliss, which awaits your better life, your immortal state in the invisible world. And say, if that happiness, which should be inseparable from an expectant of glory, is in you. And say, whether fits of despondency for anything that can befall you in this world—or songs of praise for that nameless immense ALL that is reserved for you in the world to come—be most proper to your present state? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 133: 03.121. ON BEING ILL-USED ======================================================================== On being ill used "If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you: ’A servant is not greater than his master.’ If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you." (John 15:18-20) Surely I forget who I am, and the place of my eternal abode—or else I would not be so grieved to be ill used in such a world as this. Would I have at once the smiles of Heaven—and the caresses of the earth? I should be satisfied to get through the enemy’s country with my life, though now and then I suffer loss. I must not be surprised that I suffer, though innocent; for none were ever so innocent as our blessed Lord, yet none suffered more than did the prince of innocence. "It is enough for the disciple to become like his teacher, and the slave like his master. If they have called the head of the house ’Beelzebul,’ how much more will they defame the members of his household!" Why am I astonished at an usage which my Lord not only met with himself—but assured all his disciples that they should experience? How is it that I have fallen into this fond delusion—dreaming that nothing should hurt me while I was endeavoring to walk uprightly with him before whom are all my ways; and forgetting that often the saints have suffered for following after what is good? I am yet in the world, and the god of this world is not my God, nor the men of this world my brethren; therefore no wonder that the world hates what is not its own. For shame! have I taken it amiss, that a few drops of that ’shower of malice and envy’ which poured in full flood on the glorious Head, should fall on an unworthy member? How have I forgotten to imitate the divine pattern of humility, who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; when blasphemed, replied with meekness, interceded for his murderers, and prayed for his most monstrous foes! O to be more and more self-denied! If I thought as little of myself as I ought—I would not think much of being treated with indignity, and used contemptuously by others. Though I may have recourse to the law for my protection and defense, yet surely it is often my duty to say, like humble David, "Let him curse, for the Lord has bidden him." How divinely sweet is the inspired advice, "Do not take revenge, dear fiends, but leave room for God’s wrath!" Ah! says corrupt nature, must I meekly see myself abused, and not resent it? Must I not stand up in my own defense, and return his wickedness on his own head? No! says the apostle; vengeance belongs not to you; "for it is written, Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, I will repay!" Therefore let the matter alone, leave it to God, who knows when and how to plead your quarrel against your adversaries. You must show you the excellency of the Christian religion, by feeding your enemy when hungry, and giving him drink when thirsty, until you have won him from his maliciousness. But, if he still retains his inveterate malice, your kindly acts will heap coals fire upon his head. Then let my behavior be such as is here enjoined, while, with the psalmist, I say, "Though they curse, You will bless." Keep ever fixed in your mind this maxim—That a greater pleasure springs from a free and frank forgiveness of injuries to the sanctified soul—than the most malicious bosom can feel in the most bloody revenge. Has not the sun often shed his cloudless beams on those who blasphemed their Maker? Have not the clouds many a time watered their fields who never acknowledged the divine munificence? And has not all nature poured forth her riches, times innumerable, to those who walked contrary to the God who gave them? Did these things come by chance? No! They were the effects of God’s unbounded goodness, which teems divinely free and vastly full on all—in spite of the ingratitude of the wicked—in spite of the daring impiety of the unjust. The benevolence of God is seen in his conduct with the world. He makes his sun rise on the evil and the good, and he lets rain fall on the righteous and the unrighteous. Copy, then, my soul, this amiable perfection. Deal with the whole world, as if everyone were your brother, or your friend; and though they may forfeit the name; let them never forfeit your kind regard. As the sun changes not his course, though bursting clouds and bellowing thunders fight below; so, if you move in the celestial sphere of practical religion, you will never omit the duties of a Christian to any, though all should commit the hostilities of a vile enemy towards you. Let not the distress of your enemy afford you delight, nor the misfortunes of your inveterate foe infuse a secret pleasure in your heart. Sympathize with him in his calamity—who could laugh at yours. And, as far as is consistent with truth, preserve his good name, who, to the wounding of truth, has robbed you of yours. Remember benefits, forget injuries, forgive reproachful tongues, overlook affronts, wish well to every individual, pray for all for whom prayer ought to be made. Be a child of God in temper and conduct—in spite of corrupt nature, earth, and hell—aiming at perfection, as your father who is in heaven is perfect! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 134: 03.122. THE BIBLE A STORE-HOUSE OF INSTRUCTION ======================================================================== The Bible a storehouse of instructions Man is not only a worm as to his origen—but a beast as to his knowledge. Hence the most sagacious of Adam’s sons would be but fools in things that concern them most, without this divine monitor, the Scripture. Here I am informed when the world began, and who was my first parent, the grand representative and federal head of all his offspring; how sin and death entered into the world, and how both are done away. Hence the mystery of a three-one God shines with solemn effulgence; while the glorious, amiable, and divine work of redemption, darts comfort and surprise on the enraptured inquirer. By the scriptures of truth, the concerns of a future world are clearly presented to me. Would I be a member of Christ, and have his righteousness made mine? Well, the Scriptures tell me how I may become the one, and be clothed with the other. Would I flee from the wrath to come? Here the way lies plain, and the place where I can be safe. If sin presses hard upon me, they show me where to cast my sins. If short-comings and weakness vex me, the Scriptures shows me whence to draw my strength, and in whom I am complete. They counsel me in my doubts, and shine upon my darkness. Not a calamity can I be in—but they can cheer. Not a step I need to take—but they can direct. Am I a son of Zion? Then I am to seek her peace, her welfare, and prosperity. Is the church in distress? I am to give God no rest until he establishes her, and makes her a praise through the whole earth. Does he hide his face from me? Then I am to seek, nor cease to seek him, until I find the Beloved of my soul. Do I pine by his blow? Yet at the work of his hand I am to be silent. Does he remove my relations by death? Still I am to hold my peace, and even subscribe ’Amen’. Am I injured? That I am to forgive. Am I reproached? This I am to pass by. Do men despitefully use me? For them I am to pray. Must I leave from this world? Then I am to pass my time only as a sojourner, not a fixed inhabitant. Do I enjoy human friendship? That is to be improved in speaking on divine things. Am I among sinners—Then I am to reprove. Among saints? These I am to imitate. Have I a house? It is to be a place of righteousness. Have I a family? They and I, are to serve the Lord—whatever others may do. Again, am I sorrowful? I am to pray. Am I in severe afflictions? Yet then in patience I am to possess my soul. Am I in a warfare? I am to take to myself the whole armor of God. Have I tribulations? In and under them I am still to rejoice. Am I poor? I am to seek for my riches that treasure that is eternal in the heavens. Have I riches? In them I am not to trust—but in the living God, who gives me all things richly to enjoy. Do I rejoice? It is to be only in the Lord. Am I merry? I am to sing psalms. Have I affections? They are to be set on things above. My conversation is to be in heaven, and my soul a temple for the Holy Spirit to dwell in. In Scripture, parents and children, masters and servants, and every relation, are clearly instructed in their relative duties to one another. Here the king is taught how to reign, and the subject how to obey; the judge how to conduct every trial, and how to pass sentence; the sinner how to become a saint, and the saint how to grow in every grace. Here I am instructed what company to choose—and what to shun; whom to esteem and delight in, whom to pity, and for whom to pray. Here I am admonished how to behave as a public or private person towards men of every rank, in peace or war, as victor or vanquished. Here are the infallible rules whereby I may know the state of my soul, and if my claim for future bliss is well grounded, or founded on delusive dreams. Here I learn what things I should be concerned about; and how to estimate created things, and all the gaudy pomp of time. In a word, here I am taught how to have my heart in heaven—while living on earth; how to ripen for glory, and bring glory to God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 135: 03.123. ASSURANCE ======================================================================== ASSURANCE Should not the follies of the world teach me wisdom? The worldling provides for time—and shall I not provide for eternity? But, how shall I secure endless felicity—and know my saving interest in God’s unchangeable love? Well then, may not I, in the language of faith, argue myself into a firm belief of eternal bliss? and, without delusion, fortify myself against the attacks of sin, and sallies of unbelief? Has not Christ come to seek and save the lost? and am not I among the number, and willing to be sought and saved? Is not the call to all the sons of men without exception? Why, then, not obey it without contradiction? Am not I commanded to believe and be saved? Then, have I never believed as yet, or am I determined never to believe? No! "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief." Further, has my faith the marks of true faith? Is it a faith that purifies the heart, and aims at holiness in life? Have I accepted of Christ on his own terms, of a whole and complete Savior? Then true faith can never be disappointed, nor the true believer fall finally away, for "faith is the gift a God," and "the gifts and calling of God are without repentance." Now, from the foot of the ladder I ascend, and climb the sacred steps, until I reach the throne of God, and read the secrets of eternity, the records of redeeming love. Hence, if my daily burden be indwelling sin, and if I strive against the tyrant raging in my bosom—this is a sign of the new nature; for light and darkness cannot dwell together in perfect peace—but darkness and darkness struggle not together. Now, will not this say, that I am partly sanctified; and if sanctified, that I am justified; and if justified, that I am predestinated; and if predestinated, that I by name am foreknown in the decree of election? Now—am I not as sure of salvation, as if I were in heaven already? Can the purpose of God be disannulled? Can the faithfulness of God fail? I may doubt, and be in the dark again, respecting my clearness to my claim—but he will never deny himself. Heaven and earth may, yes, shall pass away—but his purposes of love, and promises of grace, shall stand. Can I not trust God in time for the completing of my promised happiness when time shall be no more, as well as trust him for the continuation of my consummate felicity in heaven, through eternity itself? Can times and dates, periods and eras—make any change on God? No! All is eternity with the unchangeable Jehovah; ’flying time’ only respects frail and dying creatures, such as I am. If, then, I have an interest in his love now, I shall have it for ever; for though death tears my soul and body asunder, it shall not touch my state, nor separate me from his love. Now, what would faith, nay, what would sense have more? But, there is another security given to my eternal bliss; for I am elected "in the Beloved." Now, heaven and eternity would look strange to the believers, if their best friend were not there; and empty to Christ, if his costly purchase was not there. Yes, my happiness is, as it were, connected with the happiness of Christ. Now, the Son is eternally united to the human nature, as Mediator; and there is no jarring between the human and divine natures, in the person of the Son. There being, therefore, a sacred oneness between the glorious Head and all his members, there is also a commonness of felicity, among them; so that the glory which the Father gives to Christ, he gives to his disciples, and into the very joy of their Lord all his followers enter. Therefore, in and with an exalted and glorified Jesus, I shall be eternally blessed. Now, unless I be afraid that ’mystical Christ’ can be divided, the divine attributes set a jarring, the covenant of grace disannulled, and the eternal decrees broken—I may rest in the sweetest assurance of divine favor, in spite of all the blasts that earth and hell, and sin and unbelief, can raise! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 136: 03.124. OUR MEDITATIONS CRAMPED, UNLESS STRETCHED ======================================================================== Our meditations cramped, unless stretched beyond death Would any man envy that person’s situation as superlatively happy, who were confined to a garden, beautified indeed with all the varieties of nature, and decorated with all the ornaments of art, if its walls were high to heaven, so that he could not cast a look beyond them—but must remain a stranger to the whole world, except his own family, not being indulged with a single glance of the spacious plains that border on him, the shady forests, and the murmuring streams, the mighty oceans, and magnificent kingdoms, scattered on the face of the globe; and so could neither exult in the felicity, nor sympathize with the affliction, of any tribe of men? Yet this man would be far more happy, (as here he might remember his latter end,) than he who dares not look beyond death, who will not think on a world to come. How is he cooped up—who can only reflect on the few scenes that are past, or revolve in his mind those which are expected to take place during a present—but transitory life! How is he straitened in his acquaintance, though a king—who only knows and is known among the perishing sons of clay—but never lets his thoughts penetrate into the world of spirits, or rise to the glorious Father! Such a man, whatever he is in this world, is to be deplored, not imitated; pitied, not envied. If the things of time set a bound to my meditations, I am of all meditators most miserable; but if I can pierce the shadows of death through a well-grounded faith in Christ, and rise into the broad daylight of eternity, to breathe there as in a native air—then every thought triumphs, and my whole soul is joyful and serene; for thus I may smile in the face of impending ruin, knowing that my treasure is reserved in heaven. Thus may I, undisturbed, stand the overthrow of thrones, being assured that the throne of God my Savior is established of old, and stands forever sure. Thus may I get foretastes of eternal bliss, and of the banquet above. Now, my state must be either thus happy; or else of such terrible extreme, that when I look towards death, I am troubled; towards judgment, I am terrified; towards God, I tremble; and towards eternity, I am lost in anguish and woe. But happy condition! if I can look on this world as my pilgrimage and prison; and on death as the door through which I shall enter into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. And if even now, by meditating on the exercise that employs the church of the first-born, the divine communion they are admitted to, the beatitudes they enjoy, and the glories they behold—I familiarize the unseen world to my soul, and contract acquaintance in eternity itself! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 137: 03.125. HOW TO BE RICH IN HEAVEN ======================================================================== How to be rich in Heaven If it is prudent to provide for the time to come—how much more so to provide for eternity! While to be rich in this world is the passion of thousands—to be rich in eternity should be my passion. An appetite after earthly grandeur, betrays a sordid heart, and a base soul—but an ambition to be great in heaven, is worthy of an heir of God, of an expectant of glory. For it is to the honor of the supreme Potentate, that all his subjects be nobles, be priests, be kings. In this short lifetime is the foundation laid of things of eternal consequence—and true wisdom will teach me to send all my treasures there. It deserves little or no pity to be poor in this world—but poverty in in eternity is deplorable beyond the reach of compassion. Temporal losses may distress me; but such is the brevity of life, that while I complain I expire, and then I am possessed of all the treasures of glory, of all the fullness of God. And yet, according to the capacity of glorified saints, shall that same undiminished fullness be possessed in greater or lesser degree. "How rich did he die?" is the speech of fools at the decease of an acquaintance or friend. But none ever die rich but true Christians; for, how can that man be said to die rich, when the very moment of his dissolution robs him of his all. "Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven," is the admonition of the dear Redeemer. Let me, then, lay down a plan for myself—how to be rich for eternity. 1. Then, presupposing that I am in a gracious state, I must have a godly contempt of the world. No man ever filled his coffers with sand; no monarch ever wore a pebble in his crown; so the soul that lays up his treasures in heaven, will not concern himself with perishing trifles. If my affections are not weaned from the creature, and set on things above—I shall be but poor in the eternal world. 2. I must be watchful in all things. The man who is anxious to be rich will not waste a penny; so must I watch my actions, my thoughts, my words. Again, I must against all my secret sins, and also to reprove the transgressor. A bold and sincere reproof of sin, is a stroke against the enemies of the King, from which a palm of victory shall spring in the world of glory. I must also speak in commendation of the land of glory—that others may be encouraged to set out for the land of promise. And could I bring many with me, I would be the more welcome to the seats of bliss. Again, I must watch against worldly sorrow. Should the heir of a crown lament the loss of a feather? What can death do in a godly family? It may separate them a little while—but it is only to meet again forever. Worldly riches give their owners joy—but joy in the Lord increases spiritual riches. So I must guard against carnal delight; none of the mirthful things of time must be objects of my affection. It would be contemptible for a noble personage to be charmed with a hut, who has a palace prepared for him. It would be contemptible for an heir of God to sit down and feed on the refuse of worldly vanities. Again, I must beware of carnal company. These are bankrupts that will spend at my expense, and whatever loss I make by them, yet in their company I shall never be able to add a mite to my celestial treasure. How can I be safe among robbers? They may rob me of a holy frame of mind, wound my conscience, and at last leave me with a bleeding heart—which may pain me many days. 3. To grow rich for the world to come, I must study to be heavenly-minded, not by fits and starts—but in one constant, steady, holy frame of spirit. Thus every duty will be my delight; prayer and praise, like my daily food, always pleasant; attendance on the public ordinances, like walking in the King’s palace-garden; reading the Scriptures, like conferring with the dearest friend; and self-examination, like the merchant from a far country, counting over his rich jewels and precious gems, inspecting his gold and silver, that it has the king’s stamp, and so be sterling money; that his graces, his duties, his attainments, are approved by Scripture and conscience. 4. Holy meditations will mightily augment the spiritual riches. To find God in all things, and at all times, in all places, and in all providences—will enrich my soul for eternity. To find his power in this, his wisdom in that, and his goodness in all—will greatly improve my inquiring, my admiring soul. Meditating much, meditating often, meditating with delight, on him in whom are hidden the treasures of wisdom—is a noble way to enrich me for a future world. 5. To be rich in the better country, I must heartily study to approve of all the dispensations of Providence; though not insensible when God frowns, or when he smiles. When the soul of the Christian, with a filial resignation, acquiesces in the conduct of his Almighty Father, however adverse to flesh and blood; and, in the midst of all commotions, reposes himself on God’s unchangeable love—he takes deep root for eternity. Fear and unbelief toss the unstable person, like a rolling thing before the whirlwind. It is proper only to children, not to men, to be peevish for toys and trifles; so let the men of this world lament the loss of worldly vanities—but let the heirs of God, the joint-heirs with Christ, rejoice that the treasures of eternity are theirs. 6. To be rich unto God, and for eternity, I must act strong faith on the Rock of ages; for it is from the spoils of battles won by faith, that I amass riches for the invisible world. Faith relying on a reconciled God in all his attributes and perfections, on Jesus in all his offices and relations, on the Holy Spirit in all his graces and operations—must remove mountains of difficulty, pluck up trees of corruption, pull down strong-holds of sin, wrestle against principalities and powers, and be more than conqueror at last—through her all glorious Author and Finisher. 7. I must also redeem time, and improve time; redeem time from this world, and improve it for the world to come. The man of business will be reluctant to lose an hour for any trifling amusement; and the soul that would be busy for eternity, should look on every hour as his last hour, and should avoid excess of sloth and slumber. Foolish amusements and vain diversions are cruel moths of time! Our time is to be economized, though worlds should be squandered away by others. As the jeweler deals with gold--so must I deal with time. He is careful about the filings, and loses nothing; so should I be careful about the smallest divisions of time--the hour, the minute, the moment. It never made a dying person’s bed thorny, that by a bad bargain, he lost such and such a sum; but misspent time has made the dying moments of many dismal beyond expression. 8. To be rich in the world to come, I must have an intense love towards God and heavenly things. The men that love the world, pant after the dust of the world, and spare no pains to be rich in the world. A man will never toil to gather what he despises; so, unless I prefer heavenly things to earthly, I shall never seek to fill my treasure with invisible excellences. "He who loves silver," says the wise man, "shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he who loves abundance with increase." But he who loves God shall be satisfied with God, and entranced with the exuberant fullness of eternal excellencies. 9. To be rich indeed at last, I must endeavor to maintain communion with God now. To have fellowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ, in all his divine fullness, his glorious perfections, and his gracious ways—is the most enriching course that I can carry on below. Every moment of divine fellowship is adding another sum in the bank of heaven, so that I should be wondrously rich at last. He who leaves the Indies for Europe, sends his treasures before him; then, though he is poor at his departure from the one country—yet he is rich on his arrival at the other. So, well were it with me, if I could detach my thoughts and meditations, my cares and affections, my joys and delights, my hopes and expectations—from this perishing world, and center them on the invisible world! 10. In a word, to abound in all things in the better country, I must make God my all in all, and just sit down and wonder at the overflowing treasure, until my moldering clay lets my immortal soul fly hence—to enjoy immense riches in heaven—in the possession of his infinite self—world without end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 138: 03.126. REVENGE REJECTED ======================================================================== Revenge rejected Such is the corruption of human nature, such is the weakness of grace in this imperfect state, that, though most true believers can act the Christian in some things, it is rare to find the man who can act the Christian in all things. When we are only spectators of the conduct of others—it is easy to prescribe, like an apostle, and enforce the golden rules of the gospel. But, when the attack touches our very selves—we become troubled and want to retaliate. We are not aware of the beam our own eye—while a tiny mote is clearly seen in our neighbor’s. I am a man, a sinner; and to guard against sinful revenge is the design of this meditation. Being a man—I must expect to suffer from one hand or other; and being a sinful man—under my sufferings I may sin. The malice done to me may be—causeless, cruel, unrelenting, and done on purpose—so that my natural spirits boil at the remembrance, and breathe retaliation to the guilty offender. But the character of the Christian is meekness, and the person who expects to arrive at heaven, must have his conversation in heaven, even while dwelling on the confines, and contending with the fire brands of hell. The precept and example of the King of saints shall ever be my pattern in the present earthly state. "Love your enemies," says the gracious Teacher. "Let me heal his ear, who lost it while leading on the wicked crowd to apprehend me as a thief"—says the divine Redeemer. These are lessons worthy of a God to give, and worthy of all the sons of God to imitate. The military hero, under the eye and by the command of his prince, scales walls, takes cities, runs in the face of danger, and defies death itself. And so the Christian hero, prompted by the presence and the precept of Heaven, should study to conquer self—and all is won. "Love the brethren," says an apostle; I hear all the saints add Amen, for "we know that we have passed from death to life, because we love the brethren." But "love your enemies," (I feel corrupt nature reluctant!) is the I say of the great Apostle and High Priest of our profession; and to do so would prove, not only that we have passed from death to life—but that grace is very lively. It is a shame for me to take so much offense, or dwell so much on, what a fellow-creature, who is on the same level, or only a little superior to me, has done to me; and yet never reflect on my offence against God, who is infinitely exalted above me—beyond conception and thought. If I am injured, the law is broken; if the law is broken, God is dishonored. That God is dishonored, and not that I am injured—should be the cause of my sorrow, and the burden of my soul. He cannot greatly offend against me, though he should spue out his bitterest malice; for it matters not, though the potsherds of the earth, while striving with the potsherds of the earth, should destroy each other. But I shall greatly offend against God, who is over all blessed forever—if I render evil for evil—since he has expressly forbidden it. How often have I wasted precious time, by revolving in my mind all the aggravations of the injurious treatment to myself; while I am forgetful that every day I have offended God in a much greater degree! Forgetful, also, that I have daily received from him such tender mercies as might make me forget all the mischief that my fellow-creatures could do to me. That malice must owe its birth to hell—which could wish the hated people condemned to everlasting flames. I assert that there is not a saint on in prayer—but can wish his greatest enemy a share in the common salvation, and a mansion in the highest heavens. How contemptible, how inconsistent, then to wish him a kingdom and a crown—and yet secretly wish that he may have a thorn in his foot, (trouble in person, family, character, or estate,) while traveling there. "Follow peace with all men"—enemies not excepted. Though some individuals break this command with respect to me, yet I am not less bound to observe it towards them. Moreover, why should I, who have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, peace of conscience, and shall shortly enter into an eternity of peace—have an uproar of war kindled in all the powers of my soul, by the impotent bravadoes of a fellow worm? Suppose there is nothing good, nothing amiable about my opponent, that can make me love him for his own sake; yet I am to love him for God’s sake, because my God commanded me so to do. "God is love;" this the whole creation knows, while his sun shines on the evil and on the good, and his rain falls on the just and the unjust; and "he who dwells in love, dwells in God." Shall any temptation, shall any unjust treatment from others, provoke me from my high abode to sit down on the ash-heap of anger and revenge? Whenever I cease to dwell in love, and to be all love to friends and foes, (no matter how they have abused me,) then I cease to dwell in God. Revenge is as if a royal personage should descend from his throne, and wade to his armpits in filthy muck to pursue a fly, or kill a frog! With what a strange appearance would he again ascend his throne! And how shall I return from a worse situation to my divine dwelling-place? Again, have I never received any favors or benefits from my abuser? or, have there never been acts of friendship between us? Why, then, is all this forgotten in the heat of my anger? It should be my study, and would be my glory—never to forget a kindness, and never to remember an injury. This may be called foolish by the world—but I am sure it is the spirit of Christianity. Moreover, can I suppose myself so perfect, as to receive so much ill usage, and return none? Then, if I have said or done anything amiss in the excess of my passion, as no doubt I have, should not I make some allowance for this in the folly of my friend? especially if agitators come between, who always represent things in the worst light. I may be apt to think, that, had my haters the least appearance of the grace of God about them, I could then frankly forgive them. But, would not this be the cruelty of a fiend? If they have no interest in God, are they not doubly the objects of my most tender compassion? If a man has lost only a hand—will I pity him? but if he has lost eyes, legs and arms—will I storm in cruel rage against him? If the brethren abuse me—I must pity the error, and forgive them. If the ungodly abuse me—I must commiserate their very state, and pray for them. And, indeed, this would be the only way to render love for hatred, and good for evil. Henceforth, therefore, I will carry my bitterest enemies to the throne of grace, and implore the best of blessings on my most monstrous foes! If a man abuses or harms me in the rage of anger, I must feel nothing for my own maltreatment—but a real concern for my frantic friend, and hope that the crisis of anger will end, and that he will be restored to the use of his reason. Or, if another person would attempt to do me a mischief all the year round, then, with deeper compassion, I consider my unhappy acquaintance as a confirmed lunatic, or miserable bedlamite. Even so I should look on the man who abuses me ill in a fit of passion, as in a mental delirium, and pity him—and on him that maltreats me from month to month, and from year to year, as a mental lunatic, and commiserate his mournful situation from the bottom of my soul. If I will not forgive a fellow-creature a small debt—how can I daily plead with heaven to be forgiven of my unpayable debt of sin. And yet, unless I am daily favored with richer pardons than the remission of any given sum, I am undone forever. As it is noble to help the needy with our charity—and not wait until importuned; so it is truly noble to forgive juries—though neither asked to do it, nor thanked for it. When an offending person confesses his fault, and begs pardon, it is praise-worthy to pardon; and yet we can do no less, because we are victorious over him in his submission. But it is much more noble, from a sense of duty, to forgive stubborn offenders—because then we obtain victory over ourselves, which is the best of all conquests. To indulge resentment and revenge may gratify my carnal flesh—but cannot benefit my soul here or hereafter. But to forgive and forget enemies and injuries, will be no grief of mind to me when I arrive at the heavenly state, mingle among saints and angels, and dwell in the presence of God. Alas! my meditation is not finished until my resentment is no more! O how few years bring us to our latter end! and why should we keep our anger forever and our contentions while we live? It is comfort to me, that some years ago we were reconciled. And O how feeble is the wrath of a mortal, who cannot defend himself from a moment’s sickness! Now he is taken up with the great concerns of the next world, and that for eternity. And in a little while, I shall also arrive at my fixed state, and be taken up with eternal things. O that the precious time, and precious thoughts, which I employed on what I accounted malice towards myself—had been spent in heavenly meditations! Then I would have brought food out of the eater, and sweetness out of the strong. May this be a caveat to me in all time coming, that whatever maltreatment I may get from a fellow-creature—to overlook it, and to acknowledge Heaven in all, and to meditate on heaven for all. Thus shall I behave like a child of God, and a candidate for glory. O how foolish is it to fear a fellow worm or a grasshopper—as if the Most High did not rule over all the actions of men! To live in view of eternity would make me think little of the love or the hatred—the affection or affronts—of my fellow creatures; since in a little while, they shall go from me, or I from them—into the invisible world—and I cannot tell how soon! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 139: 03.127. THE COMING JUDGMENT ======================================================================== The coming judgment A day of accounts will come, when the lease of life expires, and the great Proprietor of heaven and earth will reckon with all people. Some saints are so clear respecting their interest in Christ, so rich in his imputed righteousness, so full of heavenly assurance—that they rather rejoice than tremble at the day of judgment. Others, though in a gracious state, are so encumbered with worldly cares, are so beclouded with desponding thoughts, that they cannot collect their evidences for the better country, and are afraid that, when they stand in the judgment, they shall be condemned. But the unrepentant sinner, who is poor towards God, and has nothing provided for eternity, not the least evidence for heaven, well may tremble and be horribly afraid for the coming judgment O that we were thus wise in spiritual things! Our priority should be to have matters between God and our souls on a comfortable footing, and then all other things shall run in a pleasant channel. In the day of judgment, not only the sins committed directly against God—but injuries against one another, whereby he also is offended, shall be condemned in his presence. The foolish virgins, in that solemn day, will find no oil to buy—but must be shut out from the heavenly marriage, forever to dwell in darkness and despair. Alas! many presumptuous hypocrites will find all their feigned righteousness rejected! Proud legalists will find their good works, when weighed, miserably lacking! And all who depend on anything but the perfect righteousness of Jesus, will find themselves eternally lost! We must all soon, how soon we cannot tell—remove from this world, to the invisible world. Woe to the people, whether he dwells in a palace or in a cottage, who must leave his clay tabernacle, without any hopes of being admitted into the mansions of glory! Woe to the man who has all his life-time been the servant of sin, and shall find, at the awful hour of death, that eternal death shall be all the wages of his service! The man of gray hairs, who is half-dead to this world, and the infant of a span long, who knows nothing of a world to come, must go together to the silent grave. Multitudes, who know that they must very soon drop this mortal frame, and leave with all below—give themselves no concern, and take no thought how or where they shall dwell through an endless eternity. Though we expect death ourselves, or on some of our family, yet we may expect to be surprised at last, and taken unawares. It will be our wisdom not to delay the great work of making our calling and election sure, until sickness enfeebles every nerve, and death sits down on our eye-lids. What blessings, then, should the elect ascribe to Jesus, that best friend, who for them answers all the demands of law and justice, and has obtained their full, their final discharge at the court of heaven, from his Almighty Father’s hand—so that they have no claims to answer, no condemnation to fear—either in this world, or in that to come! When the saints arrive at the mansions of glory, are acquitted by the judge of all the earth, and finally discharged from sin and death—then shall they forget their light and momentary afflictions—as the waters that flow away. Then joy shall crown their heads, and songs shall fill their mouth, and they shall be satisfied with their felicity, exult in his salvation, and be ravished with his goodness forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 140: 03.128. AGAINST MURMURING AT MISFORTUNES ======================================================================== Against murmuring at misfortunes If Providence is pleased to crush my comforts of any kind—shall I make my situation less comfortable by complaining? If God chastises me as a son—shall I make myself an enemy, by rebelling against the wise discipline of my Father? If the Almighty sends affliction on me, shall I make the sad addition of sin to my sorrow—by quarreling at my sufferings? If I am not so happy as I would choose to be, I should still study to be holy, humble, and content—and then I shall never be very miserable. It is only in the things of time that I am disappointed; and what else can I expect where infinite wisdom has pronounced all earthly pleasures to be vanity and vexation of spirit? He who lets God go for worldly vanities, may well expect storms and tempests to blow around him. He who promises to himself happiness in anything under the sun, shall every day of his life have one lesson or other to rectify his mistake. He who seeks not God in all things, and prefers not God above all things, and is not satisfied with God in the stead of all things—may expect vexation in everything, and shall be happy in nothing! To earthly fathers we have given obedience, even when their own selfish pleasure was the rule of their conduct. And shall we be less submissive to the Father of our spirits—when our profit is always in his heavenly plan? In our choice of good things, in our requests for blessings—we may be mistaken. But in his bounty he cannot err, whether he gives much or little—this or that—anything or nothing. Surely, I can never think or say that my wisdom could have made the world—or even myself. How, then, can I think that my wisdom could best rule the world—or even myself? That cannot be called a misfortune—which makes me wiser; or an affliction—which makes me better; or a loss—which makes me richer in heaven; or a disappointment—which makes me unsatisfied with every creature, and cleave to God alone. If a burden is tied on my back, which I must carry to such a place, the more I try to fling it from me—the more it falls down with the greater weight; and instead of getting free from it, it becomes a greater burden still. But, if I go on calmly, my burden grows gradually lighter, by my patience and submission, until at last I get rid of it altogether. Not insensible—but submissive; not dejected—but resigned; not combating the means, nor quarreling the instrument—but confessing the first cause, and adoring the sovereignty of Heaven; is my present duty, and will be my peace both now and in time to come. There is not an angel in heaven, nor a saint in glory—but approves of the whole conduct of God’s Providence. And therefore, though so imperfect in comparison of angels and glorious saints, yet, through grace, I would wish to say "May your will be done on earth—as it is in Heaven!" And to all that you have done—are doing—and will do—concerning me—I heartily say, "Amen!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 141: 03.129. A CAUTION AGAINST EXCESS OF JOY IN ANY ======================================================================== A caution against excess of joy in any earthly good Such is the corruption of human nature, even in the best Christian, that while we receive the good things of this life—we forget the Giver, and idolize the gift. We are apt to think too highly of every blessing. We ought to receive every favor from God, with humble gratitude. We are always to bear in our mind these few following reflections, which will help us to rejoice with moderation—in the blessings of this present life. 1. Created good is always greater in the prospect—than in the possession. While the heavenly bliss, like Solomon’s glory and wisdom—is the greater the nearer it is approached. 2. No worldly felicity can enrich the soul. Many a time the happiest men, with respect to the world, have the greatest leanness in their soul, and, as their outward man flourishes, their inward man decays. 3. Nothing that we receive in the world can keep us a moment longer in it. Many things which we may possess, as riches and relations, make us both unwilling and unfit to leave the world. 4. There is always a deficiency in the most perfect of earthly enjoyments—and a thorn in the most pleasant of earthly enjoyments. 5. Have we a good name? Lying tongues may ruin it. Have we riches? These, however well secured—may make themselves wings—and fly away. Have we relations, beloved, kind, and endearing? Death may deprive us of them all, and leave us to mourn alone. Have we children? They may die young, and set our hearts a bleeding. Or they may live long, and by their wicked life—break our very hearts, when we are bowed down with years. 6. He makes a poor exchange, who prefers the creature before God; or gives God less room in his mind, in his meditations, in his affections—that his earthly enjoyments may have the more. 7. Tranquility of mind, and a smiling conscience, are the gift of God. No earthly enjoyment can bestow them, or compensate their loss when gone. 8. Carnality will spring up at every corner—and come in with every good thing. Carnality will intrude itself amidst all the graces of the Spirit—so that we have need to be always on our guard. 9. The brevity and uncertainty of human life—as it should dry the tears of the mourner—so it should moderate our earthly joys. 10. According to the talents put into our hand, according to the gifts of God to us—so must we give account to the sovereign Judge of all. Our aptness to misuse all God’s blessings—should keep us humble at all times, and in all places. 11. Since infinite wisdom has seen fit to bestow very little worldly good, or earthly felicity, on the greater part of his people—this should teach us to possess the good things of this life with fear, and to rejoice in them with trembling. 12. To be dispossessed of our possessions, to lose our loving relations, to be dismissed from our posts and employments, and to be bereft of all our enjoyments—is more galling and irksome, than never to have had possession, relation, post, or employment. 13. Earthly good things we can neither carry with us to the eternal world; draw comfort from in the hour of death; nor secure to our heirs in this world, when we are no more. Therefore it is only our vitiated imagination that pictures out such scenes of pleasure—in earthly vanities. 14. Confidence in the earthly things, too often accompanies the possession of them—yet this is the canker-worm at the root of all our enjoyments. For it is in God, the Giver of all—that all our confidence should rest. 15. The favor of God is our best inheritance, the providence of God is our richest possession. The favor of God can make us happy, in spite of all misfortunes, while we live. The providence of God can attend to our posterity, when we are no more. 16. Finally, our wisdom is—to seek to enjoy God in all things—to see him in all things—to glorify him in all things—to prefer him above all things—and to be fully satisfied with him alone, in the room of all created things—relations, riches, good name, peace, prosperity, health, and life—or whatever we enjoy below. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 142: 03.130. THE JOY OF SALVATION ======================================================================== The joy of salvation What must the joy of the benighted traveler be—who has lost his way, and walks every step in terror of his life, through the roaring of lions, and shrieks of wild beasts around him—when the light of the morning scatters his fears, and the rising sun sends the beasts of prey back to their dens? What must the joy of the mariner be—who is caught in a terrible tempest, while the heavens above roared in thunder and lightning, and the ocean raged around in high swelling surges—until his vessel was a very wreck, and he expected to be buried in every returning billow—when at once the storm is changed into a calm, his native country appears in sight, and he arrives safe at his desired harbor? What must the joy of that person be—who banished into cruel exile, has a long time dwelt with savages, or beasts of prey—when recalled by a royal edict, and invited to dwell among his brethren, and in his father’s house? What must the joy of an indigent man be—who, oppressed with poverty, could never call anything his own—when he finds a treasure so rich, so immense, that thenceforth he shall be accounted the most opulent man in the country? What must the joy of the rebel be—who, being outlawed, and a price set upon his head, skulked in continual fear, and trembled at every breath of wind—when the royal pardon gives him his life, restores him to favor, and admits him to his sovereign’s presence? What must the joy of the valiant soldier be—who, having stood long in the field of battle, engaged troop after troop, until faint and fatigued almost to death—yet conquers all his foes at last, wins the field, and returns in safety to the reward? What must the joy of that man be—who has been chained to strife and contention for many years—when blessed with peace around, peace in his own house, and peace in his own mind? What must the joy of those affectionate parents be—whose only son is delivered from the jaws of death? What must the joy of that loving husband—whose kind, loving wife is as it were restored to him from the dead? What must the joy of the prisoner be—who has long been confined to a loathsome dungeon, a stranger to the light of day, the sweets of society, and the visits of his friends—when set at perfect liberty, to walk in the light, and enjoy himself with his friends? What must the joy of the stranger be—who has walked whole days over burning mountains, around terrible craters of thundering volcanoes, trembling, lest he sink amidst the devouring flames, or perish by some sudden eruption—when he finds himself safe on the fragrant plain, and charmed with the vineyards that spread around him? What must the joy of the bankrupt be—whose generous friend pays all his debts, brings him out of jail, and allows him a fund that he shall never lack again? What must the joy of the infirm, bed-ridden patient be—who has long turned his face from the world, and toward the wall, beheld the grave as his solitary lodging, and taken his farewell of the children of men—when raised from his bed of languishing, his health recovered, and his youth renewed as the eagle’s? What must the joy of the criminal be—who, guilty of some atrocious crime, has been condemned to lose his life, and on the appointed day, amidst assembled thousands, is led forth to execution—when lo! a messenger, swift as the wings of the wind, arrives with a royal pardon, which swells his bosom with transport and surprise, and saves him from death? What must the joy be of people besieged, and so straitened, and reduced to famine—who are compelled almost to eat the flesh of one another, or their own—when the siege is finished, and plenitude pours in at every gate? What must the joy be of one journeying over burning sands, scorched with the sun, and parching with raging thirst, until likely to fall down dead—when a crystal fountain, or flowing stream appears before him? What must the joy of a beggar be—when he becomes the heir to a wealthy prince? What must the joy of a slave be—who, though loaded with chains, has often felt the cruel rod of his brutal taskmaster—when he sees his fetters knocked off, his vile clothing taken away, himself clothed in scarlet, a crown put upon his head, a scepter in his hand, and himself proclaimed a king? Such, and much more, is the joy of salvation—where sinners are made saints—where worms rise into angels—and where sinful men are made like Christ! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 143: 03.131. ON VISITS ======================================================================== On Visits To make and return visits is both friendly and fashionable; but it is sad, that too often, when we commence being the ’visitor’—we drop the Christian. How melancholy that it cannot be known whether we are Turks or Christians when we visit! Where the entertainment is remarkable for nothing but noise and nonsense, loud peals of laughter, puns, and buffoonery—it is a poor welcome we give to our guests, and a shameful return we make to our host. If at one house we find profanity, at another folly—he who visits least will suffer least. A whole day spent in mirth, and not one word in any discourse about piety, and not one thought of God in any heart—is an dreadful blank and a sad waste of time! Though at a friendly dinner, or social entertainment, we do not meet to preach at others—yet we should always meet to improve one another in useful knowledge. A serious "word fitly spoken" might shine "like apples of gold in pictures of silver." Such a conduct might, at some times, though not often, produce the sarcastic laugh against us. But God’s approval, and the testimony of a good conscience, will easily balance this. If our company be such, that we can get nothing serious introduced, let us rejoice that they cannot prevent our prayers to God; and, in our meditation, let us now and then retire to converse above. In how many houses, at how many tables, may Ichabod be written! True religion is not there—the glory is departed! Whatever table our Savior, when on earth, sat at, he was sure to enrich it with some heavenly dishes, and fed his audience with sacred truth. So it should be our constant endeavor never to come away the worse, in any company—but the better. We should never leave any company the worse because of us—but the better. Why should not our grace, like the rich perfume, manifest itself, whether we intend it, or not? Everywhere, and every time, at home or abroad, whether we eat or drink, receive or return visits, and in every company—we should do all to the glory of God; who gives us all that we enjoy below, and will at last make us sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb, where the converse shall enlarge, delight, and ravish evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 144: 03.132. THE ANGUISH OF DAMNATION ======================================================================== The anguish of Damnation How must their breasts beat, and hearts throb—who are cast into a den of lions, while the savage monsters tear off their flesh, and break their bones in pieces! How bitter must the cry of Egypt have been in that memorable night, when, in every house, the first-born of man and animal lay breathless, and the doleful lamentation was echoed from border to border, and from one end of the land to the other! What must the consternation of Sodom’s inhabitants have been, when fire and brimstone was rained from those heavens that used to send down refreshful showers, and where blue skies delighted the eye! How great must the astonishment have been of the surviving Assyrians and their king, when in the morning they found their mighty army only a multitude of dead corpses! What must the sorrow of that man be, who, falling under his sovereign’s displeasure, is banished from his nearest relatives, and dearest friends—into perpetual solitude, or the society of monsters and savages! What must the pangs of those parents’ hearts be, while their tender offspring are shrieking, groaning, dying, by cruel deaths, under the bloody ruffians! What must the sister, the mother, the wife, feel on the shore, while the ship that carries the brother, the son, the husband, dashes on the rocks below, and they perish, as it were, in their presence! What must the horror of the devoted wretch be, who stands and sees the fire kindling which is to consume him to ashes! What must the terror of a city taken by storm be, when, in every street, young and old, man and woman, perish by the sword, and the air is filled with screaming, lamentation, and groans! What must the amazement of that poor village be, while from the burning mountain the dreadful lava rolls irresistibly down, and covers and consumes whatever stands in its way! What paleness of countenance, what trembling of limbs, what faintness of heart, must attend the carnage of a field of battle, by an inexorable—but victorious foe! What must the inhabitants of a city feel, when awaked at midnight with the sound of fire in every quarter, when all they have blazes before them, and some of their dearest friends roar for help—but perish in the flames, while the conflagration is followed by a terrible earthquake that shakes the world to its foundation, so that the ground cleaves asunder, swallows up inhabitants and city, and closes her mouth, that they are seen no more! Such, and ten thousand times worse, is the anguish of damnation, when all the Christless multitude shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 145: 03.133. SOVEREIGNTY ======================================================================== SOVEREIGNTY To God, who rules in heaven and earth—belongs a supreme power, and undisputed sovereignty over men and angels. He who is the Creator and Preserver of all, may certainly dispose of all as he pleases. And because we have a near and dear interest in some things, it can never supersede God’s better right both to them and us. He bestows blessings on us, at that we do not quarrel; but he removes them, and at this we murmur; yet his right to take is the same as to give. We may be afflicted—but we can never suffer injustice under his hand. Much of our pain, and most of our disappointments in the world—rise from our circumscribed views of heavenly sovereignty. We think that God should follow that plan of government that pleases us best. Yet he gives not account of any of his matters, and still he does all things well. Moses begins to deliver his brethren, and smites an Egyptian; yet sovereignty sends him forty years to a strange country, and adds forty years heavy bondage to the Israelites. The kindness of God sends Joseph into Egypt, to preserve his father’s family alive; yet sovereignty sends him in such a way, that old Jacob seems to go mourning to the grave, and he who had been favored with the most heavenly dreams, dreams not a word all this time of his beloved son. Jephthah conquers his foes—but Providence meets him with a sharp trial in his only daughter, who, at best, must never be married. The favor of Heaven enriches Job—but sovereignty permits Satan to spoil him of all. David is anointed king—but before he comes to the throne, he is sometimes driven almost to despair of his life. The Jews have liberty to rebuild their temple, and yet, through the malice of their foes, it is retarded a long time. John, our Savior’s forerunner, after baptizing thousands, loses his head through the malice of a lecherous woman. Josiah, one of the best kings, is slain in battle in the prime of his life. Zechariah is stoned to death for reproving, in God’s name, the transgression of his law. And the apostles, who were the salt of the world, were hungry, thirsty, naked, buffeted, without habitation, made as the filth of the world, and the offscouring of all things! And all these things were ordered by divine sovereignty! We allow that death must separate friends some time—but sovereignty will take from one parent the child of a span long; from another the weaned child; from a third a pretty boy; from another the promising youth; and from another the comfort of his hoary hairs. Into one family death never enters—but it flourishes up to manhood, and wholly survives the aged parents; into another family, death thrusts his iron hand, and carries one away; from a third family, he snatches a complete half of the dear little ones; and from a fourth family, he takes all but one; while from another family he takes one and all. To give and take health and wealth, friends and relations, blessings and mercies—at his own time, and in his own way—is a part of the plan of God’s government of the world. Therefore, we should always expect to be deprived of what we possess, in a moment; or to be showered with blessings suddenly. Could we commit all we have, all we are, and all we wish, into his sovereign hand, to do with them as he pleases, our concerns would be as secure, and our souls much more tranquil. If in sovereignty God has passed by some—and chosen me to inherit a crown and kingdom, which in a few years I shall be possessed of forever. So what does it matter if he passes by me, and bestows the comforts of this present life on others—who in a few years must suffer eternal torments? Though your providence should both perplex and pain me, I will never complain. I may sin in my desires—but you will not injure me in your wise determinations. It shall please me that you do all your good pleasure—and my will shall be swallowed up of yours. I have forfeited every felicity; how then, can I expect to begin heaven on earth? The prospect of heaven may make me triumph over every trouble, every trial, every disappointment in time. In a little while, I shall be so happy that I shall almost forget that ever I had less felicity. Such is my confidence in your wisdom, such my dependence on your powerful arm, such my expectation from your fatherly kindness—that I acquiesce in all you do, and desire to be wholly at your disposal in all I am, in all I have, and in all I desire. What I know not now—why at such and such a time I lose a friend—why I meet with such and such a disappointment—why such and such a cross is laid on me—I shall know hereafter—that it was good for me that I have been afflicted. And when time is no more, I shall know that he has done all things well. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 146: 03.134. THE VICTORY OF FAITH ======================================================================== The Victory of Faith "To him who believes, all things are possible," said he who cannot lie. Why, then, have I so many fears about many things? Would I not cheerfully commit the lot of my friends to the providence of God? Why, then, not commit the hearts of my nearest and dearest relations to the grace of God? Cannot he who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, shine into their hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of his own glory in the face of Jesus? Is God more niggardly of the graces of his Spirit, than of the good things of his providence? Does he supply with his common kindness—the creatures he has made; and cannot he supply with his special grace—the souls he has created? To him on his omnipotent throne—every creature may look up for protection and supply; but to him on the throne of his grace—we may come with boldness, for grace, the best of blessings, to ourselves, our friends, our acquaintance, to our enemies, to all. To act strong faith in the most important matters, glorifies God most; and the salvation of my own soul, and the souls of my dear friends, is of all matters the most important. While I seek the salvation of my friends, I seek the glory of God, for in their salvation he is glorified. Then, with all the eagerness of desire, with all the importunity of a poor supplicant, with all the boldness of faith—I plead, I wrestle, I implore, that the souls of these my dear friends may believe in the Savior who came to seek and to save the lost. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 147: 03.135. THE NECESSITY OF AFFLICTIONS WHILE WE LIVE ======================================================================== The necessity of afflictions while we live I expect afflictions of one kind or other while in the body. Our afflictions may put on different appearances, according to the different periods of our life—but they will attend us as close as the shadow does the body. As long as I dwell in Mesech—I may expect wars; as long as I attend on sin and vanity—vexation and trouble will attend me. As I cannot be perfect in holiness while out of heaven—so I cannot be perfect in happiness while absent from God. My sufferings and afflictions are painful; but that I should sin before I suffer, offend God before I am afflicted, should grieve my inmost soul. I have reason to fear that I am a very stubborn son—that I need so much correction. But it affords me comfort that I endure chastisement as God’s son. He who has no long journey before him—but sits still in his own house, may escape the tempest, and hide himself from the storm; but he who sets out for another country, cannot expect always to walk on the flowery path, or in the pleasant sunshine—but shall find a river to cross, and a mountain to climb; shall have darkness around him, and thunders roaring above him, the tempest attending his steps, and the storm dashing upon him; and perhaps enemies waylaying him. So it is with the traveler heavenward, for through much affliction, and many tribulations—we shall enter into the kingdom. Again, affliction is as necessary for the health of the soul—as exercise for the health of the body. Lay a man down upon his bed, and let him never lift his head but to eat and to drink, how soon would he become good for nothing, yes, and lose his own health? Just so, let the saint have no afflictions, and his graces shall soon grow languid, and his soul sick and feeble. But affliction—raises us from our sloth—makes us run to God—call in the divine assistance—see the vanity of the creature—and long for the heavenly state. "The wicked have no changes." Well, is their heart filled with glowing gratitude to the God of their mercies? No! "therefore they do not fear God!" On the other hand, the saints are afflicted, and they cleave to God, and keep his statutes better than before. Corruption is so interwoven with our frame, that in every station, and toward every relation, we may offend; but Providence has so ordered it, that, in every station, and from every relation, afflictions of one kind or other will come; and if they correct us where we err, and mortify our corruption—we ought to welcome them. The school of the cross is the school of Christ; and there must all the children of God be taught, to fit them for the perfect state of glory. An ignorant person who sees the mariner heaving such a weight of ballast aboard his ship, would suppose he intended to sink her at sea; just so, whatever the world may think, the troubles and trials of the saints shall never sink them—but keep them from being overturned by every squall, that they may arrive with safety at the haven of rest, having their anchor fixed within the veil. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 148: 03.136. GIBEON MAKING PEACE WITH ISRAEL ======================================================================== Gibeon making peace with Israel When Israel came out of Egypt to take possession of the promised land, everything about them was marvelous and instructive. They approached the land of promise in the time of its greatest plenty, in harvest—but at a time when Jordan seemed to forbid their entrance, by overflowing all his banks. But the same power that divided the Red Sea when they came out of Egypt, divides Jordan that they may enter Canaan. Just so it shall fare with the spiritual Israel. Death shall not keep them from their Father’s house; and when they enter their heavenly inheritance, they shall find all fullness, even an eternal harvest of glory. The heathen nations might think themselves secure from the armies of Israel, while Jordan, bursting over his banks, remained such a mighty barrier; but what madness seized them, to combine for battle against a people before whom Jordan’s rapid stream recoiled back, and let them pass over dry shod! This madness is only equaled and exceeded by sinners who defy Omnipotence amidst the bright displays of his power, challenge the Eternal to combat, and run stubbornly against his omnipotence. When, then, men of such an insignificant city as Ai put three thousand of the conquerors to flight, it might perhaps raise the drooping spirits of the Canaanites, and confirm to them, that their foes were not invincible. But, When they hear that Ai is smitten, all the kings on this side Jordan, in the hills and valleys, forget their former animosities, and jarring interests—and unite against the common foe! This has been the case in all ages of the world, that the powers of the earth have combined against the people of God; and, in slaying the saints, like Herod and Pilate, have been reconciled among themselves. But, while this league is forming, Gibeon, a royal city, makes peace with Joshua. Here I speak of the change with respect to the Gibeonites—full of noble lessons and instructions. The inhabitants of the royal city, are made hewers of wood, and drawers of water, for the house of God. But the lowest employment in the palace of a king is honorable; how much more in the house of the king of heaven! Better serve in God’s house, where there is safety, than enjoy the freedom of the world, which ends in destruction. Though the men of Gibeon seem chief in the embassy, yet they forget not three other cities, where their countrymen dwelt, and all are included in the league. So those who seek mercy for themselves at the throne of grace, will not forget their friends, their acquaintances, their fellow-creatures. In the prayers of every Christian—the salvation of souls, and the prosperity of Zion, will find a place. The same tidings came to Gibeon, and the kings—but had different effects; the kings prepare for war—but Gibeon sues for peace. Just so, the gospel softens some, and hardens others; is to one the savor of life, to another the savor of death. When the kings hear that Gibeon has made peace with Israel, they resolve to attack Israel in their new allies. Thus, when a soul leaves the service of sin, the men of the world, and the powers of darkness, immediately set upon him, and attack Christ in his members. Gibeon is no sooner in safety by being at peace with Joshua, than she is in danger by the kings around her. So, when a soul has peace with God, he may expect persecution from the world, and through much tribulation to enter into the kingdom. The kings make war against Gibeon, and Gibeon, who a few days before, was among the accursed Canaanites, can now send to Joshua, "Come up quickly, and save us!" This is a surprising change of circumstances—but consistent with conversion, when he who was once of the family of hell, can now send the cry of faith to heaven, and say to Jehovah, ’Come and save me!’ Joshua and his chosen warriors attend, and deliver their new allies from their formidable foes; and, in destroying the five kings that intended to sack Gibeon, a mighty wonder takes place; the sun stands still in the midst of heaven, and lengthens out the day, to complete the glorious work. But, in the work of our redemption, the Son of God comes down, and shines the Sun of Righteousness in our hemisphere, and will shine through all the gospel-day, until our spiritual enemies are cut off, and we put our feet on the neck of all our foes. Then shall we dwell securely in the land of promise, and serve forever in the house of God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 149: 03.137. ON THE AUTHOR'S FIRST USING GLASSES ======================================================================== On the author’s first using eye-glasses "So remember your Creator while you are still young, before those dismal days and years come when you will say, ’I don’t enjoy life.’ That is when the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars will grow dim for you, and the rain clouds will never pass away. Then your arms, that have protected you, will tremble, and your legs, now strong, will grow weak. Your teeth will be too few to chew your food, and your eyes too dim to see clearly. Your ears will be deaf to the noise of the street. You will barely be able to hear the mill as it grinds or music as it plays, but even the song of a bird will wake you from sleep. You will be afraid of high places, and walking will be dangerous. Your hair will turn white; you will hardly be able to drag yourself along, and all desire will be gone. We are going to our final resting place, and then there will be mourning in the streets. The silver chain will snap, and the golden lamp will fall and break; the rope at the well will break, and the water jar will be shattered. Our bodies will return to the dust of the earth, and the breath of life will go back to God, who gave it to us." (Ecclesiastes 12:1-7) Now that my eyes begin to fail—is a sure presage that they shall shortly be closed in death. It is time now that the things of this world should lose their charms—when I must look at them through glasses; and high time that heavenly things should ravish me, since I am so near a future state. Even if my sight needed no such assistance; I might soon sleep in death. But by my growing blindness, I may see that I must soon cease to behold man, and the things of the earth. When the ear grows deaf, the taste dull, the limbs weak, the teeth few, and the eyes dim—to be still charmed with sensual things—is a case melancholy beyond description. The young and strong, since they know that they are mortal at every period of life, should never be surprised by death; but, for an old man, whose senses begin to fail, to be taken by surprise by death, is consummate folly! In proportion as my sight fails, I must hold objects more distant from me, in order to collect the rays, and view them distinctly; which may admonish me, that the longer I live in the world, the things of time should be seen as standing at greater and greater distance from me; that a final separation between us must before long take place; and that therefore my meditations should be directed towards the eternal state. By this time, my eye may be fatigued with scenes of vanity and sin, and has cause to long for nobler prospects. Instead of being wholly blind by my advance into years, I am only deprived of part of my sight—to teach me to prize and improve what is left, and prepare me for losing the remainder in death. While I bless Heaven for the invention of eye-glasses, which makes old age so comfortable; I bewail the wastes of my youthful period; which I cannot now call back. But, could I speak to the youth of every station, and of every land, I would say—read much; read seriously; read for eternity; while your sight is in its prime! It is affecting to carry my eyes in my head, and my sight in my pocket, since, if I go abroad without my glasses, I cannot read a word in the book of life until I return; but then, let me have my memory stored with the word of promise, the words of the Holy One. Such is the vanity of our mind, that we study to conceal our decline in life from our fellow-creatures; who suffer in the same decline, and perhaps are also struggling to conceal it. But, by our use of glasses; we proclaim to all—our walking on the margin of the grave—and that we are grown old. If accustomed to glasses a while; I may perhaps forget these reflections, and the growing frailty of my body. May I never put the glasses on my nose, without remembering that death will shortly lay his hand on my eyes, and close them up forever! O! then, as the eye of my body grows daily more dim, may the eye of my soul grow daily more bright; and refraining to look on the things which are seen, which are temporal—may I fix my eyes on the things which are not seen, and which are eternal. And when the day comes in which I shall take the last glance of created things, the parting look of all my friends and relations, however near and dear—may my soul, in the broad day of eternity—in the noon-day beams of glory—lift up her unclouded eye, and feast on all the perfections of God, on all the beauties of the Lamb—and be like him forever, because she sees him as he is! To some old men their sight returns again; but their youth is departed forever. So is it this day with me; my youth is gone, and I am well advanced in life; and, in the view of a better life, would bid farewell to this; and welcome old age and death. The various periods of life that are marked with decline, are but like the mile-stones on the way that tell me how near I am to my journey’s end—to my Father’s house. But no matter how frail this body grows—it will be fashioned like Christ’s glorious body, and made spiritual, incorruptible! No matter how dim these eyes grow—they will soon see God and gaze with growing wonder, and unabating vigor, on all the glories of heaven! No matter how these limbs totter—they will soon stand eternally before the throne! O how I triumph in the decline of nature; and, amidst the storms of winter—sing of eternal summer under the smile of God! The horrors of the grave, the pangs of my last sickness, and the groans of death—are all but shadowy, imaginary evils, compared with those substantial glories which wait to be revealed when they are quickly over. No matter, though troubles and trials, though men and devils, though earth and hell, like an army of enraged enemies; attends me to the very gate of glory. Omnipotence defends me while in the enemy’s country; and, when admitted into bliss, over the wall of heaven, I shall bid defiance to all the furies of hell, and, entering into the joy of my Lord—I shall join in the endless hallelujahs of the redeemed. But when the unsaved sinner’s sight begins to fail—what can he expect? When his eyes are shut in death—what can he hope for? Only to see all the horrors of the pit; all the sad spectacles of damnation; and all the storms and tempests of God’s wrath—pouring upon him through an endless ever more! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 150: 03.138. ON CASTING OUR CARE ON GOD ======================================================================== On casting our care on God "Casting all your cares upon him; for he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7) "Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses every thought, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Php 4:6-7) Daily, by my anxious cares, how do I discredit these soul-comforting, soul-composing truths—that God cares for his people, that their concerns are his, and that he keeps them as the apple of his eye? If a kind-hearted Samson went along the way with me, and took my burden from my back, and bore it on his robust shoulders—would it not be impertinent to run up and attempt to bear up the burden, though forbidden? Just so, God has commanded me to cast all my cares upon him, with this sweet assurance—that he cares for me. He has no more need of my care joined to his care, than he has need of my assistance to support the pillars of the world! Though rolling my burden on the Lord does not supersede a moderate concern, and the use of lawful means—yet I am so to cast my cares on God, as if I had no more concern with them. O how unlike a child of God, an expectant of glory—to have so many anxious cares, and disquieting forebodings, about the things of time! My cares may multiply, my concerns may grow—but can never be too many for God. He has borne the cares of his people through many generations, and well may I cast all mine on him. God’s care of me is always productive of good; but my worry and distrust avails nothing—but gives present pain, and future disappointment. When God kindly claims it as his province to care for me, why should I encroach on his province, by excessive worry and caring for myself? He is a Rock, and his work is perfect—without my worry. The stronger my faith is in God, I will have the less worry about myself. When I worry about myself, I am distracted with doubts and unbelief; but when I cast my cares on God, in the actings of a vigorous faith, I have peace and composure of soul. Did the king of Great Britain send me a message, ’Do not worry—for I will provide for you and yours,’ should not I rely on the royal promise, and think myself secure? Then, is the promise, the compassion, the treasure, and the faithfulness—of the King of heaven—less to be depended on than of any earthly king? His care has been extended to a numerous race of my ancestors, since Japhet left the ark, and through Pagan darkness, and Popish delusion, has brought me to a clear light of the gospel. To his unerring care, both with respect to soul and body, I may well commit my posterity to the end of time. His care fashioned me in my mother’s womb, and will not forsake me, now that I am near to being laid in my grave. I know not how far I should extend my care, because I know not how long I shall live. Now, my cares are mostly for events and times to come—and yet I cannot boast of tomorrow. Therefore, as no time is mine but the present—so I should have no anxieties for the future. If I should rub the flesh off my bones with worry—it would not alter the plan of providence towards me. Therefore, strong faith and entire resignation to the disposal of God, are both my indispensable duty, and will be my best wisdom. "Don’t worry about anything!" is a command as large and extensive, as it is kind and gracious. That is—have no anxious concern about future times—apparent losses, about friends and relations, about wife or children, widow or orphan, house or home, food or clothing, poverty or reproach, sickness or death. So often has my worry produced nothing but pain and disquiet—that it is high time for me to be ashamed of it—and to entirely give it up. And so often has God’s provision done wonders for me, watched over me for good, and done all things well—that I may cast my every care on him with confidence and joy! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 151: 03.139. THE AFFECTION OF A PARENT ======================================================================== The affection of a parent Now that I am a father, and know the affection of a parent—would I not defend from every danger—would I not bestow every truly good thing—would I not implore every blessing—on my tender children? Would I not nourish their infant state—correct and educate their childhood—inspect, reprove, and admonish them in youth? Would I allow the dear little creatures—to play with sharp pointed knives—to frolic on the brink of a rapid torrent—or dance around a pit’s mouth? Would I permit them to eat deadly berries—or to put a cup of poison to their tender lips? However indulgent, would I allow them to disobey my commands? And if they labored under any disease which threatened their precious life, what pains or expenses would I spare to procure them relief? If assured that a physician lived somewhere, who could heal them without fail—would I not send to the uttermost corner of the land? would I not travel to the ends of earth? But, hear me, O parents! If our concern for our children ends only with their bodies—we are monsters of cruelty! Would we pluck them from fire and water—and yet permit them to plunge into the fire of hell, and lie under the billows of Jehovah’s wrath? Will we snatch from them sword, pistol, or knife—and allow them to wound themselves to the very soul with sin? Will we chastise their disobedience to us—and wink at their spitting in the very face of God, by open acts of sin? Are we fond to have them educated and well-bred—and yet let them live in the neglect of prayer, which is the highest disrespect that can be put on the Author of our being? In a word, is this the sum of our kindness, is this the height of our concern for our dear children—to see them happy in time, flourishing in the affairs of this life—though they end up being miserable beyond description through eternity itself? Will their bodily pain excite our sympathy, and will we do all in our power to have their diseases healed—and yet have no concern that their souls pine under sin, and they suffer all the pangs of hell? Will we not bring them in our prayers, to the Physician of souls, to the Savior of sinners? I have but one request for all of my children, and that is--that they may fear and serve God here--and enjoy him forever! No matter though they sweat for their daily bread, (this is entailed on all mankind)—only let them feed on the hidden manna! Let them toil and spin for their apparel—but let them be covered in Christ’s righteousness. How would I count my house renowned, and my family ennobled, if there sprang from it—not wealthy princes or kings, (let potsherds of the earth strive for such earthly vanities)—but pillars for the temple of God in glory--who shall dwell in the presence of the King of kings--when time is no more! Again, whatever compassion I feel towards my tender children—such pity will the Lord show towards those who fear him. And though I will not give my child everything it cries for, or is fond of; yet I will give it what I know to be good for it. So will our heavenly Father deal with us. Why, then, do we so often worry? Again, how does a child confide in his parents? To them he tells all his needs. He has not the least doubt of their affection. He boasts of their protection to his play-fellows, and thinks himself safe in their presence. Why, then, should the children of our heavenly Father, the sons of adoption, not bring all their needs to God, rely oh his love, boast of his protection, and conclude themselves safe under the conduct of his unerring providence? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 152: 03.140. ON BEING MADE A NOBLE ======================================================================== On being made a noble A noble of Great Britain is a man who takes his seat in the House of Parliament. He has free access into the king’s palace, and into the king’s presence. He has a vote in the affairs of the nation. His king may visit him without any stain to his majesty. Now that I have been made a noble, the world will now account me extremely happy. But I must swell their amazement, and raise their astonishment, while I tell them—that my greatest nobility is spiritual, heavenly, and divine! My heart would not greatly beat with joy to be a British noble. But because I am a child of God, I have cause of endless exultation. Henceforth, 1. I take my seat among the saints of God, among the angels of glory; having come to the city of the living God—a place infinitely more noble than the house of Parliament! 2. I have boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus. (The palaces of kings are too often sinks of sin!) Yes, I may bring all my petitions to this King of heaven on his throne of grace, who in the time of trouble, (and what is human life but ’a time trouble’?) shall hide me in his pavilion, and at last admit me into his royal palace with gladness and rejoicing, there to abide forever! 3. A vote in the affairs of state! At last as assessors with the supreme Judge—we shall judge the world and angels. 4. Promises come all free from Heaven, and petitions and prayers are all sent free to Heaven, through the hands of the glorious Intercessor. 5. I shall never be arrested by law or justice, because my debts are all discharged; and the Son having made me free I am free indeed. Even death, that king of terrors—which takes nobles, princes, and kings into custody, shall never arrest me! For he who has ennobled me has promised that I shall never see death, never feel the sting of death, never be hurt of the second death. How many princes and kings would give their crowns for this heavenly privilege! 6. Though once poor and groveling on the ash-heap, yet since, by my spiritual nobility—the new birth, I have become precious in his sight. I shall be honorable—be set with princes, and made to inherit a throne of glory. Some nobles have been their king’s favorites—but none were ever their chief ornament, their crown; but I shall be, (astonishing to tell!) a crown of glory to the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of my God. And no wonder I be so high in his esteem—for he has given his beloved Son to die for me. 7. The King of kings, consistently with his majesty, may visit me; for the high and lofty One, who inhabits eternity and dwells in the high and holy place, also dwells with the humble and contrite soul; and, says the divine Redeemer, "If any man serves me, him will my Father honor; and if a man loves me, he will keep my words, and my Father will love him; and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." Nothing on earth bears a shadow of this honor; though crowned kings should visit cottagers, beggars—their condescension disappears before this heavenly kindness. In these above particulars, there is some similitude between a British noble and myself, comparing earthly to heavenly things, though the advantage is all on my side. But in what follows there is no comparison at all. 1. What boundless generosity, and unmerited kindness, appear in my creation! I owe nothing to the piety of my progenitors; for my first father has sinned, and so was an Amorite; and my mother an Hittite; and I myself a transgressor from the womb. Though base-born people may have been raised from the ash-heap, and made nobles; yet what is that to my attainment? For his mercy is great toward me, and he has delivered my soul from the lowest hell, and, in my spiritual birth, exalted me to the highest heavens! So henceforth through all generations I shall be blessed. 2. Some have been ennobled for their great services to their king and country. But the king of Heaven needs nothing from my hand. Yes, before my spiritual birth—I was an alien, an enemy, a rebel to his government and glory. In England, though a rebel has now and then been reprieved and pardoned—yet never was a rebel, who had spent his whole life in acts of rebellion against his Sovereign, taken immediately into favor, and made a noble. O the depth of divine wisdom! O the riches of sovereign grace! 3. A nobleman, on his initiation, assumes a new title; and he henceforth is called, and subscribes himself by his new title, and this is known through the whole kingdom. On my spiritual birth, I am called by a new name; old things are passed away, and all things become new. But in this I excel all earthly nobles—in obtaining a white stone, and a new name, which no man knows but the happy receiver. O! then, to walk like one on whom this new name is placed; like one who knows, that although he once lay among the pots, yet now he sits with Christ in heavenly places! 4. A noble also takes to himself a coat of arms, and a suitable motto. My coat of arms is a cross and a crown! My motto is, "Holiness to the Lord!" But here, again, I exceed all earthly nobles, for their coat of arms are only lifeless figures painted on their carriages, engraved on their doors. But in my spiritual creation, I am arrayed in complete armor. And as soon as I am taken into God’s favor, I commence war, inveterate and unremitting war, with the trinity of hell—sin, Satan, and the world. Therefore I am completely armed, having on my head the helmet of salvation, the breast-plate of righteousness, the shield of faith, my loins girt about with truth, my feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. David could not move nimbly in Saul’s heavy bronze armor; but in mine I walk freely, I fight safely, and sleep softly. Nay, so far is it from being an encumbrance, that, if stripped of my armor, I would be all inactivity and languor, assaulted on every side, and foiled by every foe. But I observe that I have no defense for my back—for such a man as I must never flee! And, besides, this spiritual armor inspires me with such a heavenly boldness, that I rush on enemies, and cry out, "I am more than conqueror through him who loved me." 5. When one is made a noble, he must be of an independent fortune to support his rank. But, before my new creation, I was such a naked beggar, that I had not a rag to cover me. But now I am arrayed in embroidered robes, robes of needlework—all glorious without by his imputed righteousness; all glorious within by his imparted grace! Besides, to support my dignity, there is a royal pension settled on me, and in such a manner, that I may spend like a prince—but cannot squander it away. I have a right to all the treasures of grace, to all the fullness of God. Now is the time of my minority, during which I differ nothing from a servant, though lord of all. But when the day of glory comes, I shall enter on the full possession of the riches and treasures of glory and bliss—above the conception of the human mind! And, in the mean time, I shall have what is necessary to bring me home to the King’s palace. Great men here may have diamond buttons, and buckles set with diamonds; but the city of my King, where he and all his people dwell—has foundations of precious gems, gates of pearls, and streets of gold! 6. Though all the powers of darkness are at war against me, I have a noble guard appointed me. Not only thousands of strong angels—but God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, in all their divine perfections! How I am safe then—though in the land of enemies—though fighting my way through a dark and howling wilderness! Yes, with such a guard I might march through the midst of hell without harm, and bid defiance to all the fiends and furies of the bottomless pit! This guard, though invisible, surrounds me at all times—so that nothing can injure me. I am always safe and secure. 7. Nobility among men respects only that kingdom to which the nobles belong. A noble of Great-Britain is but a private person in every other country. He has no right to sit in state affairs among their nobles, or to vote among their senators. Yes, he perhaps is not even known in other countries. But I am a noble of the universe! Go where I will, my nobility is in force, my pension is continued, and my privileges remain! Though cast into prison, or banished to some desolate island, still I am clothed with my embroidered robe, appear in complete armor, and am attended by my royal guard. When the king of England creates a noble, he brings him to equal rank with the other nobles—but he never adopts them for sons. Then, I am sure that there was never one more unworthy than I, and yet I am not only made a noble of heaven—but an heir of God, and a joint-heir with Christ, being first adopted as a son—for if once children, then heirs. 8. Sometimes the same king that has raised a person to the dignity of nobility, has been so incensed against him, that by his orders, a prosecution has been carried on against him, and he deprived both of honors and life. But in spiritual things it is not so; "for the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable." When I offend my heavenly Sovereign, he may be angry, reprove, rebuke, correct me—but he will never take away his kindness from me, nor deprive me of life or honors. This divine security, instead of emboldening me to rebel—will fill me with the noblest gratitude, never to offend him. 9. The king of England may raise a Baron to a Viscount, a Viscount to an Earl, an Earl to a Marquis, and a Marquis to a Duke. But I look at length, for a kingdom and a crown! an everlasting kingdom, and a crown which never fades away; a crown of life, a crown of glory! There is no comparison, then, between the nobles of any realm, the princes of any empire—and myself—who am made a priest, a king—and that to God—and through eternity itself! 10. Though nobles have access into their king’s presence at some times, yet it would be improper if they had it at all times; it would degrade royalty itself, if they might intrude into their presence any hour of the day, any watch of the night, at their own pleasure. Then, stand still, and wonder O my soul! at the condescension of the high and lofty One, who inhabits eternity. I may present myself in his presence at the stated seasons of public worship, the hours of private and secret prayer, the retired moments of meditation, and in every company, and on every occurrence, by prayer! Yes, whatever time I desire, I may be with God! I may even rise at midnight to hold communion with him. Now, though the strength of corruption, the weakness of grace, and the cares of this life, are distractions that daily drag me from the heavenly presence—yet the time is coming when I shall dwell with the King in his palace, behold his beauty, and have the most intimate communion with him through all evermore! 11. In this, again, I surpass all the nobles of England; for, though their dignity is both to themselves and children, my nobility is personal, and cannot be transferred to another. This heavenly honor secures immortality only to myself. What a struggle is made for this earthly nobility; with what avidity do they grasp at this grandeur, though in a few years they must be stripped of all, and laid in the silent grave! But could it confer immortality, or lengthen life to a thousand years, would not the great men turn the world upside down, and barter all they had to obtain it? Here, then, are a blessed immortality, and boundless joys before you. No costly ceremonies, no expensive fees here. Only kiss the King’s hand on your promotion! Kiss the Son—and be ennobled forever! Kiss the Son before his wrath, like the fiery oven, burns against you for your disobedience! 12. In this the spiritual nobility infinitely excels every nobility on the face of the earth—my earthly nobility can go to none of my relations. Yet my parents, my brothers and sisters, wife and children, may all be made nobles of heaven. Yes, several of my ancestors and dearest friends have already taken their seats in the upper house of the heavenly assembly. And this is the grandeur of which I delight in. This is the nobility of which I boast. No matter though their names be not so much as known on earth—they shine before the eternal throne. And it is no arrogance to plead for the same privileges for our relations, our friends—that the King eternal has bestowed on ourselves. Now, when one is made a noble, however base he was before his advancement, he is expected to behave suitably to his high rank and station. Many eyes will be on him—the eye of his sovereign, the eye of the other nobles, the eye of enemies, and the eye of the vulgar, from among whom he is taken. Just so, if God has chosen me from the scum of Sodom, and the filthy haunts of Gomorrah—to such rank and dignity—my mind should be humble, but my walk should be holy. I must break off with my former companions in sin, and forget even my father’s house and mine own people. How holy in all things should I be—who had the eye of God, of saints, of sinners, and of Satan—on me! Again, though a noble is not always at court, yet his behavior should always be courtly. He should act the nobleman in common things; and so should I in all things act the Christian and adorn the doctrine of God my Savior, though not always actively engaged in the duties of piety. Moreover, a noble should be dignified in the company he keeps. Though he is never to be deaf to the cries, the requests, complaints and needs of his fellow-creatures—yet he is not to associate with the sordid and sinful. What appearance would it have for him to come from the royal presence, and sit down, and quaff and carouse with filthy drunkards? still worse, to make bosom friends of the king’s enemies, and give and receive visits from outlawed rebels. Thus, the carnally-minded are too despicable company for me; but to associate with profane and open sinners, and to make bosom-friends of such as avow their rebellion against God, is not the mark of a child of God. The more we are admitted into the heavenly presence, the less will we give our presence, to those that know not God. Again, a noble should not speak the vulgar style of the rabble—but the language of the Court, which should be the standard of language. So nothing can look worse than for a candidate for glory to speak profanely, obscenely, or in oaths and imprecations, or in excess of passion, or insipid trifling—since his speech should always be with grace, seasoned with salt, to the use of edifying. Again, he should never be slovenly dressed—but appareled according to his station. So I, on whom the divine Father has been pleased to put the best robe, should study to be holy in all manner of life and conversation! I should strive to keep clean garments, and clean hands, and to keep myself unspotted from the world. Yet, again, a noble should be of a noble turn of mind. He should not stoop to base, though profitable employment. He should not trouble himself because some envy his high station, and others pay not that respect to him which is his due. He should be liberal to the needy, and ready to forgive injuries, and scorn to avenge himself—seeing in due season, the laws of his sovereign will take cognizance of every insult done to him. So I, who have the treasures of eternity before me—should be of a heavenly turn of mind, and scorn to be greatly concerned about earthly trifles! How little should I regard the applause or censure of this fleeting world? According to my ability, I should do good to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith. I should be frank in forgiving injuries, and repaying evil with good. Under the most injurious treatment, I may commit my matters to him that will bring forth my righteousness as the noon-day. In a word, though reproach and poverty, sickness and death, robs me of all my present comforts; yet so vast is the heavenly bliss, and so rich are the treasures which are secured for me in heaven, that in the very prospect of them, I desire to lose my present pain; and, in the midst of every grief I rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Finally, a noble filled with gratitude, will exert himself constantly to advance the glory of his king, and the good of his country. So, since I am exalted to this heavenly honor—the glory of God, the good of his church, and the salvation of souls—will be my daily request, my heart’s desire, my daily prayer; and, according to my ability, the struggle and endeavor of my whole life! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 153: 03.141. THE SINGULAR ADVANTAGES OF POVERTY ======================================================================== The singular advantages of Poverty The very title of this meditation may perhaps provoke, at least surprise, many a pious soul. What advantage can it be—to be reproached, despised, oppressed, and in pinching straits—all of which accompany a state of poverty? But I beg their patience a little, before they conclude. "Labor not to be rich!" is an inspired direction. But it is quite disregarded by saint and sinner, by professor and profane; for the unwearied labor of all is for luxury, opulence, and grandeur. Repeated disappointments never stop the pursuit—but only vary the plan, and multiply the schemes to attain it. When God is pleased to bless with abundance—my humility, gratitude and holiness, ought to be conspicuous. But when he is pleased to appoint poverty—then entire approval of the conduct of Providence is incumbent on me. The state of the Jews under the Old Testament dispensation will not apply to Christians under the New; for as their service was more bodily, so their rewards were more of a temporal nature—and both were typical of the more spiritual worship and rewards under the New Testament. Yet directions cautions, promises, and consolations, suited to the poor and needy, sparkle through all the Old Testament writings, like stars in the skies of heaven. Riches cannot give that happiness which is expected by all who are in the keen pursuit of them. People in very moderate circumstances enjoy all the comforts of life as well as the rich, and with a much better relish; so that the advantages on the side of riches are rather imaginary than real. I. Before we view some of the advantages of poverty, we will examine the HARM that riches often bring to immortal souls. 1. Riches make men confident in themselves. "We are lords, we will come no more unto you." There are few who, like Job, can say, "I have never trusted in riches or taken pride in my wealth." For it is very natural to trust in uncertain riches; therefore the apostle disparages it. The rich man is apt to swell in his own opinion: his word must go far, his smile be esteemed a favor, and his very look is condescending. Yes, while the poor man’s wisdom is despised—the rich man’s opinions are over-valued. 2. PRIDE is often attendant on riches. It is curious to observe how some men’s spirits rise and fall with their fortune. Is he in affluence—he is haughty, arrogant, and overbearing. Is he in indigence—he is polite, and humble, affable, and even cringing. Nothing is more odious to God than pride! "I hate pride and arrogance!" "Those who walk in pride, he is able to abase." 3. Dependence on SELF is another attendant of riches. Here men burn incense to their themselves. One depends on his own genius in literature; another on his fertile invention for some new thing in mechanics; one builds on his own industry in agriculture; another on his application to business; and another blesses his good fortune. But in all these things God is neither seen nor acknowledged. And can any other rock be like our Rock, even the rich themselves being judges? 4. EARTHLY-MINDEDNESS is too often a fruit of riches. There is a deceit in riches that insensibly draws aside from communion with God. When Israel walked in a land that was not sown, he was holiness to the Lord; but when Jeshurun waxed fat, he kicked. There is, I confess, a variety of cares attendant on poverty; but the cares with which riches are encumbered, are of a more dangerous nature. The cares of the needy naturally point heavenward, and there is a voice in them, that implores the pity, pleads the promise, and claims the protection of God. But the cares of the rich are about their growing sums and worldly affairs; insomuch that Solomon says, "Their abundance will not allow them to sleep." 5. DISTRACTIONS, and a multiplicity of concerns, attend on riches, as the shadow follows the body. Generally speaking, the rich are strangers to retirement and solitude—to mental ease and tranquility. Still eager to possess greater and greater sums, they pursue their worldly affairs with unabating ardor. Perhaps, in the midst of their career, they lose a round sum, and then resolve, if they had made up this loss, that then they will retire from business, and turn pious in their old age. But one event after another continues their chase of created good, postpones their designs, and gives their resolutions the lie; so that they retire from business and life at once—and are no more! 6. The rich have a very hard task to discharge their duty to all around them. They are but STEWARDS over their own riches, and have no allowance to consume anything of it on their own lusts, or on their luxury! The naked have a claim on the fleece of their flock, the hungry to be fed from their table, and the stranger to be lodged under their roof. As much is committed to them, so not only men—but God will expect the more. They must give an account according to their talents; and, being in high station, their example must have influence on others around them; therefore it is incumbent on them, not only to behave well themselves—but to act well to others, in a manner which cannot be expected from the poor. 7. The rich are exposed to SNARES and TEMPTATIONS, various, and well suited to corrupt nature. Instead of naming them, I bid my readers cast an eye on the lives of the rich in general, (though here and there some of this class are to be found, who serve their God in the abundance of all things,) and they will see how riches procure fuel to the fire of every corruption, and drown men in endless perdition! Stealing has generally been set to the account of poverty; but the real poor, the truly needy, are not the thieves that infest the kingdom; and some, not only in easy—but in opulent circumstances, have been more infamous for knavish practices, than the poorest beggar from door to door, while they have not the least pretext of necessity for their crime. In a word, it is grace, not riches—which can keep men honest from a right principle; and stealing is rather to be placed to the account of depravity than poverty. II. I shall now name some of the positive ADVANTAGES of poverty, that the poor may rejoice, rather than despond. 1. Conformity to Christ in his state of humiliation, who though heir to all things, had nowhere to lay his head. Though we are not to refuse what Providence bestows on us, and, like some of the orders of the church of Rome, make a profession of voluntary poverty, from a fond conceit that thus they shall be accepted by God. Yet we are not to murmur or complain, since we, who have forfeited all, are in no worse condition in this world, than the Creator of all things was, when in our world. Can we call no house our own—but must sleep in a borrowed bed, exist on a drab, coarse, or scanty food? Have we small incomes, little cash, and no credit, and depend entirely on the charity of others? Well, so was the Captain of our salvation, who was made perfect through sufferings. And if we are rightly exercised, our graces shall grow more and more perfect under the various pressures of an afflicted lot. 2. Poverty gives a claim on the compassion of God. None could ever go to a throne of grace, and say, ’I am rich and prosperous, therefore hear my request.’ Indeed, chief favorites, and great noblemen, have their requests granted in the courts of kings; but the King eternal "looks to the man who is poor and of a contrite spirit," and who can plead, "But I am poor and needy, make haste unto me, O God." And well may the poor plead with that God, who, by his prophet, has said, "I will leave in the midst of you an afflicted and poor people, and they shall trust in the name of the Lord;" and says the apostle, "Has not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith?" O the vast difference between heaven and earth, between God and men! Here the rich live in luxury and often neglect the poor. Thus "the destruction of the poor is his poverty." But what a sweet relation commences between God and the poor! He is their help, their shield, their kind provider; so that, both in a temporal and spiritual sense, "When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue fails for thirst—I the Lord will hear them—the God of Jacob will not forsake them." He puts himself down as surety in the poor man’s bond, and declares, that "he who gives to the poor, lends to the Lord;" and as a good surety he will not fail to repay him. Now, if this noble connection, and divine relation, will not balance all the perplexity, pain and reproach, attendant on poverty, to the pious soul—what will do it? In a word, at the general judgment in the great day, the final sentence to the righteous and the wicked will be awarded, though not for, yet according to the kind or unkind usage of his poor, needy, and persecuted followers in the world. 3. The poor have a daily dependence on God; and if their provision were more, their dependence might be less. The rich man in the gospel, forgetting the heavenly favor builds for futurity on the plenty he had amassed. But his folly is corrected, by his soul being demanded of him in a moment. A servant does not expect that the provision of a week, a month, or a year, should be set in his sight at every meal; he depends on his master, is content with his food, and attends to his service. Just so, why should God’s poor despond? It is enough if they are fed from hand to mouth; when the hand of God is seen in their supply, their needs are relieved, and their faith feasted. God is a master whose servants need have no anxious care for futurity. In feeding them from day to day, they have a daily communion with him in his providences, as well as in his ordinances. The 102nd psalm is called "a prayer for the afflicted;" so the fourth petition may be called a petition for the poor, and properly belongs to them; for though we may seek spiritual blessings for all the ages of eternity, yet we are to seek temporal good things only from day to day. And as this petition directs us to be moderate in our requests for created good, so it informs us after what manner, generally speaking, God will provide his people, that it will be only from day to day. Hence it becomes absolutely necessary for a saint in poverty, to depend on God at all times, and to depend on him alone. And, by this needy dependence, he puts honor on the power, on the compassion, on the promise, and on the providence of God—nor shall he ever be disappointed! 4. They have a sweet submission to the will of God. Indeed it is grace, not poverty, that can produce this heavenly temper. But when the poor see such a display of all the divine perfections in their daily supply, such condescension, such care of God concerning them; they approve of their lot, and submit, cheerfully submit, to the divine disposal. The poor not only have good cause to be submissive—but thankful, since to those who improve poverty aright our Savior has said, in his sermon on the mount, "Blessed are the poor in spirit;" and, in another sermon on the plain, "Blessed are the poor" in temporals; as appears by the contrast, as he says to those that take riches for their portion, "Woe to you that are rich, for you have received your consolation." 5. Humility is another attendant or fruit of poverty. Indeed, a poor proud person is as great a contradiction in nature, as to say a sick strong man, or a swift lame man. Pride is so hateful to God, so hurtful to the soul, that poverty is a cheap cure for such a distemper. And humility is so lovely in the eyes of God, and portrays such a beauty on the soul, that God condescends to dwell there; while from the proud he not only stands afar off but knows them afar off. Affluence and prosperity are the soil where corruptions are most luxuriant in their growth; while poverty and affliction are the soil where graces thrive best. It is so natural for rich men to forget—that infinite wisdom, who knows best what is in us, sees a state of mediocrity, or even of indigence, most proper for the heirs of heaven. And the very word, "an heir of heaven!" is enough to balance all that can be perplexing, afflicting, or calamitous, in our lot below. When Israel walked after God, in a land that was not sown, then he was holiness to the Lord. But when Jeshurun waxed fat, he kicked, and grew forgetful of God that formed him. People in pinching circumstances may be apt to think it impossible for them to abuse a state of opulence, would God bestow it on them. So Hazael, servant to Benhadad king of Syria, stood astonished at the prophet’s prediction, that on his advancement to royal authority, he would become a monster of cruelty, and exclaims, "Is your servant a dog, that he should do this?" But no sooner does the servant commence a sovereign, than the man becomes the dog! So, ofttimes, no sooner does the poor become rich, than he becomes proud towards man, and impious towards God, to such a degree, that frequently the change is greater in his conversation than in his circumstances. In this respect God deals with the greater part of his people, as a prudent parent does with his child. He does not give him sharp weapons to play with, lest, in spite of the parent’s admonitions, and the child’s fair promises, he might wound himself with them. It is true, some eminent saints, (I say but some,) are both rich and in high station. But then grace is given to them, suiting to that very station they are in. And when I find myself in straitening circumstances, I may conclude, that this very state is absolutely necessary, either to suppress some sin that might otherwise sprout up, or to exercise some grace that otherwise might lie dormant, and thus is most conducive both to God’s glory, and my own good. 6. Poverty calls to the exercise of certain graces, which Christians in opulence cannot so properly be actually engaged in; though every saint has the essence of every grace. The rich cannot depend on God for their daily bread, in the same manner that the needy do. And when the poor, in their pinching straits, and repeated trials and disappointments—are enabled to let patience have her perfect work, to a full resignation to, and approbation of the disposal of providence in their lot, and have a sweet recumbency on the faithfulness and kindness of a reconciled God; thereby he is glorified, and their souls enriched for a world to come. Again, the saints in poverty have a sweet display of a special providence towards them, and the small things, and petty sums they receive, have a relish to them, above the vast and yearly incomes of the rich; because these come as it were from the immediate hand of God, are the answer of their prayers, and the fruit of their faith. As in an indigent state needs daily return, so faith is daily necessary; and the daily actings of faith on an all-sufficient God, of all Christian graces glorifies God most, putting honor on all his perfections, on his truth and faithfulness, his power and immutability, his wisdom and mercy! And the soul that in the highest degree glorifies God in time, shall be glorified in a higher degree in heaven; for the seeds now sown with weeping, shall yield sheaves of comfort then, and the happy reapers shall rejoice forever. It matters not how much we suffer here—if God may thereby be more glorified on earth, and we more glorified in heaven. If, then, poverty with the divine blessing, promotes this noble end, can any deny its singular advantages? If the soul goes out towards God, has the world crucified to him, and is crucified to the world; if he esteems the heavenly bliss a sufficient portion, and looks not at the things that are seen; if he commits all to God; if he welcomes every cross that comes from God; if he approves of that lot which God appoints, and in everything depends, confides on God, for himself and his children; and if he has his little allowance, (for he does not wish for much,) insured in the bank of heaven—while the great sums amassed by worldly-minded men and misers, are often in a short time so entirely consumed—is he a loser by poverty? Finally, though God leads me through a terrible wilderness, and feeds me in the wilderness in a manner which the rich know not, since it is to humble me, and prove me, and do me good at my latter end, even to do me good world without end—why should I complain? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 154: 03.142. A JOURNEY ALONG THE SEA-SHORE ======================================================================== A journey along the sea-shore 1. At the commencement of my journey, I must take a passage-boat; and how noble the contrivance, thus to be wafted from shore to shore! Let me see divine wisdom shining in the devices of men. Here I find old and young, male and female, men of different stations and various employments; and in the safety of the vessel we are all equally interested. This is a picture of human society. The sea is a stormy element; the winds roar, the waves rage, and some of the passengers are both fearful and very sick, though others are cheerful and courageous. Thus is our voyage through human life; tempests attack us, various afflictions rage around us, and inward grief and vexation make us sick at the very heart. But some have a more pleasant passage through life, and others, by a steady faith in God, remain tranquil and serene. We meet other passage-boats and with the same wind we pass them, and reach opposite shores; so saints and sinners; whether prosperity or adversity fill their sails, steer for opposite shores. 2. I find, in some parts on the shore a scarcity of good fresh water; and yet an ocean of water swells them. So, some men, in the midst of all abundance, never taste of true joy, or solid consolation. And the whole creation, to an immortal soul, will prove but like salt water to a thirsty man, never able to allay his thirst, or ease his grief. But the inhabitants having other conveniences, put up with this; and, alas! shall not we often put up with greater losses for trifles? How many sit still under erroneous preachers, rather than forego the least convenience to hear an evangelical minister? 3. Traveling along the coast, I come among some very sinking sands, which makes my journey both painful and tedious. But, when I reach the sands that are often washed with the sea, I walk with ease and delight. So it is safer and sweeter to walk in an afflicted lot, that is often washed with the briny wave of adversity, than in the wealth and ease of the worldling. 4. I find cloth soaked in the sea, to prepare for whitening, and left to be covered by the waves, and so secured, that when the sea retires, the owners find all safe. Even so, afflictions and trials shall prepare the saints for glory; and though, in their own eyes, and in the eyes of others, they may seem drowned in distress, and cry out, "All your waves and your billows are gone over me," yet well does the heavenly Owner know how to preserve, in the midst of great waters, his own people, and at last to deliver out of all trouble, and present them faultless before his presence with exceeding joy! 5. It is now tide of ebb, and, though the waves roll with fury, and threaten to recover what they have lost, still they retire, until all the shore is left dry. So, O saint! so, O soul! shall it be with your corruptions; they may rage and threaten to return—but still they shall lose ground, until they shall never more be seen. Though corruptions should seem as strong as ever, yet the time of their continuance is daily growing shorter. This may be comfort to many a poor soul, that, though sin should rage ever so fiercely, still it is but the last efforts—the desperate struggles of a wounded, dying enemy. But the tide of flood calls to mind the melancholy case of sinners; for, though the waves seem often to recoil and relinquish what they had gained, still every following billow advances further than the former, until the briny surge possesses all the shore; so, whatever checks of conscience, and partial reformations may take place, still the wicked proceed from evil to worse, until the soul is drowned in sin, and lost in perdition! 6. What abundant variety of all things does the sea produce! The ground that lies along the coast is enriched with sea-weeds, and is very fertile. Our tables are supplied from the deeps; and sometimes, when the crop has failed, the ocean has poured in its plenty and supplied the poor. Such is the divine goodness. His bounty is an ocean that supplies all our needs, and still overflows. From him come all our comforts, from him our blessings flow; and still they overflow! He gives grace, and he will give glory. He gives himself—and that is all in all. 7. Fields enriched with every grain, and verdant pastures stored with flocks and herds, are not far off. But my ordained path is to walk along a rocky, barren shore. Many a traveler has gone this way, and a new road is not to be made for my fancy and pleasure. So must every person, and so must I, walk in that very path Providence has appointed me, however rugged, however afflicting it may prove! It is the way, and no other, that will lead to our better country—to our Father’s house. To be running every now and then in quest of a more pleasant way, will only add to my toil, and lengthen my journey. Just so, to fret under affliction, and to be discontented with our condition, may make us more miserable, and add a sharp edge to our anguish—but can do us no good. It is comfort, though the road is rugged—that leads me to the house of my friend. Just so—if I arrive at last at my heavenly Father’s house, who is a friend who sticks closer than a brother—I ought to put up with every trouble and inconvenience along the way. 8. I have walked a good way all alone—but I have had company for some miles. But such such company, that I welcome my solitude again. Let this be a caution to be slow in choosing companions; and how happy they who have agreeable, godly companions, along the crooked road of life, whose pious dialogues will brighten the day, shorten the way, and cheer each other to their journey’s end. 9. Sands that were lately covered with the tide, are now, by a strong wind—blown in my face; a sudden change indeed! And how soon do people, who had once been in deep affliction—turn vain and frothy! Our natural vanity and levity is so great, that none but the Searcher of hearts can know it. 10. I find a man sitting in something like a centry-box, and take him for a criminal. But how surprised, on inquiry, to find that he is a kind of judge, and determines disputes on shore. More surprised shall thousands be at the great day, to see the saints, who have been held as criminals, and as such have been banished, beheaded, and burnt—sit as judges of the world, and of angels. 11. I find doves dwelling securely in the rocks; the ocean foams before them, the tempests roar around them—but they are safe at home; and, on their nimble wings, fly where they will. Just so, safe are the saints who dwell in the Rock Christ, in the rock of ages! And on the wing of faith they fly from all surrounding ills, to the heavenly rest, the land of promise, and paradise of bliss! 12. A light shower falls from heaven, and falls on the salt sea with the same abundance that it does on the fruitful field, or pasture-ground. Just so—to how many has the gospel been preached that have never believed the heavenly report? Among thorns, by the wayside, and on stony ground, has the good seed been sown, which came to nothing. But Heaven will be sovereign in his kindness to all, and sinners inexcusable who perish in their unbelief. 13. Innumerable creatures sport in the sea, and a variety of fowl fly along the shore. There is an element for every creature, and every creature loves and lives in its element. Then, am I an expectant of heaven, and a candidate for glory—and yet will I wallow in earthly things? If born from above, I should find delight in spiritual things, and desire to be above. 14. When come in sight of, and not far distant from the house to which I am going, a little rivulet presents itself, through which I must go to reach my destiny. I learn there is a bridge for foot-passengers, (but neither for horses nor carriages,) built by some friendly hand over the stream. But many a traveler knows nothing of this bridge, and so must take the stream, whatever may ensue. This reminds me of death, which stands between me and my Father’s house, and presents itself at the end of my journey. However terrible it may appear, the hope of communion with God may make me leap through all dangers! Christ, indeed, has built a bridge for his chosen to pass over. But over this bridge we can carry neither honors, nor riches, nor relations—but, stripped of all, must walk alone, under the conduct of our heavenly Guide. But, alas! how few know of this bridge, how few find it—and how many perish in the stream! 15. At last I reach the dear house for which I undertook my journey, and find a hearty reception from all my kind and much esteemed friends. So at last shall all the saints arrive at the house of the living God, and be blessed with the society of saints and angels, and ravished with communion with God and the Lamb. When arrived at this state of everlasting rest, I shall forget the dangers of my journey, and the troubles of my earthly lot. I shall be filled with unspeakable joy in his presence, and feasted with the glorious pleasures of his house forever! However happy here on earth, a short time must finish my visit, and I must leave this world. But the bliss above is everlasting. I shall never leave the society of saints and angels. I shall never go out of his temple. I shall never rise from his banquet! I shall never depart from his throne! I shall never cease to behold his glory, nor be silent in his praise! My whole soul, in every ravished power, shall be full of God, and be wholly satisfied with God forever! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 155: 03.143. THE BRITISH STATE LOTTERY ======================================================================== The British State-Lottery I shall not here attempt to discuss how far state-lotteries are lawful, or not. But so well does government suit the ’bait’ to the ambition or avarice of men—by some financial prizes—that there is always a world of adventurers. And as among them, there may be some well-meaning people—I shall drop a few thoughts for their consideration. Can we be so happy in the mere expectation of a prize, where we may be readily disappointed; and not exult in the heavenly treasures, which can never deceive us? Can we find such thrills of joy in winning a large prize—which we must leave behind us; and yet our hearts not beat with rapturous joy at the heavenly gift, at the pearl of great price—being eternally our own? If a little of this world places us in such easy circumstances in life—how enriching the treasures of glory! Let me only desire what the ’bank of bliss’ will bestow. Not the trifling riches of this world—but durable riches and righteousness. There is no disappointment here to stab our expectation, and sadden our countenance. No—but a kingdom and a crown, endless bliss, and eternal glory! The greatest sum I may now acquire, cannot prevent me from becoming a bankrupt. But, my ’celestial stores’ can never be spent—they cannot so much as be counted! But a few figures will contain all the sums that were ever lost or gained in every state lottery, in every land. How poor is the richest unbeliever! How rich is the poorest saint! Earthly things only please an earthly appetite—but the delights of paradise, the bliss of heaven, and the enjoyment of God—feast and ravish forever! None shall be disappointed with heaven—but shall have delights as large as they can wish, and boundless as they can desire! Here, if a person wins the lottery, it is the most that he can expect. But those who receive of the ’heavenly bounty’ shall have every enriching prize—not for the short period of sixty, eighty, or an hundred years—but forever! He shall have pardon of sin, and peace with God! In a word, he shall have heaven, and all the joys of paradise; endless life, and all the glories of eternity; and God and his infinite fullness, world without end! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 156: 03.144. ON THE WORKS OF CREATION ======================================================================== On the works of Creation Everything is full of God! How is our earth replenished. Skies and seas are crowded with inhabitants! Every blade is covered with life, and every drop of each pond abounds with microscopic organisms—so that we have an endless field for admiration, gratitude, and wonder, on our terrestrial globe. Now, to a mind which would admire the glory of the Creator—what a noble prospect is our planet! So many worlds of intelligent creatures, living on his providence, and paying him the tribute of praise! Moreover, at immense distances on every hand, beyond all the planets of our system, we see a great many fixed stars with our naked eye; and, by the help of telescopes, millions more; and the better the lenses are, still more distant and starry galaxies, are brought into view, and astonish every beholder. How vast the survey may still grow, as lenses may be further and further improved, I shall not dare to conjecture. No arm but an omnipotent one, can support such legions of worlds, no eye but an omniscient can survey the whole. Well may we, with astonishment, join Bildad, and cry, "Who can count the multitude of stars?" From this view of creation we may infer, 1. How great must the Creator be, who holds, and upholds, in the hollow of whose hand—so many millions of worlds! How prolific every hour of the six days creation! What multitudes of holy angels admiring these works worthy of a God! We read of "the voices of many angels around the throne. There were millions and millions of them!" And how many more they are, none can tell. 2. What desperate madness would it for sinners, who, by their sin, challenge the Lord of these millions of worlds—and run stubbornly and proudly to fight against Almighty God—whose arm is omnipotent, whose blow is irresistible, and whose displeasure is death! 3. What must be the power which made—and the wisdom which governs and upholds all these worlds! In what a blaze of glory must the Creator appear, who has kindled up so many millions of suns, and kept so many millions of planets regularly rolling around them, and even wandering comets—so that not one, through so many ages, has mistaken its course! Earthly kingdoms and churches, and families, may dwell secure under the providence and scepter of such a King! And every individual of the human race may commit his way to this great Governor—without an uneasy thought, an irksome murmur, or an anxious wish! 4. When sinners on every side create us sorrow, let us reflect—that even from this earth, the ransomed of the Lord shall be a great multitude, which no man can number. What, then, must the heavenly assembly be—the inhabitants of so many millions of worlds—and all the multitudes of holy angels—all in the presence of God and the Lamb—and all shouting his praises through an endless evermore! 5. Creation is the admiration of men. But redemption is the wonder of angels. Redemption is the furthermost that God can go. Had he pleased, he could have created still more and more worlds. But he could give nothing better, nothing more—than his Son! In creation his wisdom, his power, and his goodness—are manifested. But in redemption—his manifold wisdom, his mighty power, his spotless holiness, his unbounded goodness, his inflexible justice, and his invariable truth—shine forth, and will shine, while the ransomed eternally sing before the throne! And here the astronomer and philosopher are reproved—who survey the whole creation—but stop short of God; or are filled with wonder at the works of his hands—but never have their hearts filled with gratitude at his love and grace in redemption! 6. However God may shine in the works of creation—still he shines with uncommon, unrivaled, unparalleled luster in the work of redemption! For, to save one soul is more than to create all these worlds! In creation—he merely spoke, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast. He said, ’Let it be’—and light and suns, and systems, filled part of the mighty regions of space! But nothing less could ransom sinners—than his own eternal Son, united to human nature, and sustaining unutterable agonies, the acutest sense of divine wrath—and thus expiring on the accursed tree! O astonishing price of our redemption! Though all the millions of angels round the throne, and all the sinless inhabitants of these millions of worlds, had been sacrificed for the salvation of one soul, that soul, notwithstanding such a sacrifice—they must have perished forever; for it is impossible that the blood of bulls and of goats could take away sin. And on one level stand all creatures here, from the highest angels, through every rank of intelligent beings—because all are creatures still. I see, then, that my Redeemer must be a divine person—as there is no semi-deity. I see that Jesus must be the supreme, the self-existent Jehovah. 7. And will I cast away my soul forever—a soul of such value—for earthly vanities, for phantoms, for shadows, for nothing? How should an immortal soul rise above all the trifles of creation, the ’pageantry of an opulent life’, and the splendors of royalty--and expand every power of the soul, every mental faculty, to be numbered among those holy multitudes which daily arrive at heaven; and to the fellowship of millions of angels, and to eternal communion with God! 8. What must the wicked feel at last, when in the presence of all these assembled worlds—they shall be loaded with infamy, condemned to the abodes of horror and despair, and thus punished with everlasting destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his great power—which was displayed in the grand work of redemption, and in the creation of that vast multitude of worlds! Not only cut off from this dear society of holy angels, and blissful innocents from all these worlds—but banished from the divine presence—and pursued with burning wrath forever! 9. What a noble prospect opens beyond death to every saint, who by nature is a social creature; for grace does not destroy nature—but purifies and exalts it! In the celestial courts, among immortal nobles—they shall enjoy the divine presence! Though now the presence of one sovereign is courted with avidity; and to be admitted into a congress of all the kings and potentates of this world would be a rare and highest honor—this would be despicable compared to that renown which attends admission into eternal glory! How magnificent is this assembly! how delightful their song! and how vast their felicity—none can tell! Though all these worlds can claim God as their Creator, yet only the saints can claim God as their Redeemer, and have notes in their hosannas which neither angels nor any other can imitate! How the blessed will be employed in eternity, we cannot say. But as God is everywhere present, so they will find heaven everywhere. Yet, where the God-man, God in our nature, shall dwell in the bright effulgence of his glory, there shall the redeemed assemble. And wherever they go, or whatever they do, they shall enjoy God in a manner that will make them happy above conception or thought! I offer a few more thoughts, and leave them with the reader. Where God is, in his divine essence, filling immensity alike, wherever he manifests his glory, and communicates his goodness—there is heaven. 1. It seems to be the general opinion of divines, that neither sun, moon, nor stars, nor our earth, shall be annihilated. But the world at last shall be purified by fire, and appointed for some noble use by the supreme Disposer of all things. 2. If in this new earth, righteousness, (that is, the saints or righteous ones,) shall dwell; who, like the angels that come from the realms of bliss, shall, though inhabiting the earth, dwell in the very heart of heaven; so, after the general judgment, the inhabitants of all these other worlds shall dwell in their distinct globes. Yet all these numerous worlds shall make but one heaven, one commonwealth of bliss, and be forever blessed with the vision of God’s glory, with the communications of his goodness. 3. Who can tell but that in eternity there may be some grand festivals, some magnificent solemnities, when the inhabitants of all these worlds shall assemble to worship him in universal chorus, who truly is the Lord almighty, and to pay special honors to the man Christ, who, because he humbled himself to the death, the death of the cross, has a name given him, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, and every tongue confess, through heaven and earth, and universal nature! What a glorious sight will this be in the eyes of every adorer! And how will the redeemed rejoice to see their incarnate God exalted as Head over all! And what a field of wonder, what a flood of ecstasy will pour into these innumerable millions, when the mystery of redemption is revealed to them—which things the angels, bending down from their heavenly orbs, desire to look into! 4. When the inhabitants of all these worlds assemble again around the heavenly throne, with what additional luster will they shine to one another! Even in Heaven wisdom makes the face to shine; and as their researches into God are unremitted, so their growth in knowledge will be constant. And though all are employed in studying God, yet some may have some sweet display of one divine attribute, others of another, which they may communicate to each other, to their mutual joy and increase of knowledge. Just as Christians now, though their search may be after all truth, yet one may have a bright discovery of one truth, and another of a distinct truth, and so on—by which they may improve and edify one another. Thus, every time they meet in heaven, it will be with additional degrees of knowledge, felicity, and glory. Moreover, the angels, these heavenly courtiers, that have explored the Godhead for many thousand years, will communicate their knowledge to all the happy adorers—for, in the world of spirits, every intelligent being can freely converse with one another. But, above all, Jesus, who has been the prophet to his church in the militant state, will continue to be her prophet in the triumphant state; and, as far as his divine wisdom sees fit—will unfold to them more and more the mysteries of grace, the treasuries of glory, the depths of Deity, the secrets of God! 5. As all these worlds are but like the cities of one kingdom, the states of one republic, the members of one family, and the servants of one God. May not the inhabitants, being nimble as the angels of light, visit one another? But O how different from the visits below! The praise of God fill every mouth, and his glory shine in every countenance. Thrice happy guests! They will set out from world to world—as swift as angels, or quick as thought! And to hear, and speak, and learn still more and more of God—will be their constant employment, and soul-refreshing theme. If the sweets of society and friendship be esteemed among the sons of men; how shall the sweets of sacred friendship and sinless society be esteemed among the sons of God! 6. May not we suppose poor sinners, who are shut up in the gulf of hell—to be like state prisoners, who hear their offended sovereign passing in triumph, attended by his loyal nobles, and happy favorites—but no ray of hope for them! They therefore gnaw their very chains in the anguish of despair! And, with redoubled howlings, and severest remorse, bewail themselves as banished forever from the glory of his power, which shines in such an assembly, and beams brightly in redeeming love. And they shall feel the added sense of divine displeasure striking into every power and faculty of their soul forever. Oh! how must the torments of sinners, the anguish of damnation, be heightened, sharpened, and pitched up to the highest pitch, by this sad reflection—that their state is fixed, and their misery shall endure to all eternity, in the fullest meaning of the word—in spite of all that witless votaries for hell have said to the contrary! 7. Wherever the saints, the ransomed of the Lord, may dwell—it must be in heaven, and they shall be blessed with the presence of the man Christ; for he is their Head, and they are his members. Angels, and all the happy worlds, are related to him as their Creator and supreme good—but the saints claim him as their Brother, their Husband, their Head, their Redeemer; and, by this relation, have an honor superior to any other created intelligence! 8. Whatever delight and satisfaction all these intelligent beings may find in searching into the wonders of creation, into that astonishing variety that may prevail among the inhabitants of the numerous worlds, (since even among the angels, who are all immaterial beings, we find thrones and dominions, principalities and powers, angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim;) yet, every happy adorer will join the psalmist of old, "Whom have I in heaven but you? and there is none I desire but you!" None in all these millions of worlds—that I desire besides you! Though the students on divine subjects shall be innumerable, yet every divine perfection, being infinite, shall afford them ample scope for their searches. For I am of opinion, that their knowledge shall be so acute and comprehensive, that the motions, laws, and universal connection that the systems of nature have with one another—shall be familiar and easy to them. But, with what growing wonder, and holy delight, shall they admire that Power who produced such numerous worlds from mere nothing—from pure nothing! and called such mighty spirits as the angels into being with a word! And how will the most penetrating geniuses of angels, or of men, or other intelligent beings, find themselves lost in searching into God’s self-existence and essence! His essential being is so infinite, that it defies, and will forever defy, their researches. Compared with him, all these millions of angels, and millions of worlds, with their inhabitants, are but as an atom—to space; or a point—to infinity! In this infinite essence, the happy inquirers will find glories forever new! Moreover, how will they be completely ravished to think, (though no creature can understand how,) that this great God, in three co-equal persons, have existed with all the necessary attributes of infinity, omnipotence, omniscience, an immutability, as well as holiness, justice, goodness, and truth, from all evermore! Likewise, the works of providence in every world, and respecting every individual, will be a noble theme to the heirs of felicity! Also, the salvation of sinners, by the incarnation, sufferings, and atonement of the Son of God—will be the wonder of all the glorious intelligences, as well as the song of the redeemed. 9. Finally, the Lord shall rejoice in all his works, and his glory shall continue forever—while to millions of millions he communicates of his goodness through eternity! Compared with those in bliss—what a small handful shall lie under his burning indignation forever! But, O melancholy thought! perhaps my dear friends, my daily companions, or my near relations—may be among the unhappy people! O that they may be made to flee from the wrath to come! To add no more, how dark are our views, and how ignorant are we of the world to come! But this may fill us with solid joy—that it is wholly in his hand, who will make his people happy in and with himself forever—whose presence is fullness of joy, and to be at whose right hand is pleasure evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 157: 03.145. A PROSPECT OF DEATH ======================================================================== A prospect of Death A dispute has long subsisted between my mortal frame and death; and though I have long maintained the struggle with a body subject to disease and pain, I must at last yield to the universal conqueror, and be led to the house appointed for all living. In a little while, the king of terrors will advance toward me, harnessed to slay, and I shall not be able to escape the keen destroyer. But here is the comfort of a Christian—that he may die, and yet not be hurt of the second death. Yes he may go undismayed with him who is the terror of kings—as with a conquered foe—and with cheerfulness view the silent grave. For though his dust rots, yet his hope shall flourish forever. O what an unspeakable privilege is a saving interest in the Son of God, whereby death—which sets the world a trembling—fills the believer’s mouth with songs of triumph! Happy would the wicked be—if they were freed from the fears of approaching death. But this advancing day, when he departs, to be with Jesus, kindles joy in the believer’s bosom. Reluctant nature, indeed, may struggle in the last pangs—but opening glories shall scatter every gloom. My relatives may weep about me—but my soul shall be all harmony within. My body may toss and tumble on a death bed—but my hope shall be fixed within the veil. Mourning and weeping may attend my decease—but my departed soul shall soar to everlasting song. And, while my sad friends inter my lifeless clay, my immortality shall enter into the joy of my Lord. Such views as these refresh the expectant of glory; and whatever clouds may darken his evening sky, yet his state is secure, and he shall never walk alone, through the dark shadow, the solitary valley of death. The same divine Savior, who has been a cloud and a shadow to him all the days of his life, will also be the shining of a flaming fire to him in the night of his death. Hence death itself, like the cloud of old, when kindly interposed between fleeing Israel and pursuing Egypt, though it be terror and darkness to depraved mortals—yet it is joy, light, and transport to adopted sons. If, on the approach of the decisive moments, fierce disease will allow my soul so much tranquility as to think; with what delight will I bid the world adieu, how will my joys swell to see myself on the brink of an eternity of glory! And, if I can use my tongue, how shall my dying breath speak of the excellences of my divine Redeemer, and commend religion to the sons of men! How shall I expatiate on the bliss, the entrancing joys found in his presence, even below, when the soul dwells with great delight under his shadow, and eats his fruits, while paradise blooms around him! How shall I also endeavor to set forth a little of that triumphant state that is before the throne! Then, taking my last, my eternal farewell of all created things, I shall fix my soul on all the boundless bliss, and everlasting glory, that is in his presence; and, while he graciously begins to shed eternal noon about me, shall breathe my soul out among his beams, and rise in his irradiation to the very throne! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 158: 03.146. A STATE AFTER DEATH ======================================================================== A state after Death Indeed, the most part of men live as if there were no futurity, no hereafter; as if they should altogether drop out of being the moment they drop their mortal frame. But, notwithstanding the confined views of depraved mortals, a noble prospect opens beyond death—the hope of the heaven-espoused bosom. Surely, as the prisoner, long detained in the dreary dungeon, when allowed to pass the prison door, to be possessed of liberty once more—looks with delight on unbounded fields of day; and, with a kind of greedy joy, scans the whole surrounding skies. So, when my soul, through the door of death, shall escape from this clay prison, in which I daily groan, and pass through the confines of time, I shall rise at once into eternity itself, look around on fields of light, on floods of glory; and, with the overflowings of a holy joy—see felicity, in its infinite plenitude! What does it matter, then, though my dust mingles for a while with the earth, and my memory perishes among the sons of men—if my immortal soul, all activity and life, is going out unweariedly in praising the Fountain of glory, and wellspring of salvation? If my death be happy—my eternity shall be blessed. If his beams dispel the darkness of death—I shall walk in the light of his countenance forever. In that state of bliss, all my bliss shall be according to the state of the King. I shall live in his smile, and be ravished with his emanations; I shall walk in his light, and be conformed to his likeness. I shall drink of his pleasures, put on his strength, and partake of the divine nature! O how every power of soul shall burn in his beams, brighten in his glory, and kindle in his love! Then will this dying worm begin to live after the manner of angels; then shall this luke-warm soul love in a degree akin to seraphim, and join in the raptures of the harpers before the throne. Here, on this earth, I have seen some of his steps of majesty—but there shall I behold him in all his glory, and my soul shall have, through his own amazing condescension, such refined apprehensions, such a clear and lively knowledge of him, that I may be said to "see him face to face, and to know as I am known." There I shall walk in white in the presence of the undivided Trinity—and shall enjoy communion with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit forever. I shall admire all his dazzling glories, adore all his divine perfections, and be possessed of pleasures as large as my wish, pure as the bliss of angels, immortal as my own soul, and liberal as the bounty of the glorious Giver. Again, whatever glorious things and sacred bliss I am possessed of, this adds to its excellency—that it is eternal; while my toils shall all dissolve in endless rest, my griefs in everlasting joy, and my sorrows in eternal songs! Surely, when I see such a state before me, I am astonished that my state below, whatever it be, should trouble me, more than a bad day or dirty road should inconvenience a king going to his coronation. That happiness of which I am an expectant, as much transcends his, as his does that of the most wretched galley-slave. Then, at that day when the world shall say of me, ’He is no more’—I shall begin to be what will crown my highest aim, and satisfy my whole desires—an abiding inhabitant in the world above, where I shall enjoy God, the inconceivable good, in an inconceivable manner, through endless ages! Then, a few moments—and I am no more in this world. And again, a few moments—and I am with Jesus for evermore! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 159: 03.147. A GLANCE INTO HEAVENLY BLISS ======================================================================== A glance into heavenly bliss All at once I find myself in an unbounded flood of bliss, a spacious sea of glory—lost in wonder amidst ineffable divinities, and transported with the raptures of seraphic harmony! The first and reigning glory is, that Jehovah keeps his royal court in person here. His dwelling-place is enriched with the richest profusion of his love, with the brightest displays of his goodness! While all his saints rejoice in his excellent glory, what ardor glows in every soul, what rapture swells in every song! O the adorable displays of his perfections! the manifestations of his goodness, the outlettings of his love! and the fellowship which is between him and his hidden ones! The fullness of the Father, treasured in the Son, dispensed by the Spirit—is the crown-charter of the kingdom above, where the royal privilege of every inhabitant carries him to the utmost extent of glory. What buildings are these? They are the palaces of the great King, the mansions of our Immanuel, of which there are many in his Father’s house. And they are all magnificent, founded in grace, and furnished with glory—"The beams of our house are cedar, and the rafters are fir." Aging shall never enter here, and nothing shall decay. What a beautiful city is the New Jerusalem! of which the Lord God and the Lamb are the light! How glorious are its gates, where pearls of essential beauty sparkle! and all the attributes of God blaze divinely bright! There trophies of eternal victory lie beneath Immanuel’s feet. He is our elder brother, our near kinsman, and our husband. This is the relation from which our grandeur springs, our being married into the high and honorable family of heaven. What a blessing is it to be brethren to the Son of God, and hear him declare his Father’s name to us! O the assimilating beams of glory that dart from his eyes, and shoot likeness with the ray! We see him, and are like him; we are like him, and love him, and are eternally happy! No wonder that the world was such a waste and howling wilderness, such a dry and thirsty desert, such a land of heat and drought—compared to the heavenly Canaan, where the rivers of pleasures overflow their banks forever. Why did we expect joys on earth? Our mortal frame could not have borne the transports of eternal day; yes, here it is all we can to bear the brightness of his beams. O love! O rapture! O ecstatic joys! O everlasting heaven! The general assembly, now met on the holy Mount Zion, the joy of the whole heaven, is an assembly of gods, all sons of the Highest, and the Lord God of gods—the Lord God of gods—dwells among them! O ineffable glory! to dwell forever in the royal pavilion of heaven, in most intimate communion with the eternal, immortal, and invisible King! What rapturous notes are these I hear? The song of Moses and the Lamb. My soul dissolves in praise, my spirit pours out in sweet hosannahs, all heaven is melody, angels accent the song. O the charming anthems of glory! O the high strokes of the harpers around the throne! The song of the redeemed is the song of songs. We will sing to you while we live, while we have our being we will bless you. Weeping endured for a little, through the short night of time—but joy has come in the morning of the resurrection; and we have a song in this solemn assembly, and gladness, being come into the house of the Lord. Our happiness shall utter hallelujahs, our glory sing your praise, and never be silent. Sing O inhabitants of eternity, shout from the mountains of myrrh, and hills of frankincense, where you rest, and are refreshed forever. And shall these ravishing hosannahs never end, these songs of love never cease? O warbles of eternal noon! for we rest not day nor night to sing of all your glory. Say, was I ever sad or troubled? What does it matter—since now my sackcloth is loosed, and I am clothed with bliss. Here, to the glory of the bounteous Giver, we have all things common. This God, this glory, this all—my fellow saints, without my loss, is yours, and, without any deficiency to you, is also wholly mine. Here we drink at life’s immortalizing stream, and with eternal joy draw water out of the wells of salvation. From the rivers of your pleasures, O God! you will make us largely drink—"Eat O friends! drink, yes, drink abundantly, O beloved! for in my presence there is fullness of joy, and at my right hand are pleasures for evermore!" O Lord Jesus, I have found you; not within your promise, not in the ordinances, as in the days of my flesh—but in the most ample displays of your eternal love, in the open fields of glory—I shall kiss you and not be despised. I have found you, and shall hold you, and not let you go through eternity! Here we received out of his fullness—grace upon grace and glory upon glory. Our possession is worthy of our liberal Giver. We have—a kingdom which cannot be moved—an undefiled inheritance, and that does not fade away—a city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God. We have garments of glory, a crown of righteousness, a crown of life; the tree of life to feed upon, the fountain of life to drink of, and the garden of God to walk in. We have life above the reach of death, health secured from sickness, and pleasure without pain. Our bodies are immortal, our souls immaculate, our senses sanctified, our conceptions spiritualized, our faculties enlarged, and our whole soul replenished with divinity. Our past bliss is present with us in the sweet remembrance, our present bliss entrances in the enjoyment, and our future bliss is present with us in the full assurance of our eternal felicity. Thus we are for ever blessed to the highest degree. We are above all fear, beyond anxiety and doubt—and fixed above all change. Our service is sincere, our adorations ardent, our knowledge profound and satisfying. Rapture rushes in at every part; our eyes are ravished with seeing the King in his beauty, our ears with hearing the songs of the inner temple, our nose with the fragrance of the Rose of Sharon, the plant of renown; our feet with standing in his holy place; our hands with handling of the word of life; and our mouth with the wine of our Beloved, which goes down sweetly, causing our souls to shout aloud—and the lips of us who were once silent in death, asleep in the grave, to sing, and never cease. Our experience of his fullness, our vision of his perfections and glory, our interest in his offices and relations, our union to the incarnate Word, our communion with all the persons of the glorious Godhead, and our participation with the divine nature—constitute our most exalted bliss, and are the heaven of heavens! Here Jesus, of whom Solomon in all his majesty was once a languid type—is crowned with all the brightness of his Mediatorial glory; and this is the day of eternal espousals, the day of the gladness of his heart. The Bridegroom and the Bride have arrived at the marriage-supper of the Lamb, for all things are now ready. The banquet is prepared, and the guests have sat down, and the table is furnished! Blessed are those who eat the bread of life in the kingdom of God. O the sweetness of the Lamb of God! O the honied excellency of the true manna, who came down to earth to feed us there, and is taken up to heaven to feast us here! O the table discourse of glory! O the melting language of mutual love! we never knew what communion was until here. The banquet shall never be ended, the guests shall never leave this feasting on, and with the beloved Redeemer. The Father has loved the Son, and given all things into his hand. The Son has loved us, and given us all things richly to enjoy. The Father has loved us as his own Son! Love is love here indeed! O the sacred familiarity that is in love! O the kindness of Immanuel’s heart! ’Father, I desire that those whom you have brought here, see all my glory which you have given me—for they love me, and delight in my glory!’ Lord, you that know all things, know that we love you, and that our happiness is in beholding your glory. O what torrents of eternal love teem from the throne into our souls! Now, we know that God is love, and in his love he rest towards us. And do you delight in the work of your hands? Are you charmed with the love of your creatures? "Turn away your eyes, for they have overcome me!" Nay, Lord, we have fixed our eyes on you, O you who is fairer than the sons of men, than the angels of God! On you they shall be fixed—and feast forever! Our eyes shall dwell on you, and our hearts fly out at our eyes! Glory is a native of the better country. Glory has her habitation in our land. Darkness is debarred the regions of eternal day, and sorrow banished the realms of bliss. Our winter is over and gone, our spring is in perpetual verdure, our summer in eternal bloom. Our SUN is in his height, our day is at its noon, and there is no night here. Our love is in the flame, and our well-beloved is ours, and we are his; he feeds among the lilies. The day has broken, and the shadows blown away, and we walk with him in white; yes, we are changed from glory to glory by the Spirit of the Lord who dwells in us. We are called up into the mount of communion, from which we never shall come down; and here we talk and speak face to face with him, as a man speaks unto his friend; and our hearts burn within us, while he talks with us, and opens to us the mystery of redemption, the wonders of his love! Here we search with serenity, satisfaction, and joy—into the secrets of eternity—into all the deep things of God. The perplexing contingencies of our transitory life shine now with harmony, wisdom, and goodness through the whole. And though we once complained of our own afflictions—yet now we adore his astonishing conduct with us—and confess that we were foolish in our judgments. Now true religion triumphs, piety is vested in her honorary robes; and all those who stood boldly up for the honor of the King, when trampled upon by his demented enemies—ride on white horses in his glorious retinue, clothed in the garments of salvation with a royal crown upon their head, and the royal proclamation made from the throne—Thus shall it be done through eternity, to the men whom the King delights to honor! Blessed are the men whom you have thus chosen, and made approach unto you. Surely we are abundantly satisfied with your goodness—with the divine bounty of your temple—which you prepared for us when we were poor in the world. You have crowned the year of your grace—with your eternity of glory! The hills of glory rejoice on every side, and the heavens shout and sing to you, for you have made them glad. Though our enemies rode over our heads in the days of trouble and turmoil, yet we had power over them in the dawn of glory, in the morning of the resurrection. Though we passed through the fires of persecution, through the waters of adversity; yes through the rapid stream of death at last—yet you have brought us to a wealthy land, so that we have a goodly heritage. The lines have fallen to us in pleasant places, being led to the goodly mount which your right hand had purchased for us, O Immanuel! Here will I pay my vows through all eternity, which I spoke in the day of my trouble, in the land of my pilgrimage. O love! never to be forgotten—which has brought me safely through so many winding labyrinths, and crooked paths, in sight of so many enemies, in spite of a tempting devil, in spite of the accusations of my sins, the rebellion of my lusts, the carnality of my affections, and the weakness of all my graces—to dwell at last forever in heavenly bliss—and bless God in the congregation of sinless adorers! Here our vision is full and assimilating, our fruition satisfying and solacing, and our communion free and uninterrupted. O how rapturous to begin converse with the God of glory—for eternity! We have found him in Bethel, his own house, in his own heaven—and here we speak with him! Yes, we weep for joy, and pour out acclamations of ecstasy—since he will never go away. We have power over the uncreated Angel, and, in the struggles of seraphic love, we wrestle and prevail with him—that he shall never, never, never leave us. O the pleasure that is in his presence! O the exuberant rivers of joy that flow at his right hand! How much better is his love than life, and the light of his countenance than the possession often thousand creations! Honor only dwells here. O deluded mortals!—who strive so for empty names, and transitory epithets below! For honor and majesty are before God, strength and beauty are in his sanctuary. Where are all these shining sons of honor now, all the men of fame and prestige? Ah! they are enrapt up in midnight darkness!—while the righteous shine as the sun in the kingdom of their Father! With what envious eye, and angry heart, do our haters, who accounted us the refuse and offscouring of all things—see us, in our princely robes, and royal apparel, mount our thrones by divine command, to judge impenitent men, and apostate angels? How could we ever complain of being hated of all men for your sake? Why did we ever think much of the most cruel mockings, of the calumniating lip, or slandering tongue? Even then we were more than recompensed by the testimony of a good conscience, and tokens of peace from the eternal throne. But O! what a reward is this—that the ridicule of a few days should be repaid with ineffable renown in the sight of all the angels of God, through all the days of eternity! This is the true and triumphant state of glory. O, what glory to reign on high with the King of kings! to sit down with him on his throne for all ages, and never be degraded from that divine dignity! O eternity! once the comfort of our longing expectations—now the transport of our enlarged souls! For we are ever with the Lord, seeing his unclouded face, wearing his divine name, drinking at the streams of his pleasures, eating of his hidden manna, sitting beneath the Tree of life, basking under the beams of the Sun of righteousness, singing hallelujahs to him who loved us, who washed us from our sins in his blood, and brought us here to be forever with his blessed self—sharing in his dominions, and dividing the spoil, for the warriors share the prey with the almighty Conqueror. Here we dwell in God, and he in us; we know his love, are transformed into his glorious likeness, and made partakers of his divine nature. O state of complete happiness, and consummate bliss; only to be apprehended in the possession, known in the enjoyment, and understood in its eternal duration! Now the day has broken, the shadows fled away, and all is eternal noon! Not a desire I had—but larger than its dimensions, is fulfilled! Not a request but, more than it contained, is granted! And all my soul is satisfied and replenished with the divine plenitude of your superabundant goodness. Come, my Beloved, let us hold the most intimate communion; here will I give you my love. Blessed I! What glorious blaze! what wonders rise! What ardors glow within! All is light and glory, all joy and exultation! All is transport and praise, all astonishment and wonder! All is vision and likeness to Jesus, all fruition and satisfaction! All is God! God and the Lamb are all in all—to all the heavenly nations—through all ages! Amen! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 160: 04.00. THE TRAVELER ======================================================================== THE TRAVELER James Meikle, 1730-1799 The author wrote these meditations while employed as a naval surgeon on a British battleship in time of war. Meditations 1 to 30 Meditations 31 to 60 Meditations 61 to 90 Meditations 91 to 121 ======================================================================== CHAPTER 161: 04.01. MEDITATIONS 1 TO 30 ======================================================================== Meditations 1 to 30 MEDITATION I. GOING ABROAD 1757. What a load of business presses me on every hand when about to leave my native country! I must state and clear with all my creditors and debtors before I go! Besides, when I am about my ordinary business, a little pocket-money will defray my charges. But it is not so when going abroad; I must have bills of exchange for a considerable sum, and changes of apparel agreeable to that part of the world to which I am bound. Now, if I am thus busied, thus anxious and concerned about my going from one part to another of this terrestrial globe; with what justice will all this care, anxiety, and concern, be increased, when I must commence my journey to eternity, and set out for the other world? This is an event that unavoidably awaits me; and who can tell how soon? Of what folly would I prove myself possessed, should I propose to go so far without a farthing? But with much greater madness would I be intoxicated, should I launch into eternity without a saving interest in the heavenly treasure! To be poor in any part of this present world, begets contempt among the men. But poverty in the eternal world—is an eternal shame, and an irretrievable loss! Again, would I not blush to go with tattered clothes and dirty shoes, to a part of the world where it is fashionable to be finely dressed? How, then, shall I appear without the white raiment of a Savior’s righteousness, in the presence of God, where angels walk in robes of innocence, and saints in broidered garments? When the marriage of the Lamb shall be come, and his wife shall have made herself ready; if found without the wedding-garment; with what confusion of face shall I be covered, and with what anguish cast into outer darkness! How I am hurried at the last in setting out, notwithstanding I have been so long proposing, and so long preparing for this voyage! Yes an express arrives, that the ship is ready to sail—and I am taken, as it were, unawares—though for some time I have been expecting such a message. Then, since I have this momentous, this interesting voyage into the eternal world before me, let my daily study be so to set all my grand concerns in order, that when ship of death comes, I may have nothing to do but set my foot aboard, and be wafted over to the land of rest! Again, though looking for death daily, yet I, and all my friends—may be surprised at last. Now of friends and acquaintances I take a long farewell. But at death I bid the whole world an eternal adieu. MEDITATION II. ON TAKING FAREWELL. 1757. Everything beneath the sun has vanity and vexation engraved on it. And it is fit it should be so, lest men, possessing what they aspire after, should forget that this world is fleeting. So we see, we feel—that pleasure is interwoven with pain, sweet with sour, joy with sorrow, riches with anxiety and cares, greatness with torment, health with disease, and life with death. When I took farewell of my friends to see other nations, and rise into a more universal knowledge of the world and men (trifles that please an aspiring mind) yet how were all my fine prospects more than balanced to think, that I might never see my native land again, the land of liberty and light. What if I should drop into the unfathomed depths of the ocean, and be a prey to the finny tribe? But, abstracting from these gloomy forethoughts, how was joy turned into a flow of friendly sorrow! Can I yet forget the affectionate grasp of hand, the melting tear, the parting kiss, and kindly look—as if it might have been the last,* and all from friends so near and dear? Yet this must be: I must either refrain from going abroad, or take farewell of all my friends. And who knows if ever I shall see them again, until in another world, where the nearest ties are loosed, and the dearest relations dissolved—unless a spiritual relation unites our souls to him, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, a family that shall never scatter or be dispersed through the ages of eternity! *(The author never saw some friends, alluded to above, again in life, particularly his mother.) The highest wisdom of the traveler, then, is to be made a member of the heavenly family. Thus, when the frail family, of which he is a mortal member, must be divided, parted, and spread abroad—some in death, some in distant lands—he shall never be cast out of the celestial family, nor denied the high privileges thereof—but may cry to God, ’Abba, Father,’ and shall find him not far off, when roaring oceans interrupt the father’s passionate care, and bound the tender mother’s melting flow of affection. Without such a celestial relationship—we are orphans, though we had the best of fathers, and the kindest of mothers. Without such a celestial relationship—we are friendless, though we had the most sympathizing sisters, and obliging brothers. Without such a celestial relationship—we are destitute, amidst our numerous, rich, and munificent family; and more desolate—though among a world of friends. But, blessed with being a member of this heavenly family—no tongue can tell our happiness. Our heavenly Father, who knows our need, is ever at our hand. His power and promptitude to do us good exceed the gracious father, and excel the kindly mother. His mercy outshines the sympathizing sisters, and his bounty the obliging brother. His promises are better than all our earthly relations. His providence is better than our richest friends. His presence is better than a world of acquaintances, or the friendship of kings. May this, then, be my case—and I am happy in my travelings, and joyful in my journeys. MEDITATION III. THE TEMPER OF A TRAVELER. Now I leave my native land in peace with all, and wish well to friends and foes, as no doubt I have both. Gratitude binds me not to forget my friends. Grace binds me to forgive my foes. He carries an evil principle in his bosom, who goes away with rage, in hopes to return and revenge; for "anger rests only in the bosom of fools." It is a Christian grace to forgive even the worst of injuries; for it ennobles a man more to conquer the wicked principle of his corrupt nature, than to take a city. Would I revenge a personal quarrel on any at the day of judgment? Surely not! Shall I, then, carry rancor to the very grave, or lie down in a condition in which I would not wish to rise? Therefore my angry passion shall be converted into pity, and I will not only forgive men what they may have done amiss to me—but implore forgiveness for them in that wherein they may have offended God. Thus shall I go lightly, compared with the mental madman who cherishes revenge. He continually carries about with him a load of hurtful two-edged weapons, in hopes to find his foe, and satiate his revenge upon him. But, while he waits his opportunity, he slips a foot, and fails among the pointed weapons, which wound him unto death. So must every malicious person fare at last—who falls over the precipice of time into eternity—full of envy, and inflamed with wrath. MEDITATION IV. THE FINAL JOURNEY. Leith, March 1758. Though only now and then, one here, and another there, departs this life, yet on the confines of endless ages, on the borders of the invisible world—what numbers of departing souls are daily passing from every part of the inhabited globe—to appear before the tremendous judgment! If we glance the obituaries of well populated cities, the numbers that daily die are astonishing. And though nothing be more common than death—yet nothing is more affecting than dying. I have taken one journey, which may remind me of another that shall overtake me—and that, being my final journey, shall never be followed by a future one. Let not, then, my improvidence in spiritual things, cause me to repent, when repentance, though perpetuated, may be too late. MEDITATION V. ON ARRIVING AT A STRANGE CITY. London. Thousands and ten thousands are the inhabitants of this place, and yet I know none of them. How soon is man a stranger among his fellow-creatures! He may be acquainted with the people where he was born and brought up, or where he dwelt. But a few days journey convinces him, even among the multitude of men, that he is a stranger on this earth; for where he is acquainted with one, he is unacquainted with thousands. This admonishes me to account the world a foreign country, and myself as only passing through it to my native country; and therefore to fix my affections on the things that are above, where I am hastening. My next reflection leads me to admire your omniscience with astonishment. Not a person among these many thousands but you know their business, their actions, and their way of life, yes more, their words and very thoughts. You also rule and govern them in all their various actions, numbers of whom have never known you. Nor does the conduct of your providence only extend to this circle of men—but to every individual through the extensive universe. O wisdom to be adored! O power to be depended on! And shall not I, who am but one, trust in you who orders all the world so well! Not only the peaceful village in its ordinary round of human life—but the hostile plain in all the tumult and confusion of war, confesses your scepter. Then, if all have an interest in your common providence, shall not I have an interest in your special care? My next reflection is on the almost incredible numbers of my fellow-creatures who inhabit here; and if I throw my thought through the world, what greater numbers, what nations are held in life! what then must the general assembly at the great assize be, if, according to some, every thirty or forty years sweeps the world of all its inhabitants? By the same great God, who now governs with wisdom, shall all this mighty assembly be judged with equity, who will render to everyone according to his works. While thousands hang their head for shame, may I be among those who shall lift up their face with joy before the great congregation. MEDITATION VI. GOOD AND BAD MEN MIXED TOGETHER IN THE WORLD. London, April 16, 1758. Now the world of mankind is a mingled multitude—good and bad are mixed together—wheat and tares grow in one field. Yes, they dwell now in one house, of whom at the last day one shall be taken and the other left. This is a grievance which cannot be avoided, for we must have connection with the wicked in the affairs of life, else we must go out of the world. And sometimes, as to me at present, there are certain stages of life, in which they are as it were—with the wicked, and handcuffed with the sons of vice—to whom the things of God are foolishness, and by whom the concerns of the immortal soul are never taken into consideration. They live as if they were to live forever in this present state, or as if when they die they would never go to judgment, and then to their eternal state. What comfort, then, should it be to my soul, that he who once made all things, will again make all things new! He will, as in the old creation, divide, not only between night and day—but between the sons of night, and the children of the day. And while those are covered with shame and confusion of face, and cast into the blackness of darkness forever; the righteous shall shine as the stars, and as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Then shall God’s people speak a pure language; and to them, the Lord will manifest all of his glory. Perverse thoughts within, and profane talk without, shall no more disquiet them. Neither wicked company nor wandering cogitations shall vex the child of God any more. Then those who walk with him in white, shall talk with one another on the sublimest subjects of eternity—on the love and sufferings of the Son of God. Idle words in that state of perfection shall cease, where every speech is pure and spotless, every whisper celestial, every word divine, and all is one ravishing paean on redeeming love! MEDITATION VII. ON BEING ENABLED TO RESIST A TEMPTATION London, April 17, 1758. Grace to help in time of need is the gift of God to the child of grace, and the greatest blessing we can receive from heaven in a state exposed to temptations from every quarter. All within me desires to bless your holy name, that when the temptation was near, you were not far off; and that, as it was consistent with your divine wisdom to permit me to be tempted to sin, it was also consistent with your grace and goodness to strengthen and deliver me when I was tempted. As my finite wisdom cannot prevent my being tempted, so my feeble powers cannot resist being overtaken by them. I have your providence, therefore, to magnify, that I am not overtaken with more temptations than I am; and your grace to adore, that I am not overcome with every temptation which assaults me. Human nature (and in me more so than in many) is like a pile of dry wood shavings; and temptation is like a spark of fire cast into it; then it must be power divine that hinders all from going into a blaze. O kind compassion! O tender mercy! O glorious grace! I am nothing; hence I shall think humbly of myself—but highly of your grace. What a thorny path is human life! How is it strewed with snares, gins, and traps—for head and feet, for heart and hands. If I lift up my head in pride, I fall into the condemnation of the devil. If I am not watchful in my goings, I am cast into a net by my own feet, and walk into a snare. Vanity is ready to fill my heart, and wickedness my hands. There is not an organ of my body—but Satan has his deceptive weapons against it. For my ear, he has false teaching. For my sight, he has the lust of the eye. For my touch, he has the handling of the things that perish. He turns my desires into covetousness; my legitimate concerns into anxiety; my fears into despair. He would run down my hope, and attack my faith. Seeing, then, that I am thus beset with snares on every side, from every hand, O that on my soul—my one precious gem—there may be seven eyes, and a protection round about me better than horses and chariots of fire. Two lessens I am taught, which, through grace, I never shall forget: 1. To be distrustful of myself. 2. To be confident in God, strong in his grace, and to boast in him all the day long. May the holiness of my life, show the sincerity of my gratitude. And may I mind with joy, that your name, as to my sweet experience I have found—is a "present help in time of trouble." MEDITATION VIII. THE PROMISES A DIVINE TREASURE. London, April 19, 1758. Once, with the unthinking world, I esteemed the poor miserable; and called the rich happy. But now, since I glanced the volumes of Scriptural revelation, I am of another mind. If we compare poor and rich in scripture account, we easily see a mighty difference; for while a threatening is dropped here and there against the one; to the other pertain the precious promises. "Woe to you that are rich, for you have received your consolation." "Go, now, you rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you." Thus riches, though not a curse in themselves, yet, to depraved and corrupt nature, yield so many opportunities, set so many baits to sin, that it is a sacred and friendly admonition, "Labor not to be rich." Were we only to inspect the lives and deaths of the righteous, it might make us welcome poverty which protects us, by depriving us of so many opportunities to destroy ourselves. But when we see the surprising expressions of paternal care which are scattered in the oracles of truth, we can do no less than account the poor the happy ones; for such is the mercy of God, that when a man is in misery, then becomes the object of his mercy. Now, to show that the promises of God are not bare expressions of good will, let his providential conduct be surveyed, as recorded in the word of truth, and that in a few instances. Hagar, an Egyptian, Sarah’s handmaid, flees from the face of her unfriendly mistress; flees to whom she knows not, and where she cannot tell. She sits down by a well of water in the wilderness, no doubt overcome with sorrow. But then the angel of the Lord comes to her; tells her that the Lord had heard her affliction; speaks comfort to her, and makes her a promise, under a grateful sense of all which she calls the name of the Lord, who thus followed her with unexpected kindness, "You, God, see me." Again, the same Hagar is plunged into a new scene of distress. Her care and confusion are augmented, as she is not now alone in her perplexity—but has her son, her only son with her, the object of her fondest affection, and the hope of her infirm old age. The bottle of water is spent, and the stripling boy, for thirst—the worst of all deaths—must die. Her melting affections being unable to behold the agony of his last moments, she lays him down under a shrub, to screen him from the sultry heat, and goes away from him. Yet maternal care will not let her go too far away; so she sits down and fixes her eyes on the melancholy spot. And now her grief cannot be contained, as before, in agitating thoughts—but bursts out in briny tears. She lifts up her voice aloud, and weeps. Well, the God who saw her before, sees her still. The voice of the lad, who no doubt mingled his tears and complaints with his mother’s, is heard; and Hagar’s eyes are opened to see a fountain, at which she fills the bottle, gives him drink, and he revives again. It may not be amiss to name a few more instances of providential care; as, Lot’s rescue by Abraham, when he and all he had were taken captive; and afterwards his miraculous deliverance out of Sodom. Jacob’s preservation from angry Laban, when pursued and overtaken by him; and his still more amazing deliverance from Esau’s rooted revenge, which is converted into congratulations, tears, and embraces. The astonishing history of Joseph, through all its unparalleled scenes. The deliverance of the children of Israel, when their bondage was grown insupportable, leading them through the Red Sea, while their pursuers perished in the waters; feeding them in the wilderness with manna from heaven, and keeping their clothes from waxing old. And how many times, in the book of Judges, even when his people had sinned against him, did he show mercy to them in their extremity of misery? The accounts of Naomi, Ruth, and Hannah, show how the mercy of God takes place in all the circumstances of the afflicted. The memorable passage of the ark of God in the Philistines’ land; Jonathan’s victory over the Philistines; the death of giant Goliath, who had defied the armies of Israel, by the hand of David, who afterwards has a beautiful chain of deliverances from a persecuting Saul, and in his old age from the rebellion of his unnatural son; the protection of the seven and thirty worthies, amidst the dangers they were exposed to; Elijah fed by ravens—creatures which live on carrion, and yet they bring bread and meat to the man of God twice a day! The widow’s barrel of meal, and cruse of oil, blessed so as not to waste by using; Elijah’s forty days journey in the strength of one meal; small armies defeating great multitudes; armies supplied with water in a miraculous way; the barren woman made to bear children; the dead restored to life again; poison prevented from doing harm, and food augmented; the three children preserved in the fire, and Daniel in the lion’s den. All manner of diseases were cured by Christ, and his servants, the prophets and apostles; the lepers cleansed, the blind made to see, the deaf to hear, the mute to sing, and the lame to leap; the deliverance of the disciples on the lake, of Peter, when sinking, and afterwards when kept in prison, a destined sacrifice to cruelty and rage. Paul’s escape when watched in Damascus, and when laid fast in the stocks with Silas, in the inner prison; when shipwrecked, and when the viper fastened on his hand. These are some instances which the promises of God have been made out to his people in their adversities. And let those, on the one hand, who have no changes, and therefore fear not God, know, that they have neither part nor lot in these promises. But on the other hand, let him know who suffers under the greatest load of afflictions, that he has a right to the greatest number of promises; and that whenever he loses another enjoyment, then he has a right to another promise, which makes up that loss with a redundancy of goodness. Now, let us glance at a few of these many great PROMISES, that in all cases and conditions we may take comfort. If we are troubled with sin in its uprisings in our hearts, and outbreakings in our life, to us then the promise speaks, "I will take away the hard and stony heart. I am he who blots out your iniquities as a cloud, and your sins as a thick cloud. He will subdue all our iniquities, and cast our sins into the depths of the sea, so that in the day when Israel’s sins shall be sought for, they shall not be found. Sin shall not have dominion over you. I will heal their backslidings; I will love them freely." Again, with respect to temptation, hear the promise, "He will not allow you to be tempted above that you are able to bear—but will with the temptation make a way to escape." Moreover, this promise is made by him, who being once tempted himself, knows how to support those who are tempted. Also, if we fear lest we fall into sin, or be overcome when we are buffeted, hear what he says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness. The just shall hold on his way, and he who has clean hands shall be stronger and stronger. The righteous shall be like the palm tree in Lebanon, always flourishing and bringing forth fruit, even in old age, when others fade." If suddenly attacked by the tongue of reproach, or accused at the bar of iniquity, he promises, that in that hour it shall be given how and what to speak, and therefore we should take no anxious forethoughts in the matter. With his saints in all their afflictions, he is afflicted, and his gracious promises measure breadth and length to all the trouble and distress which can befall them. If poor in spirit, those he cheers, and despises not his prisoners. A bruised reed he will not break, nor quench the smoking flax. He deals very compassionately with young converts, carries the lambs in his bosom, and gently leads those who are with young. He commands Peter to manifest his love to him by feeding his sheep, his lambs. And says to those in the pangs of the new birth, "Shall I cause to come to the birth, and not give strength to bring forth?" Again, if they are poor as to this world, he not only makes promises to them himself—but importunes others to do them good offices; and that he may prevail with them, promises to those who consider the case of the poor, that they shall not lie on a bed of languishing unconsidered—but have their bed made by God in their sickness. O poor man! he puts you and himself on one side, by promising to repay, as lent to him, what is given to you. Everywhere in the scripture he instructs us to feed the hungry, refresh the weary, clothe the naked, receive the outcasts: "Let my outcasts dwell with you, Moab; be a covert to them."—to entertain the stranger and the traveler kindly, to do justice to the oppressed, to help the widow, and judge the cause of the fatherless. To the afflicted he promises deliverance in the day of trouble: "Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver you. I will be with you in trouble to deliver you. I will never fail you nor forsake you, until I have performed the promised good." If exposed to calumny, says the promise, "You shall be hidden from the scourge of the tongue." Or if reproached, "He shall bring forth your judgment as the noon-day." Now, though the promises suit the saints in their various stations; yet, as the afflicted and needy ones have a double share of trouble and sorrow—so they have a double portion of the promises. If they are exposed to storms and drought—he promises to be a hiding-place from the storm, a covert from the tempest, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land, and as refreshful rivers in a parched place. If they are reckoned as the refuse of the world, and the off-scouring of all things—he counterbalances this, by promising them that he will honor them, set them on high, and confess their names before his Father, and his holy angels. But they may be in doubt how or where to walk, and how to act; then, says he, "I will lead the blind by a way they know not; I will make crooked places straight, and rough places plain. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them." And when they are so bewildered as not to know what hand to turn to in their doubts and distress, he says, "Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord." Hence says the psalmist, and all saints may say it after him, "You will guide me with your counsel while I live." But death may invade their family, and lessen the number of their relations. Then says he, "I am the resurrection and the life; and the hour is coming, when all who are in their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of man, and shall come forth." Therefore do not sorrow for your dead as they that have no hope; for they are blessed who die in the Lord, and it is better to be gone, and be with Jesus, than remain here. If they are subject to bodily infirmity, and bowed down by disease; then says he, "I am the Lord who heals you." And he often shows himself merciful to those who sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, being bound with cords of affliction, and sends his word and heals them. But the disease may be spiritual, and so of a more piercing and pungent nature; yet says he, "I will restore health to his mourners." He heals the broken in heart, and binds up their wounds; and gives the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. If their grief be on account of the decay of religion, or the afflicted state of Zion, these promises may yield them comfort, "That Israel shall revive as the corn, grow as the lily, and cast forth her roots as Lebanon; that Christ’s name shall endure forever, and a seed shall serve him to all generations; and that the gates of hell shall never prevail against his church, since he is both the foundation and chief corner-stone, and will be with her to the end." But if their sorrow be about the fewness of those who seem to be saved, or who follow Christ, then the word of comfort is, "The elect obtained it, but the rest were hardened," so that a great multitude of all nations, tongues, and languages, shall compose the general assembly and church of the first-born. If they are under gloomy shadows by divine hidings, yet then hear the promises, "At evening-time it shall be light. Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God. To you that fear his name shall the Son of righteousness arise with healing in his wings, and in the light of your countenance shall they walk on forever." To which promises the response of faith is, "When I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light unto me, for he shall bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold his righteousness." If they are disquieted through trouble of mind, hear the kindly promise, "As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you. For the Lord has called you, like a wife deserted and wounded in spirit, a wife of one’s youth when she is rejected. I deserted you for a brief moment, but I will take you back with great compassion. And, as the waters of Noah shall never return to cover the earth, so the covenant of my peace shall never depart from you; for though you seem as one altogether afflicted with my waves, tossed with the tempests of my indignation, until you groan under the anguish of a deserted soul, yet the day is at hand, when I will no more hide my face from you; for though a woman may forget her nursing child, and have no compassion on the fruit of her womb, yet I can never forget you who are so dear to me." Again, to those that are distressed for the divisions of Reuben, the promise speaks, "The watchmen shall see eye to eye, when the Lord brings again Zion. There shall be a day when the watchmen in Mount Ephraim shall cry, Arise! let us go up to Zion. Judah and Israel shall be one stick in my hand; for there shall be one Lord over all the earth, and his name one." And the last prayer of the divine sufferer, which runs thus, "That they all may be one, as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be one in us"—shall be answered in due time. To those who are called out to dangers, says the promise, "You shall tread on the lion, and adder; the young lion and dragon shall you trample under foot." The Lord who created you says: "Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown! When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior." Again, if calamities be national, even the time of Jacob’s trouble, yet the promise is, "He shall be saved out of it. This man shall be our peace, when the Assyrian comes into our land, and treads in our borders—He will ordain peace for us, who makes peace." If enemies rise in war, then the promise is, that they shall be found liars; and though they be numerous, that one shall chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight; for no weapon formed against Zion shall prosper. But if they should be made prisoners, the promise reaches that situation also: "Verily, I will cause the enemy to treat you well in the time of evil, and in the time of affliction;" which was made good to Israel, who were pitied by those who led them captive. Are they blind, dumb, deaf, maimed, deformed, feeble, and perishing? Then the promise is that the Son of God, whose coming from heaven we look for, "shall change our vile bodies, that they may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the working whereby he is able to subdue even all things unto himself." To the barren he promises to give in his house, and within his walls, a place and a name better than of sons and of daughters. To the stranger he promises to be a shield. But perhaps they are not only strangers for a little time—but outcasts for a long time; then "the Lord gathers the outcasts of Israel. I will tell the north to let them go and the south not to hold them back. Let my people return from distant lands, from every part of the world." But they, perhaps, have been long expecting the performance of the promise, and praying for some blessing that has not been bestowed. The promise says, "The needy shall not always be forgotten, the expectation of the poor shall not perish forever. He will fulfill the desire of those who fear him, he will hear their cry, and save them." But they may be exposed to the cunning plots of designing men; true, say the sacred oracles, "The wicked plots against the just, and gnashes upon him with his teeth. But the Lord shall laugh at him"—in way of derision, whose more terrible doom is at hand, even a day coming that shall pluck him out root and branch, while the righteous shall be an everlasting foundation. But one may be fatherless, and such is ready to suffer injury at every hand. But, says the promise, "God is a Father to the fatherless, and the widow’s Judge in his holy habitation." And so says he, "Leave your fatherless children."—Ah! Lord, may the dying parent say, I must leave them. Well—but, says God, "I will preserve them alive;" that is, provide for them, and bring them up like a kindly tutor, and what more could you do though still with them? Then, may the sympathizing husband say, And what shall this your handmaid do? "Let your widow trust in me," and she shall not be ashamed of her hope; I will be to her as the most tender husband. Again, the comforting word to such as are living among the ungodly, and chained to bad company, is, "The Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptation," as he did Lot in a like situation. But their work allotted them may be arduous and difficult; then the promise is, "I will be with your mouth; you shall not be afraid of their faces, for I am with you to deliver you; the tongue of the stammerer shall speak plainly. I will direct their work in truth. As his day is, so shall his strength be." But they may be solitary, their dearest friends, and nearest relations, being removed by death; then, says the promise: "God sets the solitary in families, and brings out those who are bound with chains." But they may be troubled to think how they shall hold on through this howling wilderness; how they shall make the steep ascent to the hill of God. Then the promise is, "My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest: You shall hear a voice behind you, saying, This is the way, walk in it, when you turn to the right hand, and when you turn to the left. They shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. He who is feeble among them, at that day shall be as David." But they may have their daily difficulties how to support their needy families; well, the promise also speaks to that condition: "those who fear the Lord shall not lack any good thing. Behold the eye of the Lord is upon those who fear him, upon those who hope in his mercy, to deliver their soul from death, and keep them alive in famine. Bread shall be given you, and your water shall be sure. Therefore, I say—don’t worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food, drink, and clothes. Doesn’t life consist of more than food and clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t need to plant or harvest or put food in barns because your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are. Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? Of course not. And why worry about your clothes? Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won’t he more surely care for you? You have so little faith! So don’t worry about having enough food or drink or clothing. Why worry about these things, when it is your Father’s good pleasure, O little flock! to give you the kingdom? But they may be distressed with daily afflictions, and continued chastisements; well, the promise speaks a good word to dissipate that pain: "Many are the afflictions of the righteous—but the Lord delivers him out of them all." But perhaps old age advancing, with all its train of infirmities, may trouble them; then the promise proclaims the divine protection: "Even when you’re old, I’ll take care of you. Even when your hair turns gray, I’ll support you. I made you and will continue to care for you. I’ll support you and save you." But they may be under bondage through fear of death, and even tremble to take the dark step into the unseen world; then the promise speaks comfort in the very last extremity: "O death! I will be your plague; O grave! I will be your destruction!" So that they may break out into the same raptures, that saints viewing the same change, sweetened by the same promise, have done of old, "O death! where is your sting? O grave! where is your victory? This God is our God, and will be our guide even unto death! Yes, though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, yet will I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort me." MEDITATION IX. THE SACRED INSURANCE. Horndean, April 30, 1758. Men that go to sea, conscious of their danger, oftentimes insure themselves. I am also going to sea, and carry a cargo with me more precious than all the treasures of the Indies—even my immortal soul, which is also in danger of perishing upon the waters of vice and profanity. How then shall my all be safe amidst so many dangers; amidst the corruption of nature and the seeds of sin within—and bad example, base advice, bold attacks, and baneful snares without; while perhaps there is not one to counsel me aright, to strengthen my hand in God, and thereby comfort me? Blessed be the God of all consolation, that in this deplorable situation I need not despond. The insurance-office of heaven is willing to contract with me on the most honorable, and most advantageous terms for my soul; and holds forth to me the steadfast promise of his faithfulness, "That his grace shall be sufficient for me, because his strength is made perfect in my weakness, and that he will not allow me to be tempted above measure—but will with the temptation make a way to escape." Then, Lord, my humble request is—That I may never sin against your love and grace, nor cause you to hide your face by my untender walk—That sin may continue, whatever shape it may put on, as ugly and abominable to me as ever I thought it, yes, the more so the more I am entangled with it; as I would more hate the serpent twisting around my legs, than crawling ten yards distant from me on the ground—That I may ever be grieved with the sins of others, and that, in speaking against sin, I may not fear the face of man—That the more all things would draw me from you, I may draw the nearer to you, and keep the closer by you—That I may never be ashamed of true religion, or of you—That I may remember the concerns of your glory as far as in me lies, and pray for the reviving of religion, and prosperity of Zion—That I may study, since I cannot have the ordinances of God in public, to enjoy the God of ordinances in private—That I may never be cast down for temporal misfortunes—but own the hand of God in all; and, like the honey-bee, suck sweetness to my soul—from that same providence which affords bitterness and disquiet to the unsubmissive mind—That in the midst of all, I may keep my latter end in my mind, and never forget the world to come—That I may depend on nothing in myself—but be always strong in the grace and strength which is in Christ Jesus—That every Sabbath may be sweet to my soul, in spite of all obstruction; and that an opportunity may be afforded to me, to read that word which I should esteem more than my necessary food. O grant me my request! for, as of old, you allowed none to do your chosen ones harm. Yes, for the sake of your prophets, you reproved mighty kings; so now, if I be among the number of your people, you can, who have the hearts of all men in your hand, not only restrain—but reprove the bold offender, and keep me safe in the midst of danger. As a sign of my gratitude for your great goodness—not a little—but all I am, have, or can do, shall, all my lifetime, be devoted to the advancement of your glory, and honor of your name. MEDITATION X. ON PUMPING THE SHIP. Spithead, May 11, 1755. No ship can be so well sealed—but she will draw water, more or less, though where or how we scarce can tell; and though it is only by the assistance of the watery element we sail from shore to shore, yet, if too much water were let in on us, it would sink us to the bottom of the sea, and bury us amidst unfathomable waves. Even so, though a moderate portion of the good things of this life be highly useful to us through the various stages thereof, yet, when the cares of this life, carnal pleasures, and a desire after riches, break in on our souls like mighty billows, we are likely to be drowned in destruction and perdition. Again, on such an ocean of waters, and when water also swells within us, what a wonder that we are not lost! So, in such a world of wickedness (witness the wretches around me) and when corruption so swells within, what a miracle of mercy that the soul is not lost forever! Whatever way the water comes into the ship, it cannot be sent out the same way—but must be pumped out with care and toil; even so, though death and sin came in by mere man, yet life and salvation must be brought in by him who is both God and man in one. And as this water comes not from a lave of the surging waves, or breaking billows—but as it were, springs up within the vessel, and thus is both dangerous and disagreeable; just so, though we keep from scandalous outbreakings, yet, if we indulge ourselves in secret sin, we both defile and destroy the inner man. The faster the ship makes water, the more we ply the pump; so the more that sin attacks, and is likely to prevail, the more I am to watch and pray against it; and prayer is the Christian’s pump, which must be employed, else the soul would perish. Lastly, as the mariner must pump again and again, and never think his labor at an end, while his ship is at sea; so I must watch against sin, keep myself from iniquity, attend well to the state of my soul, and implore the inhabitation of the Divine Spirit, until my vessel arrives at the harbor of eternal rest. MEDITATION XI. ON THE ANCHORS OF THE SHIP. Spithead, May 4, 1758. Men unacquainted with navigation, would think that the cables to which the anchors are appended were fastened to some part above deck. But it is not so; they come from the very inmost part of the ship. Even so, faith, which is the anchor of the soul, is no external form, or superficial act—but the very soul, in all her faculties, going out and fastening on Christ. And, as it is enough to the ship that she rides safe at her moorings, though her anchors are not exposed to every eye—but hidden beneath an heap of waters, and only known by their effects—that she keeps by her station, in spite of winds and waves, of tides and storms. Just so, it is enough that the anchor of the soul is fixed within the veil. And though concealed from view; it will be known by its sweet effects. The soul shall abound in fruits of righteousness, shall find a sweet tranquility within, shall be stable like Mount Zion, while the wicked shall be tossed like straw before the whirlwind. Sometimes a ship may drift, when the anchor has been lowered. But then it is owing to the anchor losing its hold. But this is remedied by letting out cable, or dropping the anchor anew. Just so, when the soul loses its hold of Christ and heavenly things, it is no wonder that it is driven here and there, by storms and tempests, among rocks and quick-sands; nor is there any other way of bringing the soul to rest and composure—but by acting faith more strongly on Christ, and casting her anchor anew within the veil. It would be ridiculous for the shipmaster to hoist his sails without an anchor on board. But the Christian can never steer safely through the course of life—but with his anchor fixed within the veil; then, if he is thus heavenly wise, he shall weather every storm, and make the haven, the long wished for haven, at last. Even the ship at anchor is never altogether free from motion in the greatest calm, and, at sometimes will roll in such a manner as to make some of the ship’s company sick, and others believe that the anchor has lost its hold, and that all is in danger. Even so, the saints, though secured against utter ruin, may have many changes, may be much tossed with adversities, and various afflictions, and may have fears without, and fightings within. But, how much wiser is the mariner in a storm, than the children of wisdom themselves! The fiercer the tempest, and the greater the danger, they cast out the more anchors. But the saints, in times of greatest trouble, instead of acting the strongest faith, are apt to cry out, ’Lost, and undone!’ and so cut their cables and cast loose their anchors; and thus, and that always in a night of sorrow and anguish, are tossed on the rough sea of despondency and doubt, for a time. Faith, however, has this advantage above all the cables ever made, and all the anchors ever fabricated, that it secures in spite of fiercest storms, and keeps safe in the midst of imminent dangers, relying more or less on him who cannot fail, even when providence contradicts the promise. Now, as no ship goes to sea without her cables and anchors, though of no use until she comes again near the land; so I should do everything in faith; for without faith it is impossible to please God, or come to anchor in the harbor of glory. MEDITATION XII. THE SAILS. Spithead, May 5, 1758. Anchors are servants to us in the harbor—but are entirely useless at sea, where another kind of tackling is absolutely necessary, namely, the expansive sails which spread their friendly wings, and catch the favoring gales, to forward us in our intended voyage. Even so, the spiritual seamen must to their anchors of faith, add virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity. These are the sails that bid fair for a prosperous voyage, and bring us daily nearer to the celestial land. The Holy Spirit breathing on the public ordinances, and the more private duties of Christianity, is like a fair wind, and a brisk gale on a full spread sail, which answers the highest expectation of the homeward bound ship. No shipmaster could ever expect, without sails, to make the desired haven, though favored with a very fresh gale. If he did not both unfurl and stretch his sails in the best direction for the wind, he would look more like a madman than a mariner. In the same way, he who attends on no ordinances, attempts the performance of no duty, reads not the scriptures of truth, and prays not to the God of all grace—is not in the way of the heavenly gale which wafts the saints to glory. Again, the sails may all be unfurled, by a skillful hand, and spread out to the wind, and yet the ship for a time make little way, because scarcely favored with a breath of wind. So the influences of the Spirit may be restrained for a time, and the saints, even in the use of every means, may make but little progress in their Christian course. But as the experienced seaman, in such a case, opens on all his sails—so we, with the spouse, should rouse up ourselves, rise from our sloth, ask anxiously after him, be earnest and importunate in every duty, until we find him whom our soul loves. Nothing can be a more pleasant sight at sea than a fleet of ships, richly laden, with a moderate gale, steering a straight course to the port, at which they have long been expected, and which they have long desired to see. But a company of saints traveling Zionwards, rich in heavenly graces, and the hopes of eternal glory; and, under the influences of the Holy Spirit, steering a straight course to the church of the first-born, where they have been long expected by the souls under the altar, and which they have long desired to see, is a more noble sight. Finally, as the ship never takes down her sails until arrived at her desired haven, so we should be always on our guard, keep every grace in vigor, never be weary in well doing—but press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, until we make the haven of bliss, the harbor of glory. MEDITATION XIII. ON THE COMPASS AND HELM. Spithead, May 6, 1758. Anchors and sails are both useful. But without something more, the mariner must steer an unsteady course, and traverse the ocean to little purpose, not knowing where he is, nor where he is heading. These handmaids of navigation are, the compass, the quadrant, and the helm. Without the compass, he dared never venture from the coast, because he would sail he knows not where. Without the quadrant, he must mistake his latitude. And without his helm, he might be driven where he would not. Even so all these in a spiritual sense are absolutely necessary to everyone who would have a safe passage to the other world. Therefore, seeing I am on a long and difficult voyage to eternity, much care should be taken what course I steer, since one point wrong, so to speak, instead of landing me safe in glory, will run me among the rocks of irretrievable ruin. Did not they seem to bid fair for a prosperous voyage, and for making the very harbor, who could boast to Christ himself, "Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in your name, and in your name cast out devils, and done many wonderful works?" And yet he professes to them, that he never knew them. Now, I must direct the course of my life, and the end of my actions, by the sacred compass of divine revelation. This should be a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path; my counselor in all difficulties, and my song in the house of my pilgrimage; yes, my daily and delicious food. Here I must observe, that if the most skillful pilot cannot, without the compass, sail from England to the Indies. In like manner, the heathen—for all the blaze of natural parts, for all their refined manners, or excellent morals, yet, lacking the word of God, the volume of inspiration—can never reach the shore of happiness—for "how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard! and how shall they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach except they are sent?" Again, like the spiritual mariner, I should take my altitude, and see what length I have run, what progress I have made in my course heavenward. Now, this is known by the height of the Sun of righteousness in my sky. If he enlightens the whole inner man, shines into my heart, irradiates every power of mind, covers me with his healing beams, fills my ravished eye, engages my attention, and excites me daily to adore and bask beneath my Savior’s gracious rays—surely I am well on to the meridian, well on to the land of rest. Again, I should be attentive to order my life according to your word, and have a zeal according to knowledge. Thus shall I at last, under a full sail, in a triumphant manner, have an abundant entrance into the kingdom of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. MEDITATION XIV. PROVISIONS AND STORES. The ship must not only be well supplied with everything necessary for navigation—but with food for the seamen on their voyage. If they have not stored both bread and water, they shall soon be in a starving condition, reduced to eat one another, or die, and never see the country for which they set out. In like manner, if we do not live on a crucified Jesus, if he is not the food of our souls, and in us the hope of glory. And if we cannot make a spiritual meal, a spiritual feast on the promises, we shall be consumed of famine, and perish in our passage. Again, as this day’s allowance will not support us tomorrow, so it is not by past grace received that we must pursue our Christian journey; for we must be strong only in the grace that is in Christ Jesus, and daily receive out of his fullness. Further, the provision which we carry to sea must be stored in another manner than what is used at land, otherwise it will corrupt, and become altogether useless. Even so, a form of godliness, and counterfeit graces, a mere notional faith, and a family-piety—will not support us in our passage to eternity. Besides, in a scarcity of provisions, the vermin and rats will attempt to gnaw the flesh of the poor sailors. Even so, when grace is languid or withheld, what lusts prey on the vitals of the soul! O, then, for a full meal on the bread of life, that I may be safe from sin and Satan, earth and hell! Our provisions, when long at sea, are apt to breed maggots, worms, and insects. Yet, if wholesome when put aboard, will support us until we accomplish our voyage. So, it is no wonder though, amidst so many snares, so many temptations, and in such a variety of circumstances and occurrences, the graces necessary to the Christian life, be more or less languid at times, and sometimes appear so much disposed to putrefaction, that spiritual death is dreaded to be at hand. But, if true grace be first implanted, the Christian shall not perish along the way—but have the bread and water of life bestowed upon him, until he comes to the banquet above. Moreover, if a supply of provisions, suitable to the length of the voyage, or of the time designed to be at sea, is neglected—a scarcity will ensue, that will ruin the ship. So, how sad to sail through life, with nothing but vanity and wind to feed on! The soul must starve all his life-long, and die at last of spiritual famine, the most terrible of all deaths. A ship, indeed, short of provisions, may meet another at sea, and obtain a liberal supply. But this is not the case with a graceless soul; no other can help, none can spare of his own stores to supply others. No private person, yes, nothing less than majesty, could afford so many people as are in the navy, this ample provision. So, neither from saints nor angels is the poor sinner to expect righteousness or grace; all are beggars or bankrupts themselves, and so can give no ransom for their brother’s soul. But how rich the King of heaven—who gives both grace and glory to his angels and saints—and yet remains an overflowing ocean of goodness! In a long voyage, it may be sometimes necessary to put the whole ship’s company on short allowance of food. So, the saints, in their way heavenward, may find themselves for a time deprived of public ordinances, which should nourish the soul (it is our sin, without urgent causes—to deprive ourselves of the means of grace) yes, may find the communications of grace more sparingly bestowed, or, to their sense, for a season withheld. But still grace in the soul, and the soul itself, shall by faith be kept alive, until they land in glory, where they shall feast on the plentitude of all divine goodness. Again, we must not only have the ship thoroughly equipped—but we must have spare anchors, spare sails, and spare masts; else in a storm, when we may be driven from our anchors, or at sea, when our sails may be blown to pieces—we must remain at the mercy of wind and wave, and perish in our distress. In like manner, it is proper that every Christian lay up in his mind the promises, the word on which God has caused him to hope; that in the day of darkness and tempest, when likely to sink in the mighty waves, he may have recourse to them, as holding forth an unchangeable love, and call to mind his past experience of divine goodness. Thus shall he weather out the storm, and have a safe passage to the land of promise. MEDITATION XV. BALLAST. Spithead, May 8, 1756. Notwithstanding all this needed apparatus, and royal provision made for the vessel designed for foreign climates, there is one thing absolutely necessary for her safety in the main ocean, among roaring winds, and that is a due weight of ballast. To see such a quantity of gravel, sand, stones, pegs of iron, etc. thrown into the ship’s hold, would make an ignorant person apt to conclude, that it must sink the ship, and not conduce to her safety. But, if the vessel were not sunk to a proper depth, she would buoy up on the surface of the water, and be overset by every gale that blows. In like manner, a pressure of affliction is absolutely necessary for the saint in his passage heavenward. If everything went prosperously on, spiritual pride might buoy up the soul, and expose her to be overset by every wind of temptation; and such winds the people of God may expect below. Indeed, there are manifold needs for humility—even in the best of Christians. Before God allows his saints to be exalted above measure, even through the manifestation of the divine favor, he will let loose the messenger of Satan to buffet them, as he dealt with Paul of old. As the ship sails more safely thus ballasted, though it has a greater depth of water to cut through; so it is safer for the soul to be kept in a due poise of humility and lowness of mind, than to float on the surface, and catch every gale. Again, it may be necessary sometimes to shift the ballast, to keep the ship upright in her position. Even so, according to our necessity, our afflictions may be removed from one thing, and laid upon another that is dear to us. We may suffer in our estate, or good name; trouble, disease, or death, may be laid on our children, or the wife of our bosom; and we may be afflicted in our bodies, or in our minds, as Infinite Wisdom sees fit—which should silence us under all. Again, the food and the water are part of the ballast, and keeps us deep in the water. Just so, our best comforts, at least what we thought best, are often made bitter with some cross. Thus, have not some husbands sharp sorrow from her that lies in their bosom? Have not some parents much vexation from those whom they have swaddled, and brought up? Therefore, to expect little from the creature, and all from God, is the way never to be disappointed—but always at rest. Finally, here is the crowning comfort, that, as the ballast is turned out, when the ship goes into dock, so, when I arrive at my much-desired haven, affliction shall no more have place in me; then shall I obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall forever flee away! MEDITATION XVI. THE MORE WE SEE OF SIN, THE MORE WE SHOULD HATE SIN. When Israel was in their own land, they were bent on idolatry. But, when forced to sacrifice at Babylon to idols which they knew not, they got such a overabundance of that sin, that they loathed it ever after. How, then, should I henceforth hate sin, when I see how guilty it makes the soul, how it debases even unto hell, how the longer the captive lies in chains, the fetters grow stronger, and the captive weaker; how it kindles hell, scatters brimstone over the body, makes the language of the pit spew from the tongue, and makes its victims restless in its pursuit! In a word, sin despises divine things, proclaims rebellion against Heaven, and wages war against God! MEDITATION XVII. KNOWING A SIN TO BE COMMITTED. Spithead, May 15, 1758. In vain, O foolish man! in vain you hide yourself, for "there is no darkness nor shadow of death where the workers of iniquity may hide themselves." Have you chosen the gloom of night? Well—but to God night is as the day, and darkness as the light. You did premeditate the perpetration of your wickedness, and God is preparing the punishment of your crimes. Lord! your judgments are a great deep, and your justice shall shine in the punishment of sinners, who shall confess the equity of your burning indignation. Thus, they who unweariedly blaspheme in pastime and in sport, shall eternally blaspheme in agony and pain. Thus, the unclean wretch, who burns in impure desires, and satisfies his lusts in an unlawful way, shall be delivered to the flames, where the worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched. He who will not hearken to God’s reproof, in the time of his patience, shall hear when God’s vengeance shall be his garment, and his fury shall uphold him. Thus, the companions of sin shall be the companions of suffering, being bound in bundles to be burnt together. Thus, the adulterers, who know no shame, shall be ashamed, and covered with confusion in that day. And such as now expose their wickedness to some, with impunity, shall be exposed before the great congregation, and shall not be able to hold up their face before the spotless throne. Then you, O sinner! shall be there, and I shall be there. Here I know your sin, and, if mercy does not now intervene—there I shall see your punishment. How shall you wish this day, this night, out of the number of the days of your years, and not added to your months! How will you wish darkness to cover it, and a cloud of oblivion to dwell upon it! How will you curse it, when ready to raise up your everlasting mourning! When you were a child, you could not commit this wickedness, and when you are a man, you should not; therefore, how shall you curse your manhood, and bewail the riper years; yes, wish that you had been an untimely birth—and never saw the sun! Your sin is marked in my mournful meditation, in your conscience which is at work secretly, and in the omniscience of your tremendous Judge. There will be no lack of proof against you in the day of your cause; the companion of your wickedness shall be present, I shall be present, conscience shall be present, when you appear before your Judge, who, being everywhere present, is the greatest witness of all. No false witness can appear in your defense at that tribunal; yes, you yourself shall never presume to plead not guilty. As sure as you have committed this sin, shall these solemn events take place! And yet, O man! you are merry in the midst of all your misery, and observe not the impending thunders that are about to break on your cursed head. Sin is that poison that makes a man go laughing to death, and dancing to destruction! Then, let my soul weep in secret places for those who cannot pity themselves, nor show compassion on their own souls—but live in a dream, die in darkness, and plunge into despair! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 162: 04.01. MEDITATIONS 1 TO 30 CONTD ======================================================================== MEDITATION XVIII. A MAN OF WAR. May 16, 1758. There is a great difference between a trading ship and a ’man of war’. The one goes out for private gain; the other for the public safety. The trading ship neither intends to attack, nor is prepared to resist, if attacked in her voyage. But the ’man of war’ spreads the sails, and sweeps the sea, to find and fight the foe; and, therefore, carries along with her weapons of every kind, and instruments of death. Even so, the Christian has another course of life to lead than the worldling, even while sojourning in the world. And, as the ship of war must not visit from port to port, having more noble things in view—life and liberty to defend, and enemies to subdue—so, "No one serving as a soldier entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who chose him to be a soldier." We are never out of danger, while at sea; for, though it be a time of peace, we may be overtaken with a tempest, wrecked on a rock, or stranded on a sand-bank. But, in these disquieted times, we may be shattered in a battle, and sunk by the foe. Or, should we escape all these, we may have a mutiny within. Just so, whatever be the situation of the sons of men, still the children of grace have a war to maintain; not only a sea full of storms to struggle through—but a field of foes to fight through. It is through fire and water, through severe trials, and heavy afflictions, that all spiritual champions have to force their way. Satan knows well how to act; when faith would look to the bright side of every event, Satan turns up the black side, to drive the soul to despair. And, on the other hand, when grace looks to the blackness of sin, Satan turns up the beautiful side of pleasure. In adversity, I am ready to dash against the rocks of discontent. And in prosperity, I am ready to sink among the quicksands of worldly cares and temporal concerns. We have foes on every hand to fight, temptations from every quarter to resist, all the powers of darkness, all the principalities of the pit, to combat with. Nor is peace to be expected while an enemy is on the field—we cannot lay aside our armor, the weapons of our warfare, until we lay down the body of death. Again, though for a time we have no foe to affright us, no tempest to trouble us, no rock to endanger us—yet a mutiny may rise within, which may be more terrible than all these! It is always the ’dregs of the crew’ that are chiefly concerned in it, while the officers are sure either to be cut off, or confined. Just so, there may be a tumult raised in the soul, a war in the very mind, when rascally corruptions, headed by unbelief, claim the command; when graces, faith, love, patience, resignation, spirituality, etc. are wounded, and put under confinement. Thus, one complained of old, "I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin, which is in my members." Now, as no scene can be more bitter than a mutiny, until it be suppressed, and order restored; so nothing can be more melancholy than a soul suffering all the calamities of a war within, corruption rampant, and grace bleeding. But, how happy is the ship, when peace is restored, and the mutineers secured in irons, and what a strict eye is kept on them during the voyage! So it is with the soul; what joy, what exultation and triumph, prevail, when sin is subdued, and the love of God, and peace of conscience, are shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Spirit! This is known, that when the mutineers get the ascendance, and compel the rest of the ship’s company to join them, they turn pirates, are resolute in battle, bloody in their conquests, desperate in all attacks, a terror to, and hated of every nation. Even so, he that sets out with a fair profession of religion, and on the way to heaven—but turns a black apostate, spews out malice against the ways of God, becomes the bitterest of all enemies, the most profligate of all offenders, and is hated by saint and sinner. When a mutiny takes place, it is sometimes requisite for the safety of the ship, and for the honor of government, to cut off some otherwise very useful hands. Just so, we are to cut off lusts, though dear as our right eye, or useful as our right hand, that we perish not forever. Again, our being provided with what enables us to defend ourselves, and to distress our foes, has sometimes been the ruin of ships, while the fatal spark makes a terrible explosion, tears the vessel to pieces, and scatters the lifeless crew on the deep. So the best of blessings, the choicest privileges, when not improved, entail the bitterest of curses. Thus Judas, who sat in his divine master’s presence, heard his sermons, and witnessed his miracles, not improving these golden opportunities, turned traitor and hanged himself, in the anguish of despair. And Capernaum—which in privileges was exalted to heaven—is threatened to be thrust down to hell. When war is over, peace proclaimed, ships on foreign stations called home, wages received, ships laid up, and the crews discharged, and set at liberty; how is all mirth and celebration, festivity and joy! But, what tongue can tell the transports, the joy, the rapture, and delight, which the Christian shall feel when his warfare is finished, and he translated to the mansions of glory, to the presence of God! Some poor creatures, who, though weary of the war, yet not knowing how to support themselves, or where to go after discharged from the ship, would be content to continue still in the service. And this reminds me of some saints, who, not being free of doubts with respect to their state in a future world, notwithstanding all their toils in life, and struggles against sin—cling to life, and startle at the thoughts of death. But, there are some provident people who have saved a little in the course of the war; and some so happy as to obtain a pension from their prince. These cheerfully retire to live on their money, recite their dangers, recount their conquests, and commend their king. Just so, the souls which are enriched by the King eternal, and blessed with the full assurance of celestial felicity—go triumphant, at the hour of death, to dwell in the courts of God on the treasures of glory, through an endless evermore. MEDITATION XIX. THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE GODLY AND THE UNGODLY. Lying off Normandy, June 14, 1758. There is a wide difference, in both principle and practice—between the the godly and the ungodly. The affections of the godly are refined—and their desires exalted. The inclinations of the ungodly are corrupt—and their desires groveling. Sin has but a tottering standing, and a momentary abode—in the godly. But sin has fixed its throne, and taken up its eternal residence—in the ungodly. In the godly, grace and sin struggle for sovereignty. In the ungodly sin domineers, and there is no struggle. The godly is deeply concerned about world to come. The ungodly has no concern about the future state. The speech of the godly is seasoned with grace. The discourse of the ungodly is insipid and vain. The godly has his hope fixed on God. The ungodly has no fear of God before his eyes. The godly use the world without abusing it. The ungodly, in using the world, abuse both themselves and it. The godly confesses God in his daily conversation, and rejoices with his whole heart in Him. The ungodly says in his practice—"there is no God" and wishes in his heart—that there were no God. The godly adores the Creator above all else. The ungodly worships the creature more than the Creator. The godly uses God’s name with profoundest reverence, and departs from iniquity. The ungodly profanes God’s name with impudence, and adds iniquity to sin. The godly redeems his time. The ungodly trifles away his time. The godly studies his duty in obedience to all God’s precepts. The ungodly shakes himself loose from every command of God. The godly forgives his foes. The ungodly lays a snare for his foes. The godly commits it to God to avenge his wrong. The ungodly, fiery and tumultuous—seeks revenge. The godly loves chastity in all things. The ungodly wallows in uncleanness. The godly injures himself, rather than his neighbor. The ungodly injures the whole, world rather than himself. The godly is content with his condition. The ungodly covets all the day long. The godly is pure in heart. The heart of the ungodly is like a cage full of unclean birds. The godly walks at liberty in the ways of God. The ungodly is the servant and slave of sin. The Holy Spirit rules in the heart of the godly. Satan rules in the heart of the ungodly. The godly has his conversation in heaven. The ungodly has his conversation in hell. As there is such a wide difference in their principles and practices—so also, in their eternal destinies. God is faithful—He has promised felicity to the pious, and threatened vengeance to the wicked. "The wicked is thrust out in his wickedness; but the righteous has hope in his death." Proverbs 14:32 The godly are under the blessing of God’s love. The ungodly are under the curse of God’s law. The godly with joy, draw water out of the wells of salvation. The ungodly shall drink of the wrath of the Almighty. To the godly pertain all the exceeding great and precious promises. To the ungodly pertain all the threatenings of God. Heaven shall be the palace of the godly! Hell shall be the prison of the ungodly! While the godly shall dwell through eternity with God, the ungodly shall be driven away into everlasting darkness! Thus, the righteous and wicked are separated in their life, and divided in their death. They are divided . . . in their principles, in their practices, in their choices, in their joys, in their thoughts, in their company, in their speech, in their fears, in their expectations, in their death, and through eternity itself! MEDITATION XX. THE JUDGMENT OF SWEARERS, ACCORDING TO EQUITY. Lying off Normandy, June 15, 1758. "You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain, for the LORD will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain." (Exodus 20:7) "They cursed the God of heaven for their pains and sores. But they did not turn from their evil ways." Revelation 16:11 How justly will God, the righteous Judge, repay the imprecations into the bosoms of these blasphemers! They swear by God, and so they own the divinity they offend. But, they profane the sacred name, and so offend the Deity they own! They damn the whole man, their soul, their blood, their eyes; and every part, even the whole man, shall be tormented. They sow the wind, for there is neither pleasure nor profit in any sense in swearing; and they shall reap the whirlwind, whose truth is disappointment, and pain. They sin in sport—but God hears in earnest, and will punish in zeal. They call on God profanely at every word, and God hears, and will answer them in wrath. They swear, and forget—but God has sworn that he will remember. That which they think adds beauty to their speech, and vigor to their words—shall indeed add anguish to their grief, and fierceness to their torments. They are not weary in blaspheming, so as to cease from it, therefore they shall be weary in bewailing themselves—but never cease. They choose to blaspheme through the whole of their time—and anguish shall cause them to blaspheme through a whole eternity. They despise the day of God’s patience—but shall not escape the day of his judgment. What shall the swearer say, when tossing on the fiery billows, shrieking under consummate despair! ’O miserable state of intolerable torments, which I must endure! How shall I spend this eternity of pain! It was nothing to me in time to hear others curse and blaspheme, and to join in the infernal dialect myself! And now I am encircled with unceasing blasphemies, from all the legions of demons, from all the millions of miserable sinners, suffering under infinite vengeance! And I mingle in the uproar, and join in the terrible tumult against the throne of God, although dreadfully tortured in my rebellion. Then, curses accented every sentence; now, every sentence is one continued curse. I thought God was altogether such a one as myself—and that he would never remember my swearings, which I never minded, nor call me to account for committing what I made no account of. Damn me! damn me! was always on my tongue—and now I am damned forever! The oaths and curses which I sowed in time, are now sprung up into bitter bewailings, and eternal blasphemings! As I took pleasure in cursing, so it is come unto me—but with inexpressible pain! O eternity, eternity, how long!’ This is, indeed, the last—but lamentable end of profane swearers, who shall confess the equity of God in their torments. But let not the petty swearer think that he shall escape with impunity, since the supreme Judge has said, that whatever is more than yes, or no, is evil. But, as the wicked shall be answered in their ways, so shall the righteous be in theirs. All their imperfect attainments, longings, wrestlings, hopes, desires, prayers, meditations, tears, godly sorrows, spiritual joys, and the seeds of every other grace—shall come to a wondrous conclusion at last. Now they serve God with weakness—but then they shall enjoy him with a vigorous immortality! They sow in tears, and go weeping heavenward—but shall possess him in a triumphant state, where sorrow and signing shall forever flee away! MEDITATION XXI. THINKING ON A DEAD FRIEND. Spithead, May 10, 1758. A melancholy gloom had well near spread its midnight shadows over my brooding mind, when thinking on a dead friend. But, all on a sudden, a sacred sentence beamed refreshful on my soul, that he has departed—to be with Christ! Let me then borrow a similitude, and suppose that my friends and I live under the government of a great king, who has vast dominions, and who has chosen for his royal residence, a pleasant—but remote province, where his palace stands, and where he keeps court, showing himself in kingly glory, and excellent majesty; while we live, compared to the royal country, in a howling wilderness, a dry and thirsty land—but still under the scepter and protection of the king. And further, let me suppose, that this great king (which would be stupendous condescension in him) had conceived such a regard for my friends, that he had given his royal word, that he would send a noble guard, so soon as he thought fit, and fetch them home to himself, that he might bestow on every one of them, not a dukedom—but a kingdom, a crown, and excellent majesty! Now, would I fight against the guard, or murmur at their errand? Yes, would not I rather give the messengers an hearty welcome, and bless their majestic sovereign; and the more so, if I had the royal promise also of being myself transported there? Then, is there any promise like his, whose counsel stands fast, and whose faithfulness cannot fail? Is there any guard like that of heavenly angels? Or any happiness like the celestial felicity? And, if these things be so, is not the state of the godly dead, happy beyond conception? Now, the glory of my departed friend, infinitely transcends the blaze of created grandeur. Mortality is put off, and immortality put on. For we know that when this tent we live in—-our body here on earth—-is torn down, God will have a house in heaven for us to live in, a home he himself has made, which will last forever! Upon the above supposition, my friend, and his kingly patron, might have a falling out—as nothing is more fickle than royal favor. But here, there is no fear of his falling from the favor of the Prince of life, because he rests in his love forever, which kindles gratitude and love in the saints through endless day. In such a place, and in such a condition, would I not wish all my friends? Here we live to die—but there they live to reign! Though a little sorrow may be allowed to us who remain; yet, that boundless glory, and eternal bliss, which, to the highest degree, my departed friend enjoys, forbids me to bewail him to any great degree, or lament him as dead, who never could be said until now to live. Why should my sad reflections terminate on his crumbling clay, and not rather rise to meditate how his active soul is incessantly employed in the hosannahs of the higher house, and unweariedly exercised in beholding and blessing Jehovah and the Lamb? and thus convert my pensive thoughts into a Christian preparation for the same blessed passage to the same blessed place! MEDITATION XXII. THE UNION BETWEEN CHRIST AND BELIEVERS. Spithead, May 14, 1758. There is an union between Christ and believers, that every metaphor falls short of. No relation so near as Jesus. The friend may prove false, the brother betray the brother, parents cast off the relation, and husband and wife be separated. Three strong figures hold forth this union, that of the tree and his branches; the head and his members; and eating the flesh, and drinking the blood of the Son of God. Now, what we eat and drink mixes with the mass of blood, and is so intimately assimilated with the fluids, that no power can separate it again; so, when by faith I receive the Son of God, and eat his flesh, and drink his blood, my soul partakes of the divine nature, until every power is holy, every affection heavenly, and until the life of Christ is made manifest in my body. After this union, the soul and Christ cannot be separated; death may send the soul out of the body—but cannot send Christ out of the soul. And hereupon follows a commonness of interest. Christ renews the will, sanctifies the affections, enlightens the understanding, and claims the whole soul for his temple; yes more, he showers down his mercies, numbers his crosses, weighs his afflictions, wherewith he himself is also afflicted; and bears his sorrows. And all of Christ is the soul’s; his righteousness, his love, his joy, his pardon, his mercy, kindness, and compassion; his protection, direction, and conduct; his favor, his power, and sympathy, his light, his glory, his crown, his throne, his felicity, and his eternity in life. Thus the soul lives in Christ, and he in the soul. Their life is divinely interwoven; "you in me, and I in you." Hence, because he lives, they shall live also. Husband and wife must lose their relation by death; the branches may be cut off from the root, and the head, that sympathizes with all, may lose some of its members. But he who is joined to the Lord is one spirit, and a spirit can never be divided. This mysterious union is bliss begun on earth, and heavenly felicity tasted below, and shall be the eternal admiration of angels, the envy of devils and damned spirits, and the wonder of all heaven. MEDITATION XXIII. IMPERFECT ATTAINMENTS. How pitiful are our highest attainments in this imperfect state! But, O how beautiful is it for the child of grace to grow daily in grace, and in the knowledge of God to rise step by step, until at length complete in Him who is the pattern of perfection! Let it be my continual struggle, then, that my grace, like the shining light, may shine more and more until the perfect day of glory. I can never get so near to God—but there still remains, and through eternity will remain, a distance, to be destroyed by approaching yet more near. My attainments can never be so high—but there remains something attainable, which I have not yet attained. "It’s not that I have already reached this goal or have already become perfect. But I keep pursuing it, hoping somehow to embrace it just as I have been embraced by Christ Jesus. Brothers, I do not consider myself to have embraced it. But this one thing I do: Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I keep pursuing the goal to win the prize of God’s heavenly call in Christ Jesus." If this was the confession of the great apostle, what must I say, who am but just setting my head through the shadows of the night, and peeping into the dawning of divine things? Hence let me press vigorously towards perfection, and not be contented with my present attainments. Let me daily be drawing more near to him, until, Enoch-like, I walk with God, and live with him in heaven. Let me daily sit at wisdom’s door, and stand at the gate of paradise, that, since as yet I cannot enter in, I may send in my faith to view the fields, the land of my Beloved, and returning, bring me the substance of the excellencies hoped for, the evidence of the glorious things not seen. Let me walk in the mount of God, with him whose form is like the Son of God. Let the desire of my soul be to your name, and the remembrance of you. Let an uninterrupted communication be broken up between the fountain of life and my soul, that I may bear no more the reproach of barrenness. And from that river of life that springs from the throne of God, and of the Lamb, let me daily drink, that I may thirst no more after the vanities of time. Let me live quite above the world, above its pleasures, and above its pains, disdain its flatteries, and despise its frowns. Let grace grow from one degree unto another, until, at last, O desirable perfection! it grows to glory. Let me hold you, and not let you go, until you bless me, in perfecting my attainments, and crowning my happiness with the full unclouded vision, and uninterrupted communion with Jehovah, and the Lamb, forever more! "But whoever drinks the water that I will give him will never become thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life." MEDITATION XXIV. ON KING’S ALLOWANCE. May 19, 1748. It is surprising, that government allows the youngest recruit the same kind and quantity of provisions that any man or any officer aboard can claim. Yet, it is no more than may be expected from royal generosity, since they, in their capacity, support the same cause, undergo the same hardships, rush into the same dangers, and expose their though young and tender, at the commandment, and for the honor of the King. Even so, every child of grace that is born into the family of God, has the same ample right to all the heavenly blessings. No sooner is he a son, than he is an heir of all the fullness of the covenant. The young convert is allowed, by the King eternal, to plead the performance of all the promises, and to claim all the privileges that the aged saint can do. Again, as nothing can be more pleasant, than to see early youth walking in the ways of holiness; so, often to such youth have bright manifestations of love, and large communications of grace, been given. And the love of espousals, and the kindness of youth, is a melting, a long remembered kindness. Have not some youth departed to be with Christ, with such a gale of glory on their spirits, that aged saints have been at once astonished and ashamed? Have not some youths, who have suffered martyrdom for the name of Jesus, been so assisted with grace, that they despised reproach, and smiled in the face of danger—been so refreshed with foretastes of glory, that they could despise torment, and mount the scaffold with the same joy as if they had been going up the rounds of Jacob’s ladder? And, have not some striplings on a death-bed had such a double portion of communion, that they could look on dissolution with delight, forbid their friends to pray for their recovery, and could meet their fatal moments with the same alacrity as a young prince going to the grand solemnity of his own coronation? MEDITATION XXV. ON THE BLOWING UP OF A SHIP. Many are the appearances which death puts on, and in everyone of them death is dreadful. Sometimes his commission bears him to lay siege to the clay-walls for a long time, and to waste them away with a lingering consumption; and then he steals on them so insensibly, that they still entertain hopes of recovery, and believe themselves better a day or two before death. At one time he comes in flames of fire, at another time in swelling floods; and at another time, by a sudden stroke, he sweeps the man at once off the stage! Though fire is terrible anywhere, yet much more so when the burning pile is surrounded by a boundless sea. It is, no doubt, a moving sight, to see a naked family, with wringing hands, and weeping eyes, deplore their all in flames! A family at home, just alarmed out of their midnight sleep, by the doleful cries of affrighted spectators, with no more than time to escape the burning blaze! However, by the assistance of water-engines, and a thousand friendly hands, the fire is got under control, and half the house is saved. Or, should all the house be consumed, they are still happy in the possession of life, and the charity of well disposed Christians. But the scene alters at sea, and is much more dismal, as the ship I speak of felt. Strong and well equipped, the glory of the fleet, she spread the pompous sails, suspended by the lofty masts, divided the rolling billows with the nimble keel, was abundant in men and officers, and waved the honorary flag from the highest top. But, all at once, while no danger is dreamed of, and at noon, a fire starts below, too far advanced to be got under control, too terrible to be beheld without trembling. It kindles fear in every bosom, and nothing can be done. Signals of distress are fired—but only a poor merchant ship comes to her assistance; yet dares not come too near, for fear of catching fire herself. The fire rages still, and it is strange, in the midst of water, to perish by fire. Were the oceans a plain, with what cheerfulness would they flee the fire, and see the last plank in flames! But, death, gaping from the hollow waves, forbids them to flee, and every moment they expect to be blown into the air, and strewed in mangled legs and arms along the briny deep. What confusion and disarray! what feeble hands! what fainting hearts! what struggling thoughts! what staring eyes! what screams and cries! The ship’s sides are lined with those hoping for deliverance. They look every way—but in vain, for relief. One boat only appears, which dares not come along-side; yet many take the desperate leap, and falling short of the boat, plunge into the sea, and are seen no more, a terrifying sight to all behind! Still the fire increases. Death is in the waters, death is in the fires; it pursues behind, attacks before, and hedges in on every side! Old and young, who had survived the day of battle, are, in this melancholy manner, and on so short a warning, hurried into the eternal world. The flames grow more furious, and on all sides lifeless bodies float around, a sad sight to surviving friends! Her own boats carry off a few men—but find not the way back again. At length, the masts break down, destroying numbers as they fall, and officers die undistinguished in the throng; while the admiral, stripped of his uniform, hanging by an oar, struggles for life on the liquid wave. Many attempt to save themselves on pieces of the wreck, while the remains of the ship sink out of sight. But the angry waves wash them off their last relief, and they perish in the deep waters. Yet, mercy shines in the midst of shipwreck and death, for many escape with their life, though deprived of everything else. (The ship alluded to, was Admiral Broderick’s, which blew up in the Straits of Gibraltar.) O! strange to tell, will we leave with all that we have, for a few days, or a few years of our natural life; and yet leave with nothing at all for eternal life and endless glory? And, if fire which can be extinguished with water, or burn away to lifeless ashes, is so terrible; what must the fire of infinite wrath be—which shall burn up the wicked forever? Finally, since my situation is the same, may I study to prepare for death at any time, and in any shape; then I shall face the flames, yes, fall into them, knowing, that my immortal soul, from these devouring fires—shall rise to celestial glory, to live many thousands of eternities, and never, never die. MEDITATION XXVI. SOME SLAIN BY MERCIES, AS WELL AS BY JUDGMENTS. Spithead, May 22, 1758. Grace, and grace alone, can conquer the heart of man. For, I have not seen one, who had all manner of misfortunes in his family, substance, relations, character, and person—his family carried off by strange deaths, his substance reduced to nothing, his pomp blown away like a cloud of smoke, his friends falling into grievous calamities, his character suffering by every tongue, the heavens revealing his iniquity, and the earth rising up against him, and his body long the dwelling place of loathsome disease, until death has sent his stinking carcase to the rotten grave! And yet the man remains an unrepentant sinner to the last! Also, have I not seen the soldier, and the sailor, who in the day of battle had lost a leg, an arm, an eye, a piece of the scull, and some of their senses, have been made prisoners of war, and worn out with long confinement, and cruel usage. And yet these men remain armored against every judgment; incorrigible, though often corrected; stubborn under the strokes of heaven, inattentive to the language of the rod, and daringly defy an angry God? On the other hand, have I not seen a man, who had a flourishing family, growing up to maturity, like trees by a river; bathing in pleasures, held in common esteem, seeing his children’s children; riches, with little industry, pouring in on him from every quarter; himself, though aging, yet possessing the vigor of youth, and his bones full of marrow. And yet this very man walk in rebellion to the Author of all his blessings? Have I not also seen the man, who, when exposed on the thundering fields of war, or in the more terrible sea-battle, has yet stood safe amidst surrounding dangers, and received not a single wound, while some were losing limbs, or falling down dead on every hand. Or when perhaps the ship sunk; or a fire kindled in her, which consumed the miserable crew—yet he escaped the flames, survives the wreck, and lives to tell the astonishing story of his deliverance in the field, or on the flood? One would think that such a man would be melted down into gratitude, and live to God’s glory, who had been his help in the day of distress, and had covered his head in the day of war; yet he continues to walk in rebellion to the Most High, and boldly offends the God of all his mercies. Thus we see one who is disappointed in every undertaking, crushed at every hand—yet remain impenitent under severe judgments. And we see another who succeeds in every wish, swims in created bliss, and walks in the clear noon of prosperity—yet remains obdurate under his many blessings, and chargeable with an ingratitude towards God—which ingratitude would be accursed among men. To be slain by mercies, or by judgments—is a terrible death. It is the death of the unrenewed in heart. When mercies or judgments are not improved, they give fury to the falling storm, and make the thunderbolts of wrath break with dreadful vengeance on their guilty heads through an endless evermore! O! then to be corrected in love, and to have my heart bettered by the sadness of my countenance; and, on the other hand, to have blessings with a blessing, and all my mercies sweetly drawing my soul out to God. MEDITATION XXVII. ON A FINE FLEET. Spithead, May 23, 1758. What is the purpose of this splendid fleet, this expensive navy? No doubt, to deal destruction to our foes, and ride triumphant over the sea. Had the world been inhabited in different parts, with people from other planets—we would not wonder much to see fierce contests. But the matter is not so, for we have all one father, and are all of one blood. All mankind are brethren. So why are empires filled with anarchy, kingdoms with rebellion, families with terror and tears, while the brother butchers the brother, the son the father, the husband the wife, and the person that is driven into despair, rises in rebellion against his own life? It is because we are all in a state of rebellion against God. What a shame is it for men to massacre one another, or depopulate whole nations, for a few miles of earth, which, in a few years hence, their eyes shall see in flames—an agonizing sight to their ambition! We think much of nation rising against nation—but, since Adam turned rebel, the whole universe is up in arms against God—with a few humble supplicants in all ages excepted, who, having made peace through the King’s Son, are again received into favor. But what are they to the many millions that are under the command of Satan, the god of this world, the spirit who now works in the children of disobedience! What pity to see serving in the devil’s wretched army—the statesman and the general, the soldier and the farmer, the merchant and the mariner, the master and the servant; yes, and woman who, in other wars, tarry at home! Moreover, besides this general insurrection against Heaven, there is a war in the bosom of all believers, some of the old principles of rebellion rising up against the laws of their rightful Lord and King: "A law in our members warring against the law of our mind, and bringing us into captivity to the law of sin." This is the army of Gog and Magog, which covers the face of the whole earth, and makes war with the Lamb; whom the Lamb shall overcome, for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings. There is a day of slaughter coming, when the sword of God’s justice shall be drunken with the blood of his enemies; when those who would not have him to reign over them in the spirituality of his government—shall be slain before his face, and cast into the lake of fire and brimstone! Would the princes of the earth submit to the Prince of peace, soon would they beat their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into pruning-hooks, and every man sit under his vine, and under his fig-tree. Were they more careful to extend the Christian religion, than to extend their conquest and commerce, more to grow in grace than in riches, and to improve more for eternity than time—how would our world be Hephzibah, and our earth Beulah, and the general contention between crowned heads and their subjects, through every land, be—who could live most like angels, and love most like seraphim! MEDITATION XXVIII. SETTING SAIL. Set sail, venturous rover, and let your daring keel cut the dividing billow, and plow the briny deep. But where are you bound? To cruise on a tempestuous ocean—or dash against craggy shores? Well, my soul, remember that you also have set sail, and are rapidly carried down the stream of time—to the ocean of eternity. I should consider under what latitude, and to what point I am steering. If under the latitude of the new birth, and a living faith, I shall at last drop anchor at the haven of bliss. But if under the latitude of a natural state and unbelief, I shall be driven, by divine indignation, on the rocks of everlasting ruin, and tossed a deplorable wreck on the floods of wrath! How ignorant is the heathen world of a future state! But, since the Son of God has come, and has taught us all the mysteries of the spiritual navigation, and, in our exalted views, leaving land on every side, we look not at the things which are seen—but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal—but the things which are not seen are eternal. Why should I fear, or be dismayed? Shall I not have a prosperous voyage, and a pleasant landing—since Christ is both my pilot and my destination—since his Spirit is promised to lead and guide me into all truth—since the scriptures are my compass, a light to my feet, and a lamp to my path—since hope is my anchor, cast within the veil—since faith is my telescope, which gives me views of the world to come—since self-examination my sounding line, to know what depth of water I am in, to try myself, whether I be in the faith or not—and since my log-book is a Christian diary, that I may tell those who fear God, what he has done for my soul—and since all the heavenly graces are like the extended sails, one sail being unfurled after another, first faith, which is to the soul as the main-sail to a ship, and adding to faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly-kindness; and to brotherly-kindness, charity. Were I once in such a happy state, my next petition would be "Awake, O north wind! and blow, O south wind!" fill my extended sails, and carry me to glory. MEDITATION XXIX. TIME TO BE REDEEMED. Spithead, May 24, 1758. "Time is short." (1 Corinthians 7:29) "So, then, be careful how you live. Do not be unwise but wise, making the best use of time because the days are evil." (Ephesians 5:15-16) Time is precious, though misspent, though thought little of. I begin to set an higher value on time—which is ever valuable, than I was accustomed to do. But, ah! I begin to resolve when golden opportunities are past; and lost forever! God has been kind in giving me time, which I have not been cautious in spending, in improving. But, alas! blanks are not the worst, for I have not only trifled away and slept away time—but have sinned away much of my time! O! what great things are to be done in this little inch of time! God will have none of his servants idle; we must trade with his talents here, and the profit shall be ours hereafter. We must work out our own salvation with fear and trembling, encouraged by this—that God works all our works in us. Thus, to speak, not like the proud legalist—but, like the laborious Christian, we must scale the walls of heaven (for holy violence is allowed) and take it by force. We must combat principalities and powers, and crucify the flesh, with the affections and lusts. I must stand upon my watch, keep a sharp look-out on all my foes, on the least sin, cut off hours which I have too often spent in (shall I call it) sinful sleep and guard against trifling amusements, and superfluous visits; not that visits and recreations are simply sinful—but the excess therein. I must carefully attend to my time as it passes, for with grief I see that I cannot recall time when past. I have much work to do. I have to bear witness to the excellency of true religion, and against sinners; my backslidings to bewail, my failings to amend, my conversation daily to inspect, my accounts to settle for the day of judgment (O to be found in Jesus in that day!) my treasure to lay up in heaven, my affections to set on things above, my sins to mortify, my graces to strengthen, death to prepare for, eternity to improve for, my salvation to secure, God to live to, and the Lord Jesus daily to put on. Now, say if such a one has reason to be idle, or to trifle time away? MEDITATION XXX. IN VIEW OF A BATTLE. May 24, 1758. In a few days we shall be contending with the foe. Death will fasten his cold hands on many of us, and numbers shall be dropping into an unknown, an awful, an endless eternity! Though this is an event that will certainly take place, yet we are all thoughtless and secure, merry and unconcerned—as if it were of no importance to die, and enter into an invisible eternal world. Ask us all, one by one, if we think that we shall die in battle? and all of us to a man, have the fond hopes that we shall escape without a wound. But it would be more realistic, if each of us were saying, ’Perhaps it may be I—who shall be slain!’ Though my station be not so dangerous as that of some, yet, in my situation, some now and then are killed, and I rejoice that when I am in danger, I dare not trust to the ship for my defense—but your divine protection, which is better to me than a thousand bulwarks. Let me neither build on false hopes of life, nor be filled with slavish fears of death—but be prepared for all events. In the mean time, I plead that our fleets may be defended, our foes defeated, an honorable peace concluded, and an end put to the effusion of human blood. And I also plead, that you will put a covering on my head in the day of battle, that I may praise your power, and sing aloud of your mercy in the morning. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 163: 04.02. MEDITATIONS 31 TO 60 ======================================================================== Meditations 31 to 60 MEDITATION XXXI. ON OUR LORD’S DISPLAYING HIS DIVINITY ON THE SEA. Spithead, May 26, 1758. Our Lord, in the days of his flesh, performed cures, and wrought miracles on the sea. At one time, from the surrounding multitude he steps into a ship, and teaches thousands attentive on the shore; and, after finishing his sermon, makes the unsuccessful fishers cast their nets again into the sea, who, catching a great draught of fish, are also caught themselves, and made fishers of men. Another time, he will go over to the country of the Gadarenes, for there was one there, the captive of the devil—whom he is pleased to deliver. So he enters into a ship, and his disciples, the close attendants on their Master, go along with him. But, while his human nature, fatigued with the toils he daily underwent, is fast asleep—a tempest came down on the ship—either sent by Providence, that, in rebuking it, he might display his divinity; or perhaps Satan, who is the prince of the power of the air, was permitted to send out the fiercest storm which his hellish rage could effectuate, to make the affrighted boatmen row back again, and prevent the happy passage. However it was, his terrified disciples awoke Jesus, and his word makes the fierce winds fall asleep; and his presence in a little while, makes fiercer fiends cry out, when turned out of their long possession. O how pleasant to think, that he who came from heaven to earth to save sinners, goes over a lake, and through a storm, to save a soul or two; and though he comes in love unsent for, yet he does not go away, until desired to depart! Again, our great Lord, after feeding the multitude with spiritual and earthly bread, constrains his disciples, who, it seems, were reluctant to move a foot without his presence—to sail in a boat, while he sent the multitude away; after which he retires unto a mountain to pray. But, by this time, they are tossed with a double tempest, one beating their ship without, and another disquieting their soul within. It appears they had entered the ship between six and nine in the afternoon, and were tossed on the waters until between three and six in the morning—a long time indeed to the trembling disciples. The scene is altered now, for before they had no more to do, but awaken their Lord, to make the tempest fall asleep. But, though they saw not their dear Master, yet he saw their distress; and, after letting it heighten to an extremity, to sweeten their deliverance, he comes walking upon the waves, and journeys straight to their vessel. The disciples (no doubt, in the morning watch, looking out for land) saw him, and, supposing it had been a spirit commissioned to overset them altogether, it added so much anguish to their anxiety, and terror to their trouble, that they cried out. But how soon does his kind reply check their fears, It is I, be not afraid. Peter, after asking permission, comes down to welcome him on the watery element. But winds above, and waves beneath, make Peter’s faith stagger so much, that our kind Lord must stretch forth his hand and save him. No sooner did he enter the ship, than nature is composed. He needs not speak a word—his very presence calms the tempest, and the winds immediately stop blowing upon the barge, where their Creator is a passenger. How happy, then, the soul where he abides forever! This sudden change in the storm effected a no less sudden—but much more momentous change in the minds of the astonished spectators, who are all at once brought over to a belief of his divinity: "Truly—you are the Son of God!" How often might the observing mariner say of him who rode through the sea of great waters—that he has his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet! How often Jesus sends out the storm that puts us to our wit’s end—and then calms the dreadful hurricane, to our great comfort! "O that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!" MEDITATION XXXII. A MEMORANDUM FOR HIM WHO GOES ABROAD. June 28, 1757. Sometimes the call of Providence; and sometimes a covetous heart to amass riches—carry men abroad. If a man cannot exercise his religion with liberty in his native country, which he can find in another land, then he may be said, instead of going abroad, only to go home. But, on the contrary, he who wanders from the place where God delights to dwell, and relinquishes Zion, which God has called his rest, may indeed be said to go abroad; and unless his reasons are valid, when impartially weighed, he ought not to go. On no account should you go with a design to remain in another place—unless the gospel gladdens the distant region. But when you are away, remember a few things, that you may not forget yourself. 1. Be always under the impression of God’s omnipresence and omniscience. You can never wander out of the hollow of his hand, or swim beyond his cognizance. 2. Keep in mind the solemn tribunal, where the complete register of all your actions shall be brought forth; such and such a sin at home, such and such a sin abroad—with such and such aggravations. 3. Know that it is better to stand alone, than fall with many. It will not excuse your wickedness, that you were among the wicked, for sinners shall be bound in bundles, that they may burn the fiercer. 4. Think much on death, that you may not be too much charmed with the vanities of life. 5. Oppose sin in others with courage, for the righteous shall be bold as lion; though the wicked flees when none pursues. 6. Remember the deceitfulness and uncertainty of riches; so shall you neither be puffed up with the possession, nor pained at the loss of them. 7. Be not jeered out of your religion, or flouted out of your devotion; better be the object of man’s ridicule, than the subject of God’s wrath. 8. Set not your heart on any intended acquisition abroad, and so you shall not return home disappointed. 9. Mark providences, and you shall see God’s hand in everything. 10. Let Zion and the people of God have a place in your prayers, and you shall again have a place in Zion among the people of God. 11. Since you can not have God in his public ordinances, seek the God of ordinances in private daily; and, when deprived of the preached word, esteem and peruse the written word the more. 12. Be not hasty in making acquaintances, nor rash in choosing your friends. 13. Meditate often; a secret good rises from this secret exercise. 14. Examine your condition often; it is the sign of a bankrupt never to open his books, nor look into his accounts. 15. Let prayer be your daily pleasure and engagement. To be much in the presence of an earthly king makes a courtier. But the presence of the King of kings makes a Christian, an angel. 16. Think much on the unseen world, and let the certainty of that which is to come, dispel the delusion of the present, which so quickly passes away. 17. As you may never again see your native country, and your father’s house, let heaven be your native country, and then death shall bring you to your better home. 18. Eye God’s glory in everything, and prefer the approbation of God and your own conscience, to the applause of men. 19. Double your diligence. Satan will double his temptations, sins and snares will multiply around you; therefore multiply your cries to God, keep in your strong hold, and act faith on him at all times. 20. Beware that you live not to yourself, the world, or for time. But live above the world, for eternity, and to God. MEDITATION XXXIV. ANCHORING OFF AN ENEMY’S COAST. Cancal Bay, June 21, 1758. Now we are not far from land—but, however fierce the storm, we must not set a foot on shore, else we would soon find ourselves in the power, and at the mercy of our enemies. Even so it fares with the wicked, who are at war with the God of the whole earth. Now, in the day of God’s patience, they can put off without making friendship with Him. But what will they do in their last extremity, in the day of God’s judgement and wrath? To whom will they flee for help, seeing they then cannot lay claim to one promise; and have no saving interest in him who made the promises? How will they stand when the storm pursues behind, and no shelter presents itself before? And how will it gall them to see the saints in quiet resting places, and themselves exposed forever to the tempest? But although we may not land here, yet we may return to our own king’s dominions, where we shall be joyfully received. But it is not so with the sinner, who is in rebellion against the God of Heaven. Where shall he flee from God, or where can he hide himself from his omniscient eye? How shall he get outside the reach of his all-present arm, or escape the stroke of angry Omnipotence? He has disobeyed God, he has rejected Christ, he has despised the promise, he has sinned away the day of grace, and trampled on the patience of Heaven! So, when the Judge shall come in flaming judgment—what will he do? To what God can he go? To what Savior can he cry? To what hand can he turn—to whom shall he bewail himself—and in what ear make his moan? What promise can he plead, or to which of the saints can he turn? Ah! God is his inexorable Judge, and the Savior is no more his friend! All hopes perish, all helps fail, all friends forsake him. God’s pity has no ear to his complaint, and God’s mercy no compassion on his moan! O how miserable are the wicked, then, who thus on oceans of burning brimstone, shall be exposed to the storms and tempests of eternal wrath, and never, never see a shore! But, on the other hand, how happy are you, O saint! Every land is the property of Him who in all his vast possessions is your by promise. He is yours—who can make enemies entreat you well in adversity. He is yours—who is not only the God of the whole earth—but the possessor of heaven and glory; who is not only the Prince of the kings of the earth—but the Father of eternity who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand. You are safe, therefore, upon the depths; and though you should never see your native country, yet you shall arrive, when your course is finished, at the land that lies afar off. MEDITATION XXXV. IN ROME. 1758. Genuine Christianity is rooted out this city, where a pretended successor of Peter is the fulfillment of that prediction, which mentions the coming of the ’man of sin’, and which to me confirms the truth of the scriptures. They have turned the purity of religion into the pomp of superstition; the simplicity of the gospel—into mumbling and muttering of prayers in Latin, an unknown tongue. They have turned the spiritual rule over the flock of God—into a temporal dominion over the kingdoms. They have let go the kernel and substance of religion—for the shell and show. Hence, such adorning of churches, and such abundance of altars and images. There the man of sin sways his midnight scepter, for filthy lucre, forgiving sins which God will never acquit, because in a way God never appointed—nor will approve of! This trampling on the divine commandment prostitutes sacred things; hence baptizing of bells, consecrating places, holy water, etc. It were irksome to repeat their deceits, and spiritual whoredoms, with which the nations are drunk. But, what a pity it is to see them, in the matters of religion, go hood-winked to hell! And men so cultured, learned, and expert in other respects—so easily deceived—in the concerns of their salvation! When shall the brightness of the coming of the Son of man, in the purity of the gospel, which is the sword that proceeds out of his mouth, make the kings, who now support, hate the whore, eat her flesh, and burn her with fire? How great is the happiness, then, of a reformed land, where the glorious truths of Christianity are not concealed from any, where the poor have the gospel preached to them, and the scriptures loosed from their dark originals, in their mother tongue; and where the people are allowed, according to the biblical institution, to commemorate the death and sufferings of our dearest Lord! Woe to those who dwell among a people that are terrified for Papal bulls; that put light for darkness, and darkness for light; good works in the place of justifying righteousness; and the Pope in the place of God; who, not having attained to the spiritual knowledge of the Redeemer, inflame their affections, and kindle their devotions, by gazing on visible representations of a suffering Savior, who can only be beheld savingly by the eye of faith. Though with our bodily eyes we could see Jesus expiring on the cross in deepest agony and pain, which were better than a thousand crucifixes, and lively pictures, it could only move pity in us to him as a tortured man—but could not beget in us the faith of his divinity. Hence so many unconverted spectators of the awful scene; and hence still the lifeless devotions of the blinded Papists. O! then, that the days of the Son of man would beam on the Christian Churches, such as Rome enjoyed when first obedient to the faith; that they might cast off the yoke of the imperious whore that sits on many a hill, and deliver their souls that dwell in spiritual Babylon! O! then, that the Son of Righteousness would arise with healings in his wings, and with his glorious beams dispel the darkness from the nations, and the gross darkness from the people, that Rome, with Asia-Minor, may return to their former purity, to their first love, and over the revived universe there may be but one Lord, and his name one. MEDITATION XXXVI. THE MASTS. At sea, June 25, 1753. How do the stately masts thrust their head into the sky, and see the breaking billows far beneath them! Even so sovereigns and princes are exalted far above their subjects. But, for as high as the mast is raised above the hull, yet its safety is only by being sunk into the very body of the ship; so is the king’s honor, and the prince’s safety—are in the multitude of their subjects. Of what service could a ship without masts, or masts without a ship be? So in the body, political, spiritual, and natural—Infinite Wisdom has made every member subservient to another, that there may be no schism. Without masts and expanded sails, a ship could move no where—but would lie like a wreck on the waters; so without rulers, and subordination, must a people perish in tumult and confusion. If the masts are exalted in the view of all, they are exposed to tempests from every quarter; so fares it with men of station and power—they are hated by one, and envied by another, reproached by a third, and undermined by a fourth. In a storm, or tempest, it is sometimes necessary, in order to save the ship, to cut the masts; so, sometimes to save a state, or nation, it is necessary to dethrone a cruel, an obstinate oppressor, and chase away a tyrant. If the hull is rotten, and leaky, though the masts be never so strong and fresh, yet the vessel may perish in the deep waters; so, if the people be impious, and licentious, the prudent conduct and uprightness of the best kings cannot prevent their rushing into ruin. It is only when a ship goes to sea, with her masts and top-masts in order, and all her sails unfurled, and filled by the gentle breeze, that she makes so grand an appearance to the peopled shores; for, stretching into the boundless ocean, she lessons gradually until she can be seen no more. Even so, the men who now are famed over half the globe, shall in a little while be lost to human eye, on the ocean of eternity, and have no more concern with time. When the ship is grown old, and accounted no more fit for service, she is brought ashore, and broken up, and then the stately masts lie equally humble on the ground with the common planks. Even so, in death, shall all flesh return to dust, and the distinctions of a few days shall no more avail them, shall take place no more. May a belief of this influence me while I live below. MEDITATION XXXVII. UPON ONE BEING PUT UNDER CONFINEMENT ABOARD. Under sail, June 26, 1758. Truly we might be surprised to think that one could be closer confined in a ship at sea, than only to be in it; for, what is the vessel but a floating prison, where the closest confinement can only deprive a man of a few paces? Where can the man go, who has nothing over him but the canopy of the sky, or around him but the liquid ocean? Yet to be forbid to walk the very deck, to be locked in the cumbrous irons, and put under the care of the sentinel and his sword—are marks of anger and restraint. Even so, a man may be straitened in himself, a prisoner at home—though he might range the whole globe—and find himself fettered with grief, and manacled with sorrow, pensive amidst his pleasures, and dejected among his friends. Wherever these prisoners are permitted to go, they are always attended with the sentinels in arms. In like manner, the man whose conscience is awakened, shall find a constant companion, and unwearied reprover, who will either reprove to purpose, or reproach forever. When a man has transgressed the martial law, neither money nor friends can prevent punishment. In like manner, nothing in the world can preserve from, or enable to support a wounded spirit. If the stroke comes from above, so must the relief. How poor are all possessions to a person that has not peace within! One of these prisoners mutters and complains, is peevish and displeased at the sentence of his superior—but it avails him nothing. In like manner, to repine at affliction, and complain about God’s Providence—is the mark of an unsanctified heart, and cannot shorten our trials, or alleviate our troubles—but must sharpen our sorrows and heighten our sufferings. But another of them enjoys himself in his confinement, is cheerful and composed, knowing that a very short time shall restore him to liberty. In like manner, the saint, amidst his afflictions, can be happy and serene, knowing that the period is not far distant that shall translate him into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. Paul and Silas could sing praises in a prison, because when God gives quietness, none can cause trouble. In a word, what are all the people in the ship—but prisoners, whether they approve or disapprove the expression? Even so, what is the body but a clog, what the whole world but a confinement to heirs of immortality, and expectants of heaven? In this we earnestly groan for the better state, and long to be unclothed; not that we would peevishly drop our existence, be turned out of house and home—but only change our prison for a palace, and this corruption put on incorruption, and this mortal put on immortality, and we walk at perfect liberty through everlasting day! MEDITATION XXXVIII. THE PROPHET’S DESCRIPTION OF THE WICKED. How just, how adequate, how expressive the divine description, "The wicked are like the troubled ocean, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast forth mire and dirt!" When the tides have teemed their wrecks on the inmost shores, and in the ebb have left the smoothed sand, all looks mirthful, and one would think the bottom of the ocean is swept, and washed of all its wrecks and weeds. But the next tide proves my conjecture false, and spreads a fresh proof of my deception on the shore. Just so it is with the wicked; when I think they might have emptied themselves of oaths, imprecations, filthy talk—completed their wickedness, brought forth all their vileness, and wearied themselves in committing sin—yet, without intermission, they proceed from evil to worse! As there is a continual growth of weeds, and accession of other wrecks, every tide, therefore, spews out mire and dirt. In like manner, out of the evil treasure of the heart, evil things continually proceed. But the ’civilized sinner’ has nothing to boast; for, though his words may not be so vile as those of abandoned wretches, yet, as they pour from the carnal mind, and the carnal mind being enmity against God, can produce nothing pleasing in his sight—so they are vile before God. Therefore, though not so disagreeable in a sober ear, as the profane swearer, obscene talker, or unprofitable jester—yet, not coming from a sanctified heart, are accounted sin in his eye, who is purity itself, and with a pleasant countenance beholds the upright. Sometimes the raging seas ebb, and leave their shores clean and lovely—but, all of a sudden, they return with fresh defilement, and scatter over them mire and dirt. In like manner, I have seen some people, by a temporary repentance, appear to forsake their former courses, and to lead a new life—but, all of a sudden, like a spring-tide, their wickedness breaks out with greater violence than ever, and the last state of that man is worse than the first. As nothing less than the voice of the Almighty can calm the restless ocean, and say to the raging sea, ’Peace, be still’; so nothing less than infinite power (let not mortals presume, let not sinners despair) can convert transgressors, and make their hearts precious and holy. MEDITATION XXXIX. ON THE PATIENCE OF GOD WITH SINNERS. Off France, June 27, 1758. In very truth you are God, who can thus bear with the wickedness of men—though you are of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. Did our superior officers meet with equal disobedience to their mandates, the same irreverence, insult and reproach to their very face, from these abandoned wretches—would they put up with it? No! Death, or some dreadful punishment, would immediately be inflicted on the vile transgressors. God will be glorified in the bright display of all his divine perfections. The desperate madness of sinners against the God of heaven, and their blasphemous talk against the most High, cannot prevail with him to change his purpose, and punish them before the time appointed—because he is infinite in his patience. Nor shall their miseries and bemoaning, their anguish and their entreaties, make him spare them a moment longer, when the appointed day comes, or mitigate their torments—because he is perfect in his justice. A thousand years are with God but as one day, seeing all eternity is his immoveable NOW. Now, what are the few unhappy years of a thoughtless desperado’s life—but as a few moments to a criminal between his sentence and execution? So God will fill up the measure of his patience; and if they fill up the measure of their sin, in the time of God’s patience, his justice shall fill up the measure of their punishment in the day that his thundering right hand shall cast the strength of his fury and fiery indignation on them forever! He is silent now in the day of his patience, and they will not hear the voice of his goodness. But he will loudly punish them in the day of his anger, and they shall hear the thunders of his wrath. God, by his patience, has a double work on his potter’s wheel— 1. His wrath to show, and his power to make known on the vessels of wrath, who are prepared for destruction. 2. The riches of his glory, to make known on the vessels of mercy, who are thus prepared for glory. Let the sinner acknowledge the patience of God, and be led to repentance; and the saint adore the patience of God, and be encouraged to perseverance; and may God be glorified in all his divine perfections. MEDITATION XL. ON THE EXCELLENCY OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION ABOVE THE JEWISH RELIGION, WITH RESPECT TO A TRAVELER. Off France, June 28, 1758. The Jewish religion consisted in a noble and emblematical assemblage of rites and ceremonies, which, though glorious—was to give place to that religion which could boast of a triumphant majesty, a superlative glory, and a permanent duration. The old covenant was attended with external pomp and grandeur; the beauty of the new covenant lies in its simplicity and spirituality. How impossible would my situation be, if I could not approach the Jewish altar, and praise God—without the high-sounding cymbal, psaltery, or harp, and offer up to God my sacrifice in my own bosom! How impossible would my situation be, if I could not be sprinkled with the blood of cleansing—without the high-priest using all the round of ceremonies! How impossible would my situation be, if I could not repent, and be accounted clean—without external washings! But, as a Christian, I may pray everywhere, and, even in the midst of the unclean, may offer up my sacrifice of mental praise. Yes, to God who sees in secret, and knows the heart, I may pray in secret; or, when that is denied, I may in my own heart pour out to him my supplication, and, in the midst of confusion, may meditate on his glory and goodness. And, as I may thus freely come to him, wherever I am, so he whose fire of old came down, and consumed the sacrifice on the altar, in mercy can come to me, and kindle a flame of love in my soul and speak kindly to me—from off the invisible mercy-seat, Christ Jesus. Then there is one perfect sacrifice which, everywhere, and always, I shall keep in eye; one fountain at which I shall always wash; one Intercessor, and great High-Priest, whom I shall always employ, and through whom I shall seek access to God, waiting to be blessed at last in the full enjoyment of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, world without end. MEDITATION XLI. COASTING ALONG ANOTHER KING’S DOMINIONS. Under sail, July 1, 1758. The peasant may never travel far—he may live and die in his own king’s dominions. But a fair wind may soon fetch ’him who plows the flowing ocean’, where his sovereign cannot claim an inch of land. He may soon find himself distant from all shores, in an unmeasurable world of waters, which owns no superior but Him who formed the sea and the dry land. I may offend my prince, and yet fly out of his reach, and bid defiance to his rage. But, if I sin against God, where shall I fly for help—or how shall I escape? Britain and India are alike before him, height and depth are in his hand; and distance, which only bears relation to creatures, bears none to the Creator who is everywhere present, and fills all in all. I may sooner hide from myself—than keep concealed from Omniscience. Would a king or an emperor travel around the globe—many times he would find himself in kingdoms where he could claim no interest. But, if I belong to God, I can claim his providence and protection in every dominion, and in every land. How well pleased would a young prince be, to travel home through the extensive dominions of his royal father! Could he quarrel at hard usage, the homely fare, and the poor lodgings he must put up with by the way? Would it not quiet and content him under all, to call to mind that he is traveling home to the palace of his royal father, where he should be welcomed by the loud acclamations of a splendid court, and embraced by the king himself? After this manner, while on his journey, would he address himself: "Though I pass as a stranger in these remote parts of my father’s possessions, and unobserved, because it is not as yet proper in the eyes of the king that I should be clothed in princely attire; yet, how am I delighted that all these kingdoms are under his government, tremble at his frown, and own his sovereignty. And though I now seem poorer than many of his subjects in these provinces, who have small estates in hand, yet I am so happy in the nobleness of my descent, in the dignity of my relations, in the prospect of my future greatness, and approaching glory—that I would not change states with any of them. For, on the day appointed for my coronation, by the mighty sovereign, to whom I am so nearly related, I shall, in the sight of assembled thousands, receive a scepter, and a crown." Even so, the saints are in all respects the happy ones, for the universe belongs to him who cares for them. Distant climates, therefore, need not look strange to them, for, if they live near God they can never be far from home. MEDITATION XLII. ON HEARING FROM FRIENDS. St. Helen’s, July 5, 1758. He who has not left his affections and concern in his native country, as well as his friends, is refreshed by frequent letters from them—that they are alive, and in prosperity. But all this will not satisfy him who greatly longs to see his loved ones, and his native country, after being long absent from it. A thousand letters, written with all the tenderness of a father, embellished with all the rhetoric of paternal endearments, must give place to an hour’s conversation, mouth to mouth, with that father whose kind and affectionate letters increased the filial regard, with that mother whose continual prayers and good wishes, have strengthened the affection of her son. Nothing less than seeing them face to face, talking with them friendly and freely, hearing all their state, and learning of all their welfare—can satisfy his longing, and quiet his struggling bosom. Even so, nothing can fully satisfy the desires of the soul that is born from above, and is a native of the better country—but the immediate vision of God. All he receives below, only begets a disquietude in his soul, (but such a disquietude as delights) that cannot be at rest until wafted to the fruition of God. The brighter his views of heavenly things, the more ardent his wishes for the possession of them. Hence, says the aged, the experienced, and great apostle Paul—who had been caught up into the third heaven, carried into paradise, and heard the unutterable language of bliss—"I have a desire to depart, and to be with Christ." All the bright displays of the glory and goodness of God, which saints enjoy below, compared with what is reserved for eternity, is only a sight of his back parts. ("Then I will take My hand away, and you will see My back, but My face will not be seen." Exodus 33:23) Now, let us see the import of the metaphor. The face is like the fair epitome of the whole man, so that artists commonly draw no more than the countenance; the face turned away denotes indignation—but bright and smiling is a sign of favor. Again, the countenance is like the index of the mind, where we can see clouds gather, and tempests break, or peace and tranquility within. Accordingly, we have these expressions in scripture, "Blessed are those who walk in the light of your countenance. Cause your face to shine on us. You did hide your face, and I was troubled. Neither will I hide my face any more from them. As for me I shall behold your face in righteousness." What, then, must the consummate happiness of that state be—where we shall see God face to face! Then, Lord, the most that I can find below—is but a ’crumb’ compared to the ’banquet’ above. When your appointed time comes, with what joy will I leave all these merciful communications of your grace and good will, conveyed through your word and ordinances (which, like letters of favor, assure me of the affection of my exalted Head, and cheer me in the house of my pilgrimage) and go home to eternal, uninterrupted communion with you! When, dear Lord, may my love and longing ask—When shall I see the face of my Beloved, that face that is fairer than the sun? When shall all the vast expectations of my faith be realized in glory? When shall my well-beloved, who is unto me as a bundle of myrrh, lie, not for a short night—but through an endless day, on my bosom? When shall distance be done away, that I may approach you, and never more be debarred from your throne? When shall my soul, all eye, fix for eternity on your excellent glory? As yet, I have only seen some passing glimpses of your back parts. But there is an abiding, permanent, assimilating gaze on your glorious countenance, which shall crown my felicity through endless ages. May not the soul that is espoused to that glorious Husband, who is the chief among ten thousand, long to see her husband, long for the marriage-supper of the Lamb, and weary for the day of being brought home, to be forever in his house, forever in his presence? Surely, were my love to him more, I should long more for him. But I am ready to take up with other lovers in his absence. The world, and the things of time, are busy to cool my affection to the sacred suitor, the divine and unchangeable lover. Get away from me—all things that would divert my flame from him who is altogether lovely. When shall these eyes see him for myself? I am like one born abroad, that has never seen his father, nor his friends. But I am traveling home, and shall never be happy until I am with my best Friend. I have heard of you by the hearing of the ear, and the account has comforted my soul. But now I long to see you with my eye—and be forever ravished with the heavenly vision. Surely at my arrival at your throne, O gracious Redeemer!—when I shall see your wonderful ascent to it, even by sufferings, the gathering of your saints about it, the apparel and entertainment of your chosen ones, and all your other glories—I shall know then that all the account which I ever heard falls infinitely short of your majesty and glory. Let it, then, comfort me, that in a little while you shall fulfill my request, satisfy my longing, and bring me home to be forever with you, my Lord. MEDITATION XLIII. ON THE WELL OF THE SHIP. Spithead, July 7, 1758. It is necessary to pump out the putrid salt water which leaks into the base of the ship. Even so, original sin is that poison which lies deep within, contaminates all around, whose filth defiles all the powers of the mind, all the members of the body, and whose guilt makes the whole man liable to all the miseries of time, to all the torments of hell. Again, sometimes God is pleased to permit a person to fall into gross outbreakings, that thereby he may be led to see the corruption of his nature, and to bewail the spring from which such deadly streams proceed. Thus the psalmist confesses, that he, as well as all mankind, was conceived in sin, and born in iniquity. And wherever saving grace is displayed in subduing sin, there also the guilt of original sin is forgiven, and its filth taken away. It is very remarkable, that God refines his own people, not only by afflictions, judgments, and mercies—but by sins; thus sometimes the air is purified by a thunder-storm. Hence, says God by the prophet Ezekiel 14:9 and Ezekiel 14:11. "If the prophet is deceived and speaks a message, it was I, the Lord, who deceived that prophet. I will stretch out My hand against him and destroy him from among My people Israel." Now, for what end is a prophet permitted to speak lies, and the people to seek to a lying prophet? That they might go no more astray, pollute his holy name no more—but that he might be their God, and they might be his people. Thus, Peter’s pride and self-confidence is so cured by his denial of Christ, that when Jesus, after his resurrection puts to him a kindly question, "Simon, son of Jonas, love you me?" he dares not say, as formerly, O Lord, my love is such that I can die for you—but humbly appeals to himself, "You know that I love you." Our Lords repeats the question, and he returns the same answer. But a third time puts him to pain. Does my Lord distrust my love, does he suspect its sincerity? It is true, alas! I have denied him, and he knows me better than I do myself. But my heart, conscious of sincerity, appeals to his omniscience, "You that know all things, know that I love you." Moreover, the daily experience of the saints will attest, that all their lifetime they hate and abhor that sin most by which they have most dishonored God, and wounded their own souls. Alas! what daily cause have I to mourn over my depravity, whose life is blackened with daily outbreakings from this fountain that defiles! It is from my depravity, that so many vain thoughts, and low apprehensions of the holiness and majesty of God; and so many trifling delights; and such an eager pursuit of perishing pleasures, and polluted joys, which must all be thrown away. But, such is the wonderful method of him, whose ways are past finding out, that he brings through hell to heaven and, by one sin breaking out, makes the soul hate and abhor, fight and watch against all sin, and have daily recourse to the blood of sprinkling, and to the Spirit of all grace for divine assistance. MEDITATION XLIV. THE COMPANY OF THE WICKED. Spithead, July 8, 1758. When for our continual company we have the wicked, we cannot but continue our lamentation, and repeat our complaint, "Woe is me that I sojourn in Mesech, and dwell in the tents of Kedar!" When I have considered the carnal men, who know nothing of the power of true religion; and the abandoned wretches, who have not even the appearance of morality; how should I esteem the company of saints here below, and the communion of the glorious multitudes above! When the day of my dissolution comes, how shall I be transported to find myself among an assembly of sanctified ones, where true religion, in its purity, is their eternal theme! Not an idle word among all the amazing multitude, nor one vain thought among the vast throng! Their society is holiness, and their conversation shall comfort forever. No doubt but the wickedness of the present world will to the saints sweeten the sanctity of the world to come; and their own corruption, from which they cannot wholly rid themselves now, dignify that noble change, when corruptible shall put on incorruption, and mortality be swallowed up of life; so will their imperfect graces aggrandize their perfection in glory. What, then, shall be my happiness when my fellow saints shall be spotless flames of love, and I adore with them in the unity of the Spirit, in the bond of perfect and perpetual peace! when the moving of their tongues in the praises of my dearest Lord, shall assuage all my former grief, and charm my ravished ear! when every soul shall attempt the loudest song, and highest praise on our best Beloved! and when among the adoring throng, not one sinner, which are now so numerous, nay, not one hypocrite shall stand! O how shall we speak to one another of Him who is altogether lovely, and being transformed into his likeness, how amiable and agreeable shall we be to one another! For, like lines in a circle pointing to the center, the nearer to which they come, the nearer to others they approach, until running into the center, they unite in one another! Just so, dwelling in Christ, we shall be united to one another in love. Then I shall not only be free from my wicked company—but from everything in my soul that can disquiet or give pain. No pollution from without, no corruption within—but all is perfect sanctity. O triumphant state of perfect liberty! where my companions shall not, as now, drive me from God—but, as it were, draw me to the very throne: "Come, let us worship the Lord; I will go also." The forethought of that happy state shall comfort me until the days of my mourning be ended. MEDITATION XLV. ON AWAKING AT MIDNIGHT. Now the silent night spreads its shadows on all, and calms the uneasy crew, who are locked fast in sleep, except those who are on duty. Never are they less offensive to God or men, than when in slumbers. In a little while, the busy world shall be awaked to pursue the affairs of life. But the greater part, in respect of spiritual things, are fast asleep, yes, chained among the dead. Hence the apostle says, "Awake, you who sleep, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light." Amidst the blackest gloom that dwells on midnight with respect to the natural eye, the soul is at no loss to view invisible realities by the eye of her understanding, and to behold her supreme good by the eye of faith. Yes, ’supernatural light’ dwells within the soul—even while dense darkness surround the body; and this ’supernatural light’ is much more beautiful than the brightest sunshine to the naked eye. Now, had all been created pure spirits, like the angels, there had been no need for natural light, for the Father of spirits is to them the Fountain of light. And sometimes they have brought such a brightness with them from the throne of glory, (like Moses when he came down from the mount of God,) such a blaze of light spreading round about, as has amazed the astonished spectators. Thus, neither the natural darkness of the night; nor the thick darkness of sorrow, affliction, and woe; nor the pitchy darkness of death—shall spread a shadow over those who have his presence, diffusing serenest noon in their souls wherever they go. As, on the other hand, the fallen angels, cast out of his favorable presence, are kept in chains of darkness, though allowed to roam over this universe in the noon-day beamings of the natural sun. Again, a man may enjoy the light of life, and bask himself in the pleasant beams of affluence and peace, while nothing but a dark and stormy night surrounds his soul. As the evening-shadows mantle the world, so they produce a silence and tranquility over all. But the darkness that seizes the soul from an angry or concealed God, awakens the keenest anguish, and pours storms and tempests in all the powers of the mind, which raise this complaint, "You hid your face, and I was troubled." But what comfort may it yield me, that, though the nights seem long, the darkness thick, the tempests loud, and the thunders terrible—that the Sun is on his way, will shortly rise, and afford eternal day! that I shall walk in the light of his countenance, and in his light see light clearly! Then, and not until then, shall "Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning." MEDITATION XLVI. ON ONE CURSING AND SWEARING AT AN AFFRONT. Spithead, July 10, 1758. This discloses to me the dreadful confusion and deplorable rage which the wicked shall be put into at the final judgment! Listen to that poor wretch—for a matter of no importance—roaring, raging, foaming, and blaspheming! What surprising, chilling, and vile oaths pursue one another in his fiendlike fury! Scarcely can he tell what troubles him for belching out hideous, horrid, and vicious oaths, protestations, and imprecations—not to be allowed to return ever into the memory again but in a way of deploration. Now, if such be the language of sinners on earth, what shall be their dialect in hell, when they shall turn their blasphemies against the blessed—but tremendous Avenger himself! when their kindling eyes shall swell with fury! Here they curse others, or invoke damnation on themselves. But then and there, they shall blaspheme God for his burning indignation, and, in perpetual rage and fury, rise up against incensed Omnipotence itself. And this shall increase their torment—that they madly oppose their feeble power, and unsubdued enmity, against the infinite Afflicter, whereby they, as it were, approve of their old rebellion against their rightful Lord, and make it evident that he is just when he condemns and punishes his foes. But O! what a countenance will they put on, what passion, what revenge, what anguish, what rage, what horror, what burning envy in their soul, what rolling eyes, and trembling joints, what tormenting confusion of thought, what terrible derangement, and consummate despair—will tear and prey on them forever! Against whom will they stamp, frown, storm, and foam, like this desperado? Whom will they threaten? God, their eternal foe, is far above their reach, holds them down in chains of everlasting wrath, and roars against them with the thunders of his right hand forever! Now, as I heard such vile cursings, and oaths to me entirely new (which I pray may never grate my ear again) from hence I infer, that the blasphemies of the damned, now past all hope, and filled with unrelenting enmity, are so extremely and inconceivably dreadful, so excessively horrid, that the most abandoned swearer, the master of the newest and blackest blasphemies on earth, cannot now imagine them; just as the sharpest pains we feel in time, bear no proportion to the excruciating torments of the damned. This desperado’s rage assuages little by little, and he becomes more calm by degrees. But in hell, their passion and tumult ever grows, even against God. Their soul abhors him, and his soul also loathes them! O then to be wise, and learn wisdom from everything I see! MEDITATION XLVII. GOD’S EQUITY IN THE ETERNITY OF TORMENT. July 10, 1758. Man is daringly bold to find fault with God, and tell him to his face—that his ways are not just. For God to make a creature to be miserable for some small offence; to make a creature to be damned—they complain is unjust. Or for God to punish a few follies in frail man, the extravagancies of a few days—with eternal wrath; and the failings of a finite creature, who is crushed before the moth—with the whole collected fury of an Omnipotent God, an Almighty Avenger—they complain is unjust. As to the first, God creates not to destroy—but still delights in mercy; yet, before any creatures rob him of his glory by a course of sin—he will magnify himself in their damnation. Again, shall the man that derides revelation, scorns to search the word of truth, despises counsel, casts instruction behind his back, hates him who reproves, sins against his light, will not hearken to the reproofs of conscience—but eagerly runs into all sin, and commits wickedness with greediness, dragging as many as he can with him to hell—shall such a wretch (and generally such they are who have these sorry and pitiful pleas) talk of mercy? Would he have God to take him, sin and all to heaven—who would not forsake his sin for heaven, nor cease from wickedness for God? Those who will not receive mercy, who will not have a gift of salvation on God’s terms, and in God’s time—must expect damnation from him in due time, which shall measure with eternity! I have, for a long time, been convinced of the punishment for sin being infinite (as far as creatures can sustain) and eternal, on account of the infinite Majesty against whom it was committed. Because it is impossible for finite creatures, who despise the salvation provided by God, to atone for one sin; and because the sinner continues, even in the torments of hell—to be the enemy of God and righteousness. But now I see another thing, even that infinite and eternal punishment, is no more than the just payment of their sin. For the sinner employs all his thoughts, exerts all his might, and goes to the very utmost of his finite omnipotence (may I use the expression?) against God. Had he power equal to his ungodly inclinations, he would destroy righteousness out of the world, just as he does in his own bosom! Yes, could he effect it, he who daily tears the moral law in pieces—would pull the angels out of heaven! More—he, who will not let God govern his poor insignificant self—could he rise in power, he would contend even with the Almighty, and take the government of heaven and earth out of his hand! Now, is it not strict justice in God to punish to the uttermost of his power—those who sin against him to the uttermost of their power; and to cast the fury of his wrath on those who, in their sinning against him, would not repent? Moreover, is it not equitable with God to punish as long as he lives—those who sinned against him as long as they lived? So may an earthly king condemn to perpetual imprisonment—a rebel or one who attempts to assassinate him. Again, though their life was short and passing, yet how did they spend it, every moment of it, in abominable sin! And since they spend the eternity of their life (might I again use the expression?) against God, and would never cease to offend the everlasting Jehovah, were they to continue in their present state to perpetuity; therefore it is but just that he should punish them through the eternity of his existence. Finally, sinners have no grounds of excuse or complaint left, being well apprised of their danger in time, and therefore shall, through an eternity of torment, confess that their own ways have been unjust—but that God is just and righteous in all his ways. MEDITATION XLVIII. INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE EVIL SPEECH OF THE WICKED. Spithead, July 12, 1758. Surely, if ever I was among the saints I have been to blame—who had nothing to utter in commendation of true religion, nothing to say in honor of God. Or if I dropped a word or two, that I dwelt not longer on the theme. But if ever providence permits me to breathe again in the fragrant air of converse with the godly, I think I shall be more open hearted than ever I have been. Forgive me, God; forgive me, saints; forgive me, sinners. Who knows what good a good word might have done some of you? Forgive me, my own conscience; and as I cannot excuse myself for time past, for opportunities lost, let me be more watchful in all time coming. I am instructed to this by the open profanity of the wicked. They are not ashamed to speak and talk in a strain which we would think the fiends of hell could not go beyond. They expose their secret sins in a manner which makes us blush. How soon they reveal their wickedness to one another, and let it be known to what society they belong—by their horrible vile speech! And shall you, O saint—and I, when we shall meet, not let it be known that we are heirs of the same promise, soldiers under the same banner, combatants in the same cause, servants of the same Lord, disciples of the same master, and expectants of the same glory? It is true—piety is a secret thing; its duties are to be performed in the closet, not in the street, and He who sees in secret will at the last day reward us openly. Again, we who bear the Christian name often choose to be silent too often on serious matters, lest at any time, by gross out breaking of sin, we become a scandal to religion; or those who have not the root of the matter in them scandalize us for our religion. But as these wicked ones are under no restraint in their profanity, shall we, who make such a high profession, be altogether silent on serious subjects? They avow their god, who is the devil—the god of this world. And shall we not avow the Lord for our God? They are of their father the devil, and do his works; and shall we not walk in the name of the Lord our God forever and ever? Is not our Master more honorable, our service more noble, our encouragement more powerful, our reward more certain, our associates more worthy, and our delights and pleasures more permanent and divine—than all the wicked can boast of? Why then not talk to one another of the excellencies of our great Lord, his kindness to his servants, what befalls us in our pilgrimage, the surprising providences of our life, and the outlettings of his love to our souls? "Come and hear, all you who fear God—and I will tell you what he has done for my soul," said the psalmist. And have we nothing to tell, no words with which we may comfort one another? Yes, we should speak in commendation of true religion to all; for whoever mocks—still wisdom is justified of her children; and whoever scoffs—we ought to do our duty. Then, in my present situation, all my communings must be with my own heart. I may make my prayer to the God of my life, express my trouble to him, and pour out my complaint before him, pleading, that as the years are full of evil, and the days of grief, so he may comfort me. MEDITATION XLIX. SORROW FOR SIN A SIGN OF GRACE. Spithead, July 13, 1758. Surely I am not so zealous for the God of heaven as I ought to be. Had I this day received an insult, or had any spit in my face—would I not carry the affront to bed with me—to sleep and wake with me, yes, disturb me of my sleep? Where is, then, my zeal for God, that I can quietly go to rest, and with an easy mind, when I see and know sinners avowedly wound the glory of God, spit in the face of Divine majesty; daringly break all his commandments, think his precepts are a jest, trample on his reproof, laugh at his threatenings, brave his thunders, and defy his wrath? While their practice is so vile—should my spirit be so unconcerned? Should the loyal subject be quiet and still when he knows a plot of rebellion is forming against his king, by whom he is maintained, yes, and beloved? Then, what shall I say of these obdurate sinners? I complain against them to you; I hate their conduct, I lament their sinful infatuation and deplore their case. The day is conscious of their crimes, the night attests their debauches. I deplore and protest against all their oaths and profanity, their obscenity and vileness, and all their other abominations. They fly from you in the day of your grace; and shall be punished with everlasting destruction away from you, and the glory of your power—in the day of judgment. May your honor never be less valued by me; nor I less grieved for the wounding thereof, that so many value it so little. May sin never become less odious to me by being committed before me; and let my sorrow for sin in others testify my innocence, and that I have no delight therein, while my soul shall mourn in secret places for those who hate holiness and love hell. MEDITATION L. ON HEARING A RUMOR OF PEACE. Spithead, July 19, 1755. With what a cheerful countenance did the greater part appear to hear the report of peace! These poor fellows, some of whom were drafted and pressed into the battlefield, some to the warship—now worn out with war, and long absent from their nearest relations, and their dearest friends—exult at the very thought of peace, and feel an inward satisfaction that refreshes every power. How then, O my soul! who is engaged in a more cruel war, carried on by more bloody foes, pursued without intermission, with all the rage of the roaring lion of hell, the cunning of the old serpent, and vigilance of the pit; the outcome of which is of much greater importance than the struggles for empire, or the strife of kings; how should you rejoice at that eternal peace which shall take place when all your foes shall fall before you, and death, the last enemy, shall be destroyed forever! Then you shall not only depart the field with safety and honor—but come off more than conqueror through him who loved you! Are men so fond to leave the battlefield, and taste the sweets of peace! What madness then by sin to rise in rebellion against Heaven, and maintain a war against God, to stubbornly charge against him, and defy Omnipotence himself—who can crush worlds with a frown, and punish the most stubborn offenders! How pleasant for the man that has been often in danger and death, who has long heard the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war, who has been covered with wounds and blood, and been daily beset by cruel bloodthirsty foes—to dwell in peace, and walk at safety, to heighten his present happiness by the remembrance of his past danger, assured that he shall never more be in a state of war—but spend his days in peace and quiet! Even so, the soul that has been often in danger from spiritual death, has long heard the sound of Sinai’s trumpets, the curses of the fiery law, and war denounced from Jehovah’s throne—has not only been sore buffeted and wounded—but accounted itself free among the dead, being daily beset by sin, and its outbreakings, Satan and his temptations; how sweet for such a soul to be filled with peace and joy in believing, to have the guarantee of pardoned sin, and acceptance through the Beloved. And, instead of storms and tempests from Sinai—to have the blessing out of Zion. In a word, to have the full assurance of unchangeable love, and endless felicity, and that, in a little while, all the enemies of his salvation, as they are now chained, so shall never vex him more—but he shall sing the riches of grace, and the righteousness of Jesus, world without end. MEDITATION LI. THE NOBLE PRINCIPLE. Spithead, July 19, 1758. Now I am distant from all my pious acquaintances and civilized friends, who might be a check upon me; and, what is worse, I am out of the church, therefore out of the reach of her discipline. But what is worst of all, I am where true religion is a stranger. Here it is applauded to be wicked; and profanity and impiety are supported at the expense of all that is sacred or valuable. Here shame is laid aside, brazen impudence is worn on every brow, and he that departs from iniquity becomes a prey to ridicule and scoff. Yet, for all this, how can I commit wickedness, and sin against God? Shall I not improve this opportunity, to witness for piety against all their vileness, and to strike a terror into the most abandoned; for there is no conscience which slumbers so securely—but there are now and then clamors rising within? What thanks to me to be for God while among his saints, where for very shame I dare not be against him? But surely it is commendable, when called in providence to be among those among whom Satan has his seat, not only to abstain from the sins in which they revel—but to oppose, to reprove, to let my hatred of the vices which they admire, be known, and not to drop my testimony against sin. Though I don’t prevail with sinners; though my diligence is not successful—duty must not be slackened. The sinner mistakes the matter; for he thinks he has liberty to sin in one situation more than in another. But it mightily aggravates his wickedness, because he carries not the awe and belief of God’s omnipresence everywhere. Were he at home, no man would be more moral than he. But the eye of man prevails more with him than the omniscience of God; for when he leaves his friends and native land, he leaves the fear of God also (that is, the form of godliness, for he never knew the power thereof) and rushes into sin wherever he goes. Like the ignorant Syrians, he thinks that God is a God of the hills—but not of the valleys, a God of the land—but not of the sea. And thus, when he casts off men by distance, he sets God also at a distance, and the divine law at defiance. But, to his endless remorse, he shall realize that God sees, not only under the whole heaven—but through the whole heart; and fills not only time—but eternity itself! As no grateful person would injure a generous friend; so, for my part, I would not sin against God, even supposing that he could not know it. How could I forget your tender mercies, your love, your compassion, your kindness, and supporting grace! How could I sin against your holiness, offend my best, my never-failing friend, wound my conscience, bruise my soul, and trample on your glory! You are ever in the heart which loves you. And you will bring those who willingly forget you to a remembrance of your omnipresence—by the down-pouring of your dreadful wrath. If nothing but the eye of man concerns us—it will make but small impression, and the impression will be quickly gone. But I can never hide from God of Heaven, nor conceal myself from my own conscience. Moreover, I am bound to be for God by many ties. O how should I honor him whom all dishonor, and witness for him when all are against him! In the time that I alone witness for him, I should not lose the opportunity which may never be put into my hand again. How then should I love him, whom sinners refuse to love; and hate sin the more that ungodly men love it! Surely my zeal should be the warmer—since ungodly men have lost all zeal for God and his glory. What can be more ungrateful than to sin against that God who has sent his Son to save me—than to offend him who defends me every day; than to cast off his fear, who has fed me all my life long; than to join a multitude against him, who, passing by the multitude, has chosen me to eternal salvation? I should have an eye to his glory; and his love should be always before me. His greatness should fill my mind with holy awe, and his goodness with gratitude and joy. But, ah worthless I, how shall I hold up my face when I fall so far short of my duty, and do so little for him, who has done so much—who has done everything for me! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 164: 04.02. MEDITATIONS 31 TO 60 CONTD ======================================================================== MEDITATION LII. COMPARISONS. July 20, 1758. To make my situation more pleasant, in this meditation, let me run a comparison between the sea-life, and the Christian life—which is properly called a warfare. 1. Then, we embark all in one common cause. In like manner, have all Christians one interest. 2. We leave our own country, our friends, and our native land. In like manner, must every Christian leave his father’s house, and his old friends. 3. Sometimes we enter into his majesty’s service against the opinion and inclination of our nearest friends. In like manner, sometimes, in becoming disciples of Jesus, we must deny our nearest relationships, and dearest friends. 4. We do not entangle ourselves with the affairs of the land, as we belong to the sea. In like manner, must the saint not entangle himself in the affairs of this life, that he may please Him who has chosen him to be a spiritual soldier. 5. We are all maintained by the King. In like manner, are all Christians are maintained by the throne of Heaven. 6. We come here neither uncalled or unwelcome. In like manner, none that come to Jesus, shall ever be cast out. 7. Some are drafted and pressed into the service of their king and country. In like manner, nothing less than almighty power can make the sinner submit to Jesus. 8. We undergo a great change of life when we forsake the land, and dwell on the ocean. But they share in a greater change, who are taken from darkness into light, from the power of Satan, to the living God. 9. Our way of walking must be changed, else we shall have many a fall on the deck. In like manner, Christians must not walk as other men, else, they shall not keep on the path of life. 10. Our food must be changed, and adapted to our way of life. In like manner, must Christians live as well as walk by faith, and feed on heavenly food. 11. Our provisions must be of such a nature as to keep for a long time free of putrefaction, and in every climate. In like manner, must the saint feed on Jesus, the bread of life, who can nourish in every condition below. 12. We must forego our easy life, and expect to be dashed by the briny wave, and beaten by the storm. In like manner, Christians must not expect to lounge about in the lap of pleasure—in a world where they are to have tribulation and pain. 13. We must keep continual watch for the safety of the ship, and the crew dare never all sleep at once. In like manner, must the Christian watch continually, watch unto all prayer, and be ever on his guard. 14. Our very dialect distinguishes us from the inhabitants on land. In like manner, should the Christian be known as different from the men of the world—by his innocent, useful, edifying, and godly discourse, managed always with discretion. 15. We have a discipline peculiar to ourselves, and pretty severe. In like manner, has the Christian church from her Lord a government and discipline which none can alter or abrogate. 16. We must not expect to leave the tempestuous element until the war is finished, and peace proclaimed. In like manner, the Christian needs not expect to be disengaged from trouble and turmoil until the spiritual war is ended, and eternal peace brought in. 17. We must always be ready to engage the enemy, as we don’t know where and when he shall attack. In like manner, the Christian, being in the midst of his enemies, must always be ready for the battle. 18. We are provided with armor and ammunition for the day of battle at the king’s cost. In like manner, is every saint with the whole armor of God. 19. Sometimes a battle at sea is made more dreadful because of the darkness of the night. In like manner, sometimes, in the darkness of desertion, the saint is surrounded with all his cruel foes. 20. We must fight before we get the victory. In like manner, must the Christian conquer before he obtain the crown. 21. We are provided with medical men to give assistance to the wounded and diseased. In like manner, have the saints a tender-hearted Physician, who binds up the broken heart, cures the painful wound, and pours in the healing balm. 22. We have a steward who gives us our provisions daily, and not all at once. Yet we have no uneasiness, knowing that he has plenty, and will not let us starve. In like manner, the saints, either in respect of spiritual provision, or daily bread, need never be disquieted for futurity, since Jesus is appointed of the Father, a steward to all the children of God, since all the fullness of the Godhead is treasured up in him for their supply. And since, to their unspeakable profit, all their provision, of one or other kind, is not given to them at once—but kept in his hand. 23. We have people among us of all nations, English, Scots, Irish, Dutch, Swedes, Danes, French, Spaniards, Germans, Swiss, Italians, Russians, Indians, etc.—of all dispositions, of all employments, and of all ages. In like manner, the true church is composed of all nations, people, and languages, and of young and old. 24. We are appareled in a different manner from the men on land. In like manner, Christians are covered, both with the justifying righteousness of Christ, and with the righteousness of saints. 25. Officers, men, and boys, are allowed the same quantity of provisions in the same time. In like manner, the fullness of the covenant, the fatness of God’s house—is alike free to all the members of Christ. 26. We have several officers here, without whom we could not be governed. In like manner, in the church, there are officers for the government of the whole body. 27. We are in the midst of dangers, and yet are preserved. In like manner, the church, like a lily among thorns, grows and is not choked. The church is like a bush burning—but not consumed; sometimes persecuted by men—but never forsaken by God. 28. In a voyage, we are cut off from all the world, and have no communication with any. In like manner, the church and the people of God shall dwell alone, not mingle with the people, nor be reckoned among the nations. 29. Every loss we sustain in an engagement is borne by government. But when we conquer, we divide the spoil, and share the prize-money among us. In like manner, God supports his people in their spiritual warfare, makes up every loss, enriches them with the spoils of their enemies, and at last puts palms in their hands, and crowns on their heads. 30. When the war is ended, and peace restored, we retire with all our acquisitions, to receive the congratulations of our friends, and enjoy ourselves in peace and tranquility as long as we shall live. In like manner, at death we trample on our last enemy, leave the field with triumph, go to the blessed society of saints and angels, receive a crown of immortal glory—and are happy beyond expression, beyond conception, in the enjoyment of God and the Lamb for evermore! MEDITATION LIII. OUR SORROW FOR SIN TOO CONTRACTED. July 22, 1758. Now to my grief I am among sinners; and it pains my heart that those with whom I am concerned in one vessel and in one interest—should so sin against God. Though there were no wickedness committed in this ship, yet how does it prevail through the whole British fleets with which I am connected; but though I were out of the navy, yet I am still concerned with Britain; though out of Britain, I am still in the world, and therefore concerned with the whole inhabitants thereof. Now I see my sorrow for sin is not so universal as it ought to be. For while I lament great sins, gross abominations, and detestable crimes—I am apt to overlook mental corruptions and natural depravity—which is the spring of all. Again, it is too contracted, in that I confine my grief to the wretches who are daily in my view; for though the crew here were all saints, yet how, through the whole fleet, have officers and men all corrupted their way! or though the whole fleet were innocent, yet how through Britain, by her armies, and men of all ranks, is the divine law broken with impunity! But though Britain were righteous, yet what wickedness against the majesty of Heaven is committed through the world! O contracted sorrow for sin! to grieve for nothing but what I see; as if the glory of God were not alike dear to him in all places; or as if he were not offended at sin on every shore, in every land, and in every heart! Though what I see and hear deserves my heartfelt tears, yet I should continue the flood of tears, because iniquity overflows the universe, because the whole world lies in iniquity, and the earth groans under the sinful inhabitants thereof. Though the enemies of God may not be always in my sight as now some of them are, yet they are always in the sight of the God of Heaven—sinning against him who is everywhere present! My sorrow therefore should continually be before me, and the shame of my face ever cover me; and my unremitting request should be, and shall be—that the knowledge of the Lord may cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea. MEDITATION LIV. PRISONERS. St. Helens, July 29, 1758. This is a common affliction in war—that whoever conquers at last, in the mean time many on both sides lose their life, or suffer by imprisonment, as these poor men, who carry the effects of their long confinement, and scanty allowance, in their countenance. Their meager looks tell they have not been nourished by the bounty of their own sovereign, under whose flag they fought. But now, when escaped from their cells, they betake not themselves to a slothful, indolent, and easy life—but, with redoubled ardor, fly again to the warfare, eager to be revenged on their enemies, and take those as prisoners—whose prisoners they once were. Even so the soldier, that in the Christian warfare (and all his life is one continued war) is taken captive by Satan, is cast down by some temptation, and overcome by some lust; who is imprisoned in carnality, whose iron gate is despair, and the chains and fetters which bind the prisoners are insensibility, and impenitence of heart; while Satan, to keep all secure, stands sentry himself. In like manner, when such a one is recovered from his captivity, is restored to liberty, by him who takes the prey from the terrible, and delivers the captive—how does his holy indignation rise against sin, and especially that sin especially which had overcome him! As he had formerly gone backward, now he runs in the way of righteousness, and studies that his path may be like the shining light, that shines more and more unto the perfect day. None has—a greater hatred of sin than he—a greater zeal for the glory of God—a greater jealousy over himself—and a greater compassion for those who groan under the assaults of Satan, and swellings of sin. His soul disease is removed, and being fed and feasted with the bread of life—he grows strong as Samson for the war. Every wound which he received when taken captive—is healed by the balm of Gilead which is poured in by the Physician of souls. And he is filled with joy by the sweet assurance, that none of all the children of God shall die in prison, but with full triumph, and loud Hosanna, shall at last enter the realms of everlasting day! MEDITATION LV, SHIP DAMAGED AND BEGINNING TO SINK Under sail from Cherbourg. How sweet is life—for which a man will part with his all! When these two ships, which my anxious eyes beheld, ran into one another—from the smaller vessel which seemed in greatest danger, how did everyone fly, and never look behind! One comes out half naked, but finds no cold; another, in getting into the other ship, catches a bruise or a wound, but feels no pain until afterwards. I see, then, that man needs no admonition to preserve his temporal life, or avoid bodily danger. But how do they sleep on in sin—until awaked in everlasting agonies! "Fly from the wrath to come," is the divine admonition to all; but a raging and a roaring tempest, a sinking vessel, and a swelling wave, are more prevalent with men to attempt their escape—than all the terrors of the Lord, and the prospect of future wrath and eternal torment. But some may be discouraged to escape from the wrath to come, because they have so long followed the ways of sin. Yet this, instead of deterring them, should determine them to make greater efforts to escape. Tell the affrighted crew, that because they are in danger, they must dwell in danger sedately, and let themselves drown without disturbance, since it seems to be their fate. Such an advice would seem the language of a madman—which advice they never will accept. They will make the more haste the greater their danger, and the greater speed to deliver themselves the nearer they seem to destruction. Yes, they will attempt to make their escape, though they should perish in the attempt. They will rather attempt to escape—than sit still and perish. O that men, the worst of men, would follow their example! For if they abide in their sins—they must perish; and though they fail in their attempts to escape—they can but perish. Again, a man fast asleep could not have been concerned in all the confusion these men were in, but would have sunk like a stone in the mighty waters. But all who are awake see danger, and endeavor to accomplish their escape. So those that are in a natural state are spiritually asleep—and see no danger until they plunge into the flames of hell! But the one who is awake to eternity, sees his danger, and flies from the wrath to come! There is as great difference between a man in a renewed and unrenewed state—as between a man fast asleep and fully awake. Moreover, we see that these men minded nothing but the saving of their life. They left all behind them, even their most precious things, and made their escape. So, when a soul seeks to be found in Christ, not having his own righteousness, he counts all things but loss and rubbish, even the things he had counted gain before—for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus his Lord. He sets his eye on the unseen world, and secures his eternal interest there. Looking on the present world as a shattered vessel that cannot long carry him safely, but must sink him at last—he sees that it is his highest wisdom to escape the leaky vessel, into the safe ark of the covenant, which keeps above the swelling floods of destruction. And finally, he sets his affections on heavenly things, and anticipates a little of that joy and serenity, which shall take place in the world to come, when storms and tempests cease! MEDITATION LVI. WAR. Under sail, August 18, 1758. How often have we cause to cry out of the cruelty of men! Mankind, allied to one another by blood—have more ingenuity to destroy each other, than all the beasts of the forest! No sooner were these poor soldiers (who never met before, and only meet now that they may kill each other) within the reach of mutual destruction, but they fall to fighting, and deprive each other of their life, and send souls into the eternal unseen world. Cannons roar like the destructive thunders—and all the instruments of war are set a sounding terror and dismay. PITY has no outlet from the human bosom, until the enemies are all killed, or yield as prisoners. How many souls, by the unsheathed and naked sword, are sent naked into the eternal unseen world! Unprepared for their last moments, they have not a quiet moment at last to prepare for death; but are hurried into their last, unalterable state at once, with a few melting groans. What a piteous sight is the field of battle! The very ground is plowed with the irresistible cannon-balls. Or if the battle borders on a forest, the trees are scarred with continual firing, and the neighboring hills echo with the noise—the confused noise of war, while the shriekings and groanings of the deadly wounded add to the horrors of the day. Such are the contests of rulers; such is the vile ambition of kings—who purchase elbow-room to their territories, at the expense of their subjects’ lives! But if the war of mortals is so terrible to one another, what must that day be when God shall rise up to the battle—to rid himself of his enemies, and ease himself of his adversaries? When his angry countenance shall kindle the heavens above, and set the earth on fire beneath? When the thunders of his right hand shall fill hell with universal trembling? When a fiery stream issues from his flaming throne; which shall affrighten the human race, being summoned to make their appearance before the final judgment? No pity, no compassion then! No mercy, no forgiveness there! If men are cut off by the weapons of war, by the hand of frail mortals; how must they perish under the stroke of Omnipotence, which shall reach to the soul in all her powers? when his almighty hand takes hold of, and whets the glittering sword, and swears he lives forever—to punish his enemies forever? O that men were wise, and would consider their latter end! O that men would throw down the weapons of their rebellion, and fight under the Captain of salvation! Then would they be happy in this world—and in the world to come! MEDITATION LVII. UNFORTUNATE RETREAT. St. Cas, Sept. 12, 1756. (Our forces having made a descent on the coast of France, the enemy assembled their forces, before whom our little army retreated. But while the greater part of us escaped, the enemy killed or made prisoners of some 1400 men, in the two hour battle.) Ah, mournful day! what pathetic sights, what melting sounds have I seen and heard by sea and land this day! My heart bleeds for the men of war, who boldly shed their blood. For though their scanty number was overpowered by the enemy—yet their courage was conspicuous to the last. Ah, doleful event of one fatal day! Many, mirthful and cheerful in the morning—lay gasping at noon—and are clay-cold by the evening twilight! My heartstrings are pierced with pain, while I remember the anguish of their last moments! They fall, but none to lift them up; they groan, but no kindly sympathizer; they die, and there is no tender-hearted mourner, none to lament them. The little army is broken by superior numbers, and take to flight; but where can they fly? A victorious enemy is in front of them, rocks on every side, and a raging sea behind them. Some tried to escape into the water—and are shot while wading for life, or perish in the waves! How vain the confidence of man! How empty the boast of invincible courage! Let men remember that God gives the victory; and that at his frown heroes fall, and armies fly. Methinks I see the yet more awful, universal, and conclusive day—when the heavens shall open in tremendous thunders, when the dreadful trumpet, with louder sounds than ever echoed from the martial plains, shall raise the sleeping dust, and the tremendous Judge descend in flaming vengeance on his fiery throne; before whom the nations shall be assembled, and by whom the final sentence passed. This is the decision that shall concern the victors and the vanquished—the survivors and the slain—sovereigns and their subjects—yes, the whole world and myself! MEDITATION LVIII. THE NATURAL MAN INSENSIBLE OF MERCY. Portsmouth Harbor, November 1, 1758. Did men look but a little towards God, and into themselves, it would be their wisdom. But true wisdom can never shine where saving grace does not dwell. There are some men astonishingly saved from deadly dangers. They are standing monuments of singular mercy, when numbers were dropping down around them, when instruments of death were rattling thick about them, like the hail from the thunder-cloud, and bullets falling like drops of rain—and yet they are preserved safe among the dying crowd. And there are others who have still a more narrow escape—for a bullet breaks one of their bones—which might have cut the thread of their life. Or a sword wounds an extremity—which might have pierced the heart and dislodged the soul. Through the whole war, they have a kindly remembrance of their singular preservation, and God’s special mercy to them. But, O chilling thought! how soon do these very people forget their great deliverer, show not the least gratitude to God—but return to sin, and proceed from evil to worse! Had any other soldier been a means of their preservation, they had displayed so much gratitude as never to forget it. But it was God who preserved them—and they display so much of the sinner, the abandoned sinner, as never to remember it, never to acknowledge it! They pursue their sinful practices, as if their life had at first been given, and preserved when in danger—for no other purpose than to run into wickedness. These men are the enemies of God. They have been hungry and he has fed them. They have been thirsty and he has given them water to drink. They have been in disease, and he has recovered them. They have been in danger, and he has preserved them. Therefore, if they continue still his enemies—he will heap coals of fire on their head, while his kindness shall be renowned forever. Where God’s mercies have no effect—his judgments shall without fail have most terrible effect at last. Since I am a child of many mercies, may gratitude write them, in indelible characters, on the table of my heart! MEDITATION LIX. THE WORD OF GOD IRRESISTIBLE. Nov. 3, 1758. O how glorious and irresistible is the word of grace, when it comes accompanied with divine power—the word which turns a sinner from his wickedness to God! Fire and sword cannot convert; war and shipwreck cannot reclaim; dangers and deliverance cannot reform; mercies and judgments cannot change the man. But one verse in the holy scriptures, a sentence or paragraph in a pious treatise, or an expression in a sermon—backed with the divine blessing, and sent home by the Spirit of God—can prick to the very heart, overpower the whole soul, and open his eyes towards God, himself, and eternity! Towards God, to see his holiness and indignation against sin! Towards himself, to see his desperate and deplorable state in such a gulf of impurity and raging enmity against God! Towards eternity, to see his vast concerns and interests there—and that they are of another kind than he once dreamed of. Once he thought of nothing but social gatherings, balls, and the theater; of revelings and parties of pleasure; of knowing and being known; of money, advancements, and commissions from his employer; of grand appearance, expensive houses, splendid clothes, and high-sounding titles. But now he sees that—judgment awaits all his actions—eternity treads on the heels of time—and that there is a world to come! These things cast out the vain and trifling phantoms that engrossed all his attention before—and give him just and proper ideas of everything around. And this great and wonderful change, which makes him account everything loss, rubbish and dross—in comparison of the excellency of the knowledge of Christ and the unseen eternal world—is effected by a very word—that the excellency of the power may be seen to be of God; while others hear thousands of such words, and continue in impenitence. Though a man were thrown into hell, and saw and suffered all the torments of the damned, for years and ages—and was then brought up again to the land of the living, to the place of hope—yet all would be to no avail. For without the blessing of the Most High on the means of grace, he would not accept of salvation, nor receive the Savior. This is evident in those who have a foretaste of the terrors of hell, by the horrors of an awakened conscience, which, instead of bringing them nearer to God—drives them farther from him, and plunges them into the tremendous deeps of despair. Though the words of peace may be more glorious from mount Zion to those who have heard the threatenings of mount Sinai, and though the thunderings of the law may precede to prepare his way; yet still God comes to a soul in the still small voice of the gospel. Then happy are those who know the joyful sound, for faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. By what experience shall they support their plea, who are for free will, and a kind of self-agency, in the work of conversion, when we see thousands and ten thousands perish, although it is natural for all men to wish to be happy! The Arminian will say, because they will not, therefore they are not happy. But the scripture says, "No man can come to me except the Father, who has sent me, draws him." Now, whether I am to believe the Arminian or God—let all the world judge. MEDITATION LX. DOCKING SHIPS. Nov. 4, 1758. It is requisite at certain times to bring ships in to the dock—that they may be cleaned, caulked, and fitted out for sea again. This is indeed attended with trouble—as guns, ammunition, stores, provisions, and ballast—must be removed, that the ship may easily be got into dock, and a proper inspection made into those places which need repair; and that stores, provisions, and everything needful, may be completed for a cruise or a voyage. Then how much more necessity have Christians, who steer on a more tempestuous sea than the watery element—to inspect and test themselves! For such serious and solemn work, they should set a day apart for prayer and examination; when, that they may know their situation, they should look into their heart and affections, their life and conversation, their thoughts, the ends and motives of all their actions. Assisted by the light of revelation, they should see, and comparing themselves with the rule of the word, they should understand—what is wrong, what is lacking, what is decayed, and what is defective. They ought to search into the state of their soul, and the condition of their graces; and also see what sins have been most predominant in them. Surely those who are cast into wicked company, and are daily hearing and seeing sin—have much to mourn over! Such an exercise is highly requisite in all the candidates for glory. They are also, from the royal treasury of grace—which is stored up in the Son of God—to take in provisions of every kind, and all sorts of armor—such as the sword of the Spirit, the helmet of salvation, the shield of faith, the anchor of hope, and the compass of truth; as they must steer over roaring oceans, struggle through storms and tempests, and fight though foes all along their journey; and thus, spiritually refitted, proceed in their voyage to Immanuel’s land! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 165: 04.03. MEDITATIONS 61 TO 90 ======================================================================== Meditations 61 to 90 Meditation LXI. ON GOING INTO HARBOR. Nov. 5, 1758. One would think that when the tempests and the dangers of the sea are over, all were safe; and that in sight of land we would laugh at shipwreck. Yet the experience of thousands, attest, that on coasts more ships are lost than at sea. And so the Government has prudently appointed pilots to bring in British ships, that they may be in no danger while coming into harbor. Now, what may this remind us of, but that the saints, and such as look for an happy anchoring in the port of bliss, should be very careful how they steer the last part of their long and momentous voyage; how they enter the ’harbor of death’—where their ship is to be laid up, not for a winter, but forever! They are to beware that they do not stick on the sands of ’carnal security’; or run into the shallow waters of ’lukewarm indifference’; or be blown on the rocks of ’false confidence’—by the high winds of spiritual delusion. A mistake here may occasion damage, but, though it cost expenses, may be mended. But among men, a mistake at death is fatal, and of the greatest consequence, because it can never be mended afterwards. Again, the tide is a mighty assistant in our getting into harbor here; but to dying mortals, the Jordan of death is a terrible river, which overflows all its banks; and it is the fear of dissolution that keeps some all their lifetime subject to bondage. Yes, and by this current, thousands and ten thousands are hurried into the horrid pit of perdition. But in a surprising manner the saints go over dry shod; for the High Priest, who bears the ark of the everlasting covenant, and all the rich grace and precious promises that it contains, having that river to wade through which runs in the way of all living; once did so, with the soles of his feet, when he was found in fashion as a man, and humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross—so that it remains still cut in two to the saints—even while it overflows all its banks to the wicked. The more we advance into the earthly harbor, the more we are out of danger from the storms and tempests that sweep along the ruffled ocean. But it is otherwise with the dying saint; Satan does all he can to cloud his evidences, to deaden his faith, to blacken his infirmities, to make him doubt his own condition, to misname his graces, to slay his confidence, to draw him away from Christ, and drive him into despair—anxious to make a wreck of him even in sight of Immanuel’s shore. Yet all the powers of hell shall never pluck the least of Christ’s little ones out of his hand. But how watchful should we be, and how careful to prepare for these critical moments! for we are like a ship that has traded for a long time in the East-Indies, and comes borne with all her treasures; so our all, our everlasting all, is lost if we sink at last. However, our safety lies in this alone—that he whose presence calms the raging sea, and fierce winds—shall be our pilot to the harbor of the better country—to the port of glory! Meditation LXII. ON TAKING IN LARGE PROVISIONS. Portland Roads, Dec. 15, 1758. Surely the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind, than are the people of the light. For those on land provide what they need for the winter; and those at sea take in large stores of all necessities, when they are to make a long voyage. Now, my soul, what have you laid up for eternity—this solemn, this crucial voyage, which you must make? Your voyage has already begun, and if you are not adequately prepared, you must suffer irreparable loss forever—as there is no ’oil’ to be bought (this the foolish virgins shall find) in the other world—no ’grace’ to be found, nor pardon to be expected (this all impenitent sinners shall experience) on the other side of the grave. Death cuts down the tree as it stands—which falls as it grows—and as it falls must lie forever. Why then, O blinded Papists—your prayers and masses for the dead! To as good purpose apply medicines to dead bodies to bring them to life again—as use prayers for departed lost souls to bring them to heaven. It is now in this present world—that we must be prepared for eternity—where our vast and highest concerns lie. If this ship should go out to cruise for three months in the main ocean without food or water, or any other provisions—would not all the crew be changeable with consummate folly—as all must inevitably perish with hunger? But of greater madness am I possessed—if my soul goes out into the boundless ocean of eternity without a saving interest in Christ—who is the tree of life which feeds, and river of life which waters, all the children of God. According to the length of our voyage—must be the quantity of provisions taken aboard. And indeed nothing less than a whole God, in all his fullness and perfections; an all-sufficient Savior, in all his offices and relations; and the Holy Spirit, in all his divine influences and consolations—can be a proper provision for my soul through time and eternity. Meditation LXIII. COMFORT AND TERROR IN ONE CONSIDERATION. Portland Roads, Dec. 19, 1758. When the affairs of war, or the necessities of our trade, call for a change of climates, and hurry us from the chilling North to the burning South; it may afford comfort to the pious soul to reflect—that the God on whom he built his hopes here, is also there to answer all the expectations of his faith. But it may strike terror into the profligate wretch, to think that the God against whom he sinned here, is also there to punish his iniquity. Then I see that the omnipresence of God may be a panacea—a universal cure—to the anxiety of my soul everywhere. For God may call his redeemed people away from their own home, their friends, their country—but he will never cast them from his protection, his presence, himself! Then, though I leave my friends and acquaintances—and go to the remotest Indies, or most distant parts of the world—still the same God who here manifests himself so gracious and so kind, is the same God who governs under the whole heaven, and there can manifest himself in his accustomed tender mercy, and loving-kindness. "Where can I go from him who is everywhere?" this is my comfort. And where will you, O sinner! fly from him who is everywhere? let this be your terror. For the God who dwells between the cherubim of a gospel-dispensation, sits also on the floods; and he who rules in Jacob, rules also unto the ends of the earth. Moreover, when I leave this world to go into the unknown world—then the same God (for he who measures the moments of my time, inhabits eternity) whom I served here, shall receive me there. This is the excellency of the Christian religion, that we, as it were, begin eternity in time, and join in our adoration with the multitudes of heaven. Deluded nations of old trusted in gods which could not move, but needed to be carried by their demented votaries! But the true God, who is an everlasting King, has been the God of his chosen people in all places of the world, and in all ages, yes, before the world began! Hence says Moses, "You have been our dwelling-place in all generations, before you had brought forth the mountains!" And when time is gone, and ages finished, he will be their dwelling-place, who is from everlasting to everlasting God. Then happy I, if I have an abiding relationship, and sure interest in him who is everywhere present, as to his place; and inhabits eternity, as to his duration. Time past and to come only has relevance to us mortals. For with God it ever was, is, and will be—one eternal now. Every way I look, there is safety! If I dwell I at home—God is there! If I go abroad—God is there! If I live I in this world—God holds it in his hand, and sees under the whole heaven! If I die, and go out of the world—God is there filling all, and in all. Now, O sinner! stand still, and see your misery! You sin against God—and how shall you escape? You may injure a fellow creature, and, by going into some distant part of the world, elude law, and laugh at justice; and if you die, you are out of the reach of the pursuer to all intents and purposes. But flee where you will—you are still in God’s power, still in his presence—whom you have offended! Remember, that he whom you have made your enemy all your life long—will at last be your judge, and supreme tormentor—whose breath shall kindle the burning stream. Sinners and saints may have common comforts, and common crosses. But one thought on eternity spreads horror through the soul of the one—while it diffuses consolation in the bosom of the other! Meditation LXIV. ON BEING IN HOT CLIMATES IN A FEW DAYS. Under sail for Gibraltar, Feb. 2, 1759. How a few days sailing can chill us in the freezing north—or warm us in the pleasant south! Of the last we had experience, while with expanded sail we approached the sunny warmth! This short and sudden change suggests an interesting thought to my mind—that at the hour of death, in a shorter time than this—the soul shall either be placed in that degree of distance away from God, where eternal winter blows dreadfully, with all the angry storms and tempests of vindictive wrath. Or the soul shall into eternal communion with the Most High God, where the Sun of righteousness shall shine from his cloudless meridian, and pour down assimilating glory in every beam. This stupendous thought I cannot, I dare not pursue—but, in silence, give way to deep Meditation. Meditation LXV. AN HIGH WIND PREFERABLE TO A CALM. Under sail, Feb. 15, 1759. Among the wonders of navigation, this is one, that through opposing waves which dash on every side, and amidst winds so strong that they seem rather a tempest than a moderate gale—the ship should pursue her voyage with greater speed, and reach her port sooner, than in a profound calm. Indeed he that never had his foot on salt water before, and adventures only on the glassy lake to take his pleasure, will bless the serenity, and congratulate the calm. But the spirited sailor who minds his business, and has other climates in view, will rather wish a brisk gale to waft him to the distant shore, than to roll about in a dead calm until his vessel grow rottens in the water, and sinks. Even so, Christian, it fares with you. Believe it, the calmest weather does not make the best voyage heavenward. It is better for you to proceed on your course through the rolling waves of affliction, attended by the ruffling winds of adversity—than to be calmed into inactivity—by affluence, ease, and prosperity. The one, through ’seeming difficulty’ and threatened danger, shall at last bring you safely to your desired haven; while he other detains you to your eternal ruin. God, who sits as king on the swelling flood—rules also all the afflictions of his people. Though sometimes they complain, "All your waves and your billows have gone over me," yet not one can attack them, but by his permission, nor swell beyond the given bounds. Covenant-mercy has established the kind decree, "Thus far you shall go—but no further; and here shall your perplexing waves be stayed." Why then should the Christian mariner on the flood of time, so cry out against the boisterous wind, afflictive wave, and foaming billow—which only hasten the journey to the pacific shore? Have not some, by the thorny cross, been startled out of their delusive dreams, and awakened to the concerns of a world to come? Have not some, by the loss of a child, found the Son of God? Have not some, by the death of an earthly father, been brought into subjection to the heavenly Father, and so made to live? And have not some, while unjustly deprived of a small part of the petty inheritance in this world, been made to look out for an inheritance in the better country—a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens? To say no more, will not the experience of the saints agree in this—that while their outward man seems to decay through the lashes of daily affliction, their inward man is renewed day by day; so that in the year of drought, their soul is as a watered garden? Meditation LXVI. ON SAILING NEAR DIFFERENT NATIONS. Feb. 20, l759. There is a great pleasure in sailing to different parts of the world—to see the divine wisdom, and profuse bounty of God everywhere displayed. But there is a great pain in this—that wherever we go, we see the terrible devastation of sin. If we look to one shore—there superstition reigns. If we look to another shore—there cruelty rages. In one place they are deluded Papists; in another place they are violent Mohammedans; while those in a third location are mere infidels. All worship some God—but how few the true God. How very few worship the true God in truth! O, then, that God would have respect to his covenant, because the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of horrid cruelty! When shall the darkness that covers the nations—the gross darkness that covers the people—be dispelled by the light of the glorious gospel of the Son of God? Shall Satan continue to take kingdoms captive at his will? Shall the destroyer of the Gentiles ruin precious souls without number? Shall he not spare continually to slay the nations? Let not the curse devour the earth, and those who dwell thereon. When shall the name of Jew and Gentile be lost in that of Christian, and professing Christians become the true worshipers of the Father, the followers of the Lamb? When shall that reviving acclamation charm the ears of all the expectants, of the sacred conquest, "The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ. And he shall reign for ever and ever!" Meditation LXVII. ON REACHING A PORT AFTER BEING LONG AT SEA. Gibraltar Bay, Feb. 21, 1759. Now we have reached the desired haven, when our patience was almost worn out, and we had been long contesting with by the unfavorable gale. Among the baffling winds we spent at least thrice the time that might have brought us hither; but now, when safely moored, the dark reflections fly, and the disagreeableness of our voyage decreases, through joy that we have come so safe to an anchor. The very difficulties that overtook us on the ocean make our coming to harbor afford us greater pleasure, than if a favorable wind in a few days had wafted us hither. Even so, when the saints of God reach the happy shore, it shall, as it were, heighten the joys of their eternal home—that they once dwelt so long in the house of mourning. It shall soften their rest—that they once were tossed on a stormy ocean. It shall brighten the heavenly vision—that they once have seen scenes of affliction. It shall swell their happiness and delight—that their life was once full of disappointment and pain. It shall sweeten these rivers of pleasures—that they once have drank the bitter waters of Mara. Here the troubled sailor in a storm is afraid of shipwreck every moment. But the saint may be assured, (why then, O saints! so much doubting?) that he shall safely arrive at Immanuel’s coast, in spite of all the storms which attack him, and tempests which attend him along the way. Courage, then, my soul, and weather out the squalls, and endure the bitterest blasts that can blow against you, triumphing in this one consideration—that the eternal God is engaged for your security. The storms that now beset you are but transient, and also bounded. But the rest and peace, the felicity and joys, that are reserved for you—are eternal, immense, and passing all understanding! Meditation LXVIII. ON A MAN WHO DIED BY LIQUOR. Under sail, Mediterranean, March 6, 1759. In how many things is it possible for man to sin? Every blessing he can turn into a curse! Every mercy he can suck misery from! By excess—the means of life become the occasion of death. How sad a use make we of God’s creation, when it renders us incapable of serving our Creator. This is the case, not only with the drunkard and glutton—but with the carnal-minded man, who focuses on the cares and riches of this world! This demented wretch, this poor fellow-creature—used his blessings to his own destruction. He was a more cruel suicide or self-murderer, than if he had given himself a mortal wound. For then he might have died awake, and with the exercise of his reason—but now he undergoes the last, the most tremendous change while in a stupor, and totally deprived of the use of reason! He drank until he dropped down in a drunken stupor, out of which it was impossible to awake him—until plunged into the eternal and changeless world! How terrible to die in such a condition! If any dreams, reflection, or remembrance of former things, could penetrate his profound slumber, his deep stupor—he would wish himself to be still among his companions, drinking another glass, and quaffing it down merrily among his mates. But O how inconceivably astonished, and terribly surprised—to find himself in his sober wits, standing before the solemn tribunal, and hear his final sentence passed! Gladly would he recoil into the besotted body which he just left—but the union is dissolved, the tie is broken, and he is thenceforth an inhabitant in the eternal world of the damned! Perhaps he dreamed, while the fiery spirits were burning up his vitals, that he was drinking at some cooling stream. But how disappointed to find his first draught to be the wine of the fierceness of the wrath of God, poured out without the least mixture of mercy! The last words he spoke were curses—but how does it strike him with terror to hear the belching of consummate despair—while he felt himself at once surrounded with the howlings of hell, the blasphemies of the damned, and all the groans and yellings of the burning pit! What tongue can tell, what heart conceive what he must feel? Indeed the thoughtless rabble seemed somewhat amazed at his premature death. But how superficial is their concern while they continue the very same excesses which proved fatal to their fellow-creature! But however amazed man may be at this manner of the soul’s going into eternity, in such a doleful case, in such a melancholy condition—this is actually how the whole graceless world dies. For even though they have the use of all their senses, and the exercise of their reason to the last—yet their souls, with respect to spiritual things—are as fast asleep, as deadly and deeply intoxicated with the juice of the vine of Sodom, even the draughts of sin and pleasure—as this poor man who died as an alcoholic. And they shall be equally astonished, terrified, tormented—when they awake in the eternal world of the damned! Meditation LXIX. THE EARTH, A GLOBE. Under sail, Mediterranean, March 13, 1759. Wherever I sail, the earth is still beneath my feet, and the heaven is still above my head. This shows the madness of man’s desire—which has no limits—though its object is everywhere limited. It is not for a kingdom exalted above the hills, that the contending nations now are at war—it is but for a ’breadth of dust’—that tribes are slaughtered, and nations are undone. Were there nothing better than this poor earth, no wonder if we sought to extend our possession in the earth. It would be excusable for avarice to seek to possess the ends of the world, if there the ’golden mountains’ arched above our heads with all their sparkling veins. But still this gold—this ’idol of mankind’ lies buried in ore, and deep in the midst of the earth, that it may not affect our ambitious eye. And still the heavens bend above us, to attract the soaring principle essential to the human soul. But as man despises what he should esteem, and doats on what he should abhor—seeking the creature more than the Creator, who is himself blessed forever, and makes all who seek him blessed; God, in a way of judgment, "has set the world in the hearts of men." Hence their whole chase, study, and endeavor, is for the world—which, though in great abundance obtained, cannot satisfy us. Yet, believing that an addition to what we already have, will afford that satisfaction which we are conscious we need, our chase is perpetuated—and we are still disappointed. But how poor a heart-full have we who embrace our sepulcher, and hug our very tomb! For we must shortly lie buried among the earth we so much admire—and rot in the dust which we so regard. What is an empire—to an immortal soul? What is the enjoyment of the whole universe for a few years—to one whose existence must measure with endless eternity? Then, as the earth is under my feet, and the heavens above my head, wherever I wander, let my affections trample this world with just disdain. But let my soul, on the wings of holy desire, soar to the regions of eternal day! Meditation LXX. ON SHIPS MISTAKING ONE ANOTHER. Mediterranean, March 14, 1759. How often on the ocean do we prepare to fight a friend ship! Wherever we see a strange sail that belongs not to our fleet or squadron, we look upon her as an enemy, and so give chase. When at last, we learn that she is out on our side. But at other times, while in the dark night, and misunderstanding each other’s signals—we think we have found our enemy, and so fire upon one another. When the morning light undeceives us, we feel the most intense sorrow for our mistake; though our country has made provision for the family of the unhappy sufferers if they die, or the sufferers themselves if rendered lame, by engaging one another through mistake. Even so is the case often among the saints and churches of God. Contests come between the best of men, and sometimes about the smallest matters. Paul and Barnabas are so hot about their companion, that they part company; and to this day the godly can be at odds about a word, though they own one Lord, and subscribe to one creed. Then, from these differences, we think one another to be enemies; and, giving ground to our apprehensions, we begin to treat each other as enemies to the truth, and to the King of Zion—to the injury of the common cause of true religion, and the hurt of the loyal subjects of Heaven. Such indeed are the trials of the saints and church in their earthly state, such are the calamities that are contingent to her in these days of darkness, and on this sea of trouble. But when they come to speak mouth to mouth, and to see eye to eye in the light of glory, they shall be all one. We should indeed contend for the truth with a zeal and concern due to its divinity—but with a tenderness and sympathy which our present imperfection pleads for. We should love the truth dearly—but yet rather pity than despise those who depart from some points which we count truth. We should not sell the truth to buy friends, or gain numbers to our side; but we should forego our own personal opinions, that the truth be not wounded by us. We had sometimes, better employ our time in prayer to God, to turn them from the error of their way—than show our learning and our spleen, in proving them to be wittingly blind, and to have wilfully erred. We should do all things—except wound the truth—to make all men one in the truth. And when differences are done away, personal affronts should never stand in the way of reconciliation. How deplorable would it be, if my hands, instead of being a mutual help, should scratch and tear another; if my feet, instead of taking me out the way, should kick at another! So, and much worse is it for saints, who are the spiritual members of Christ, the living head, to bite and devour one another; but this is owing to the remains of corruption in them; and perfect peace is reserved for the state of highest perfection. Now, as it is only at sea, and under the gloom of night, that we are likely to make mistakes; for when we come into harbor, and enjoy the noon-day beam, we have no doubt of one another—but know that we are all the subjects of one King, engaged in one cause, and combined against the common enemy; so it is only in this valley of tears, this day of thick darkness, that we cannot understand one another—but are ready, like the meddlesome disciples, to forbid those who who do not follow us in all things, though they are the servants of Christ. But when the warfare is finished, and the saints assembled before the throne of God and the Lamb, all wrong views, jarring opinions, discordance and difference—shall be done away forever. In view of which eternal tranquility, we must comfort ourselves under the disagreeable occurrences of this troublesome life, where we not only must fight with foes—but at times disagree with dearest friends. Meditation LXXI. WHAT WE OUGHT TO REMEMBER. Leghorn, April 5,1759. As we can never be from under the eye of God, nor would choose to be cast out of his care; so Christ’s kingdom should never be out of our mind, nor cast out of our concern. Besides, as we still think ourselves branches of the family to which we belong, and are glad to hear from our parents and relations of their welfare, however distant from them; so if we are members of mystical Zion, we will rejoice in her prosperity, and flourishing condition, though we be in the utmost parts of the earth. Surely, then, if I remember the Lord afar off, as I ought, the church will also come into my mind. "How, then, have matters stood with Christ’s kingdom, in the land of my nativity? What success has the glorious gospel had? how have the flocks been fed? how have people profited in the day of their merciful visitation? how has vice been suppressed, and true religion prevailed? how has truth been defended, and error exposed? how have the oppressed been relieved, and the heritage of God watered? what sons and daughters have been born in Zion? and are the true worshipers of the Father increased?" These things, amidst all my other concerns, should go nearest my heart, and the interests of Christ’s kingdom should be my first concern, wherever my habitation for a time may be, hoping he will brings me home again, and shows me both himself and his habitation. "If I forget you, O Jerusalem! let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember you, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." Meditation LXXII. THE PATIENCE OF GOD VERY GREAT. Leghorn, April 6, 1759. Truly it astonishes me that God spares those abandoned wretches, who day by day grow more wicked, and set their blaspheming tongues against the very heavens, and multiply rebellion against God. Truly it surprises me, that that vengeance which they so often invoke, is not poured down on them; that that power which they so often dare, does not destroy them! But God will manifest himself to be God by his adorable patience, as well as by his inflexible justice. Let me suppose—that the subjects of a certain great king rise up in rebellion against him, but by his superior power are routed, reduced, and all made prisoners; that royal clemency makes out a pardon for many, who are so sensible of the unmerited favor, that they throw away the weapons of their rebellion, and ever after live the most obedient, loyal, and affectionate subjects that can be. But suppose that others are apprehended, tried, condemned, and cast into prison, until the day they are to be brought forth and broken on the wheel; that in the mean time the stubborn wretches keep railing and abusing the prince, and spewing out their malice to everyone that passes by, until it reaches the royal ear; yet that it could not so incense the king as to cause him to send and tear the rebels limb from limb an hour before the set time. Even so deals God with sinners; he exercises amazing forbearance, not willing that any should perish—but at last he will punish dreadfully, and allow no sinner to escape. Do I, then, envy them their few peaceful years? or would I, like the disciples of old, fetch down consuming flames from heaven to burn them up, before he comes in flaming fire to take vengeance on his enemies? No! let mercy reign her time; for with respect to the wicked, mercy shall soon give the throne to inexorable justice, and then their misery shall be past expression, and their overflowing anguish shall exceed the fountain of their tears. Meditation LXXIII. DELUSION. Leghorn, April 9, 1759. Among all the various kinds of delusion—that which concerns the soul, religion, and God—is most melancholy, and has the most dismal effects. Some, because born in a religious family, account themselves Christians from their cradle, and give themselves no concern about the new birth. Others think all is well with them, because they are neither swearers nor liars, drunkards nor fornicators; they are honest, have a form of godliness, and hence think themselves in a fair way for heaven—even though they are ignorant of spiritual union to him who is the life of the soul, and quite unacquainted with the life of faith in the Son of God. Again, there are others who have been very wicked in their younger days, have been in the army or navy, and then and there have committed all wickedness with greediness. Now, if these men are separated from their wicked companions, and live where sobriety is more in fashion, they drop their cursings, and go regularly to church; and if they have entered into the married state, and prove faithful to the marriage vows—then they count themselves converted, and bless their happy state, though they have never undergone, and know nothing of, a saving change. Though the most wicked are at all periods of life invited to return to God, yet what numbers perish through delusion—are averse to test themselves—and build for eternity on sand! Not to speak of the delusions of popery, which makes a merchandise of souls; there are some who, because they have had some legal terrors, some awakenings, and some resolutions to amend, though ignorant of the new birth, think they are converted. And there are others, in the decline of life, feeling death fast approaching—who begin to be startled at dissolution, and affrighted to plunge into eternity, condemn the grosser actions of their life, and their ill-spent time, and so, to make amends for all, read much in the Bible, and other religious books; but still the sin of their nature lies out of sight; nor do they advert to this, that a man must be born again, else he shall never see the kingdom of heaven. And yet such men pass for converts among the men of the world. Meditation LXXI. ON SEEING SLAVES AT WORK. Leghorn, April 10, 1759. To what hard circumstances are some fellow-creatures reduced! These poor men are in bondage, without any expectation of freedom until death delivers them. Are not their heavy burdens and severe labor punishment enough, without dragging the iron chain, which, locked about their ankles, links them two by two, or couples them like dogs together? and yet, as if all this were not severity enough, see the armed soldiers attend them everywhere! O sinners! Satan deals far worse with you—and yet you will not leave his service, his slavery, and become Christ’s free men. Whence is it that the men of the world, the sons of vice, think the saints of God shackled and confined, and that themselves only are free. They assume the title of libertines and free-thinkers, when indeed they are fettered drudges, narrow souls, and slaves of Satan? The saints, and they alone, walk at liberty, being ransomed from their cruel captivity by price, and delivered by power. These slaves have hard labor—but a coarse and scanty diet; so, when sinners weary themselves in the fire, they are fed—but with wind; and their belly is filled—but with the whirlwind. They are under the check and control of soldiers, who are commonly the dregs of society; so the sinner is under the check of the basest passions, under the influence of the most sordid lusts, and sees not his misery. Satan makes the men who serve him, drag along with them all the signs of slavery, and badges of bondage, which it is possible for them to be loaded with; and they even weary themselves for very vanity. Their pleasures pierce and give pain; their joys are acid, and their enjoyments full of torment. All that they can possess themselves of, has still a deficiency; and yet they hunt after shadows, and pursue imaginary bliss. Moreover, Satan, like the sentries of these poor slaves, is still pushing sinners on to works of darkness, and the reward at last is more shame, more sorrow, and more torment! Though these men toil hard all the day, yet at night they have not a soft bed to rest thereon their weary limbs. In the same way, sinners who weary themselves to commit wickedness all their life, at last lie down in sorrow amidst devouring flames! Indeed these poor creatures have the night allowed for their repose—but sinners often pass the silent night in scenes of darkness, and their very dreams are filled with the rambles of the day. Again, these are slaves through life—but death unlocks the fetters, and knocks off the chains, and gives them perfect liberty. But with the wicked it is not so, for if grace does not deliver them—death only seals their slavery, and shuts them up in the prison of the bottomless pit! Oh! melancholy truth, that Satan’s slaves should be so many, and so content with their sad condition—though death and hell attend its latter end! Meditation LXXV. QUARANTINE. Under sail near Sardinia, April 21, 1759. It is a laudable practice among these nations, to make all ships, that come from places where the plague now and then appears, perform quarantine; and during that time to forbid their own people all interaction with the suspected crews. If it is commendable to be careful of the welfare of a nation, how culpable is that church that receives or keeps in her communion people immoral in their life, or unsound in the faith. How dangerous in private people, who pretend to be religious—to contract acquaintance, intimacy, or friendship with men of loose morals or libertine principles. O my soul! come not into their society! How cautious should we be to mingle in the company of the wicked, where we are sure to suffer one way or other! And our care herein ought to extend to all the connections of life. Would I admit into my house people who were infected with the plague? and would I take into my bosom that person, in other respects however amiable and dear, if full of the pestilence? How agreeable, then, to have the fearers of God, the citizens of Zion, for my friends? to have Christ’s free men for servants in my family! and such as have a saving interest in Christ for my nearest connections! O to see things in their proper light, and not put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter; time in the place of eternity, and eternity in the place of time; the creature in the place of God, and give God no place at all. The longed for day arrives, when the officers of health inspect the crew, pronounce us clean, and permit us to come ashore; and then we mingle in every company, appear in every place. Even so, when Jesus, in that memorable day, a day longed for by the lovers of his name, acquits his saints before an assembled world, they shall rise to heaven, walk the streets of glory, mingle with angels, and dwell forever with God! Meditation LXXVI. THE NEEDLE. May 5, 1759. Of what excellent use is the compass to the mariner in his course from one country to another! It is his guide over the trackless ocean, so that the darkness of the night shortens not his sail, nor turns him out of the way. By this he reaches the remotest parts of the world, and adventures out into the immeasurable main. By this the trading nations stand and flourish, and kingdoms share mutually the commodities of one another. Even such is the everlasting gospel, such the word of God, to the rational world. By this we reap the blessings of paradise, and are enriched with the productions of the better country. By that mariners plow the wide ocean; by this we launch into unbounded eternity itself. The usefulness of the needle rises from the magnetic virtue with which it is impregnated, and which makes it point always to the north; so the excellency of the scripture is, that it came not by the will of men—but holy men spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit; and therefore it leads all who will attend to its instructions to God. Now, as one piece of metal, capable of receiving the magnetical influence, will communicate it to another piece of the same metal; yet, whatever way the virtue is received, when properly suspended, it points to the true pole; so the scriptures and the ordinances never teach men to rest in them—but to rise to God, the chief good, and ultimate end of all; and to this purpose all inspiration points, and all teaching and preaching tend. How deplorable would a ship at sea be, without its compass! and no less so were the world lacking Scriptural revelation, without which they could not find the haven of glory. What, then, must the misery of those nations be, who sit in gross darkness! and the cruelty of those who will not let the poor people look into the words of eternal life! But, alas! for all this noble assistant of navigation, how many ships perish in storms, or mistake their reckonings, and are dashed on rocks! Even so, in the Christian world, for all this divine guide, how many make shipwreck of a good conscience, perish amidst the storms of temptation, in the dark night of defection, and, by opposing error to truth, dash against moveable rocks, and are lost forever. The compass is in no respect so useful to the seaman, as the scriptures to the Christian, by which errors are discovered, dangers disclosed, doubts discussed, darkness dispelled, and our eternal concerns laid open to our view. They are our cloud which shelters us in the desert, a light to our path, our companion by the way, our counselors, and our song in the house of our pilgrimage. The compass is of little or no use at home, when we take up our fixed residence, and travel no more from shore to shore. So, when the saints arrive at heaven, and take up their last abode in the divine presence—they shall stand in need no more of gospel ordinances and the scriptures. But again how does that needle give a lively idea of the soul that is truly united to Christ! it seeks its center, and the saint says to his soul, "Return to your rest, O my soul!" Take the compass to whatever part of the world you please, still it turns to the north pole; so the saints, in all conditions, and in all places, still seek to Christ. And like the Jews in captivity, who prayed with their faces toward Jerusalem, so the saints in their pilgrimage have their faces towards Zion, their hearts heavenward, their conversation in heaven. Indeed it is possible to toss the needle from its pole—but see in what confused motion it agitates, and never rests until it has reached its center again; so the spouse may miss her Beloved—but she rests not seeking him everywhere, and asking at everyone she meets, "Have you seen him whom my soul loves?" nor gives up the inquiry, until she finds him, and, with all the vehemency divine affection, embraces him in the arms of her soul; with a resolution never to let him go again. The attractive power in the magnet is a secret in nature, for no visible change is in the needle more than before; it is by the effects that we know it has been touched by the load-stone, in its attracting, and being attracted, and turning to the pole. So the new birth, the spiritual union between Christ and the soul, is an unsearchable mystery that no finite creature can explain; for there is a glorious change made in the man, yet the physical man is not changed; he continues still a man—human, frail, changeable, mortal, possessed of the same feelings, powers, passions—only they are all directed into a noble channel, and by this the change is known. Finally (to add no more) as the needle is always in a tremulous motion, though pointing toward its pole; because of the restless ocean on which it is, and the false attraction with which it meets; yet, when the ship is laid up and the compass set on solid ground, the needle will point to its pole forever, without the least hair-breadth of variation. So is it with the saints. They endeavor to make God the rest and center of their souls; yet in this day of sin and sorrow, in this valley of misery and tears, where false attractions surround them, their dependence is not so entire on him, their faith not so firm, nor their communion so close as they could wish. But when they are translated to the highest heaven, God shall be the rest of their souls, their center and sole delight forever! Meditation LXXVII. IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. May 18, 1759. Ah! what a false system does ’human invention’ make in the worship of God! Where a superstitious show prevails, godly sincerity decays. The expenses here are great—but the spiritual profit none. They have lifted up the tools of human invention on the altar of God, which renders it polluted. To what purpose are all these statues, images, and paintings? To what end so many representations of a suffering Savior? The new life is begun by the operation of the Spirit of God, and not by an inspection of pictures. Christ formed spiritually in the soul is the end of revelation—but not to carve him out into a statue. It is true, here he stands with all the signs of agony and pain, the pricking thorns are wreathed about his head, and the blood is streaming down on every side! but who is this? did I not know the story, did not the superscription tell me, I would take him for some great malefactor who was so cruelly abused! A man, indeed, in all imaginable anguish, is cut out to the life, where the skill of the artist—but the folly of the contriver, eminently appear; but nothing more appears, not one beam of his divinity shines forth. If he were no more than what this statue sets him forth, a poor, infirm suffering mortal, our hopes would have died with him—but had had no resurrection: it might excite our sympathy as to a fellow-creature—but never claim our faith as a Savior, Christ the Lord. The union of the two natures in one person, and his substitution in the room of sinners, is the interesting mystery, and basis of religion. Now, what painter or limner, what sculptor or artist can exhibit this? how vain, then, their incentives to devotion! Yes, though our Savior were yet alive, his humanity could not be the object of adoration; hence he reproved the young man for calling him "Good Master," seeing he considered him not as God-man—but only as man. And likewise says the apostle, "Yes, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet henceforth know we him no more." Streams rise no higher than their fountain, so that their unwarrantable representations give me at most but a faint view even of human sufferings. The mute statue emits no melting cries, no throes and twistings of the body, or varied distortions of the countenance, no affecting sighs, or agonizing groans; still the tears stand in one place, and the falling blood is not followed by more, because the tears have no fountain, and the blood no veins to afford a supply—so that to read the inspired account gives the Christian a more perfect knowledge and striking view of his sufferings, than all the masterpieces of the best painters. But though they give but a faint view of bodily sufferings, what can set forth the agonies of our Savior’s soul, which, like wax before the fire, was melted, and was poured out like water? Can they paint the strokes of divine vengeance which he bore for us, or depict the hidings of his Father’s countenance—which gave so deep a wound? These are things for faith, not for sense; and it is the excellency of faith that it can and may intermeddle with divine things, while sense must stand at a distance. As images strike our fancy, and impressions of them abide with us, a dumb image stands before us, when we adore the living God; so that in effect we are praying to an idol, rather than to the Searcher of hearts. The idolaters of old represented God by an ox, calf, fire, sun, man, and such-like—with which he was displeased. And the idolaters of late represent the incarnate God—as a scourged, bleeding, suffering creature—with which he is no less displeased. But I must form no idea of God, that gives figure, limits, or bounds to him, because he is infinite. My soul must go out in my prayers, in the immensity of his perfections, and I must make my plea the meritorious sufferings of Jesus, which no art of man can set forth—as the Spirit of God can to the eye of faith in the renewed soul. Meditation LXXVIII. IN A HOT CLIMATE. Gibraltar Bay, May 18, 1759. "He will shelter Israel from the storm and the wind. He will refresh her as a river in the desert and as the cool shadow of a large rock in a hot and weary land." Isaiah 32:2 (NLT) What frail creatures are we humans! Yet how madly bold—who dare contend with God, when heat or cold, increased but a few degrees, becomes intolerable! Here, in this southern climate, how scorching is the noon sun! The earth receives so many solar sparks of fire, that sand and stones almost burn the naked skin that touches them. Now, if it is so hot so many degrees from the meridian, what must it be there, by the sun darting down his direct beams? and if carried nearer the sun still, how must the heat increase, until approaching the burning orb, we find it all one fire, one substantial flame? Now, saints and sinners are like the inhabitants of the world, some dwelling in a mild, some in a scorching climate. O miserable condition of the wicked, who change from ill to worse, until their misery can admit almost of no increase—but in the eternity of it! Here God’s anger scorches them—and hereafter his wrath consumes them. O! who knows the power of his wrath? Now they can put up with their case through stupidity—though they know no inward solid comfort. But how will they stand when oceans of boiling vengeance will roll over them forever? when they shall be set under the burning beams of inexorable justice, and fiery indignation? Our sun, even at his surface or center, is mild compared to God’s displeasure—who kindled that sun, and set it in the skies. Just now my head is pained with the beating of the sun-beams, and all my members lifeless; every pore pours out my strength, and every fibre of my tongue pants for the cold spring; but there a rock presents itself, whose friendly height shields off the scorching beams, and hides me from the heat. How refreshful to stand in the shadow here, while all is parched and scorched around me. So desirable, and vastly more—is Christ to the soul that is scorched with Sinai’s fiery flames, and stands panting under the burning wrath of an offended God. The God-man "is a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest, as rivers of waters in a dry place, and the shadow of a great rock," which neither melts before the heat, nor transmits it on the fainting pilgrim "in a weary land." My body is sensible of this covert from the heat; may my soul be as sensible of your diviner shadow! Some rocks are parched with drought—but the Rock of ages has the fountain of salvation flowing from him. I must leave this rock, though refreshful, otherwise I cannot pursue my intended journey. But in the shadow of the everlasting Rock, I must rest forever, else I shall not be able to reach the end of my journey, the land of promise. To my comfort I find refreshment in the Rock of salvation, even all that is needful in my passage heavenward, until I arrive at glory, become an inhabitant of the Rock forever, and shout my everlasting song from the top of the mountains of bliss! Meditation LXXIX. FISHERS. Gibraltar Mole, May 31, 1759. Here, on the shore of this vast sea, where innumerable creatures swim, I stand, and am entertained to see the various methods fishers try to entangle the finny tribe; some with the hook and bait suspended on the water; others with the bait sunk quite to the bottom; some use the insignificant earth-worm, and succeed therewith, and what they catch with it they make a bait for larger fish; others use all sorts of nets, and spread the sail, and ply the oar in pursuit of the prey, and thus catch some of all kinds. The ocean is the world, where all the sons of men swim, every one pursuing his own game; and it holds truer of them than of the scaly family—that though they too often devour one another, yet they have their common enemy, the old serpent, the blood-thirsty dragon. Now, of those whom Satan makes a prey, some are taken with baits of pleasure; others in the snares and nets of temptation—at first as it were, against their will, through the reproofs of a natural conscience, or the effects of a religious education—but in a little while, they are taken captive by him at his will. Again, how does Satan make use of one man to ensnare another, and draw him to hell! How often does bad company corrupt good character; and companions of fools are destroyed! Therefore how careful should we be to shun the company of the wicked, for no sooner has Satan made a prey of one soul, than he makes him a bait for others; and whoever this old serpent stings, he instills such a poison into them, that they can do nothing but sting others to death, though they themselves are mortally wounded. This may look strange, because some men, though they have no religion, appear very sober—but attend them a little, and you will find nothing but carnality, deadness, and earthly-mindedness, breathe through all they do and say. At shore and at sea, fishers are busy to capture their prey—birds from above feed on them, and fishes through the whole deep prey upon one another. But man’s condition is still worse, for, though he has enemies behind and before, dangers on every hand, and Satan watching at all points—he is also his own enemy! But, on the other hand, O that the waters that issue out of the sanctuary would come into the great sea, to heal the waters, where the curse has already come, that everything might live. Let the gospel, that contains this flood of life, spread through the world with healing to every creature; and let men of all ranks and conditions be taken in the net of the gospel. Let the fishers stand all along the banks, and be successful in catching souls, and winning them to Christ, out of every tribe and tongue under heaven. Meditation LXXX. IN A SOUTHERN CLIMATE. These southern climates certainly, as to fruitfulness, have the better of our northern lands. And when the traveler tells the entertaining account of spreading vines, and shady fig-trees, the beautiful pomegranate, and nourishing almond, the fragrant orange, and cooling lemon, with every other rare and useful produce—it kindles a desire in others to possess them, and makes them bless the inhabitants of such fine and fruitful countries. But were the account faithful to every particular, it would make them bless their situation in a land, where the mountains are sometimes covered with snow, and the waters congealed in ice. Did they rehearse the dangers and difficulties found there, where the lion roars after his prey, where bears and tigers range for blood, where scorpions instill torment with their poison, and serpents sting to death; yes, where, though free from all these misfortunes, the scorching sun fatigues even to faintness, and the beautiful day by extreme heat becomes a burden. I say, were the delights weighed with the dangers; the fatal encumbrances with the fruitful produce—it would cast out ambition, bring in contentment, and make us settle with pleasure in what we might call the barren spot. This is a real truth, and an interesting inference may be drawn from it, whereby we may regulate our wrong notions and blind opinions of rich and great men. Like the fruitful countries, they are only happy in our esteem, because they seem to lie under the meridian of worldly felicity, and sunshine of prosperity. Yes, we are confirmed in this opinion, because only the better part of their condition is told to us, as travelers do of the foreign fields. With them, however, it too often fares as with these fertile lands; for worldly grandeur has the ’roaring lion of unbridled lust’ often let loose on it, with all the train (more destructive than the tiger, bear, and other beasts of prey) of unruly passions, besides the unnumbered swarms of poisonous thoughts crawling over all the powers of mind. Now, though prosperity of itself brings forth no sins, any more than the heat of these climates creates hurtful creatures. Yet there they grow, and find large pasture. While sanctified affliction, like a cold and northern climate, has none of these encumbrances. Were the life of great men—to their secret thoughts, laid before us, they would appear far from being as happy as we suppose. Their ambition, their emulation, their jealousies, their projects, their disappointments, their cares, their company and confusion—hinder them to enjoy themselves as men. Yes, the abundance of their wealth will not allow them to sleep. And, take them in the general, whatever they may be in this world, they are—with few exceptions—far from being happy with respect to the world to come. God has lessened the pleasures of the sweetest climates by some real disadvantages; and sweetened the most disagreeable spots by some noble accommodations; that man, who is but a pilgrim, may be pleased with every place where God may cast his lot—yet neither be too elated his own country, nor despise the native places of others. Again, the same is in the world of mankind—that there should be no advantage there. Hence the poorest man has as much sweetness in his condition (bodily health, exercise of reason, peace of mind, obedient children, etc.) as blunts his grief; and the greatest man has as much bitterness, (corroding anxiety, insatiable appetites, broken constitution, pensive thoughts, peevish temper, inward disquiet, etc.) as sours, or embitters his joys. This should render men content with that station God has placed them in, and not to expect perfect felicity here below. For every man thinks happiness is in another, not in himself, which proves that there is not one possessed of it on earth. But he comes nearest to it, who is most content with his own condition and present circumstances in every respect—neither murmuring at crosses when they come upon himself, or envying others who seem to be exempted from them; and keeps his mind on the better country, where all glorious beatitudes shall be enjoyed without anything to lessen the felicity, or abate the bliss! Meditation LXXXI. ON A COURT-MARTIAL. Gibraltar Bay, August 8, 1759. Every law is made to restrain from vice, and bind to duty; and every nation has its own code of laws, military and civil. The martial law is accounted severe; and there is a necessity for it, because mutiny and disobedience to orders, cowardice in the time of action, and desertion to the enemy—would have the most fatal effects. But whatever be the offence, a few considerations would not be improper at such a time for the members of the court-martial. 1. To do to the defendants, in their circumstances, as they would wish to be done to themselves if in these very circumstances. 2. To mind that making the defendant an ’example’ to others is costly, when at the expense of justice. 3. To pass no other sentence on the lowest, than they would do on the highest for the same fault. 4. To consult how they can answer to their conscience and to God, for their decisions, deaf to everything but justice and humanity. 5. To incline rather to the side of mercy than severity; and thus to imitate God in his most amiable perfection. 6. To reflect, if they are as strict in punishing sins against God, as desertion against their king, and offences against themselves; and to consider whose honor should be most attended to. 7. To fix it in their mind, that in a little they must stand before the tremendous bar of God, where all distinctions cease. No more the sovereign and the subject, the admiral and seaman, the captain and the soldier, the judge and the defendant. But from the proceedings of these courts I may learn instruction; for if earthly kings so punish deserters, will not the King of glory deal dreadfully with the backsliders in heart? Those he has taken into his honorable service, shall suffer severely, if they fall away from him. Sinners in the Christian world shall have the hottest hell; and of all sinners, those who once tasted of the powers of the world to come, shall suffer the most excruciating torments. Again, this may remind me of that day when not only actions shall be tried—but even my inmost thoughts examined, and not one concealed. The sentence of this court only respects the body, and must be executed in time, though in the execution thereof, it should finish time to the criminal. But the sentence of that heavenly tribunal reaches my soul in all her powers, and stands in force, and is put in execution—through the endless ages of eternity. O that it may be a sentence of absolution and peace! Meditation LXXXII. On Some Who Were Burned by an Explosion of Gunpowder. Under sail, August 29, 1759. What can be quicker, and more fleeting, than the explosion of gunpowder; yet what direful effects has it had on these poor men whom it only seemed to touch as it flew along! So dismal, that even others who have lost their limbs, are objects of delight in comparison to those whose visage is burned blacker than a coal; whose beauty is marred, and whose countenance cannot be known; whose skin is parched, and falls off from their flesh. And, to sum up the whole, whose pain, though external, has kindled such a fever within, that the frame of nature suffers; they rave and pine away, until the scene is finished in death. Now, can I look on these miserable patients without letting my reflections shoot away, and fix on the eternal world—on such as those who are suffering the vengeance of eternal fire? Ah! what a shocking sight is a tormented soul, and what miserable spectacles will the damned be, when soul and body are united to suffer in the fire that shall not be quenched, and by the worm that never dies! The most lovely person on earth, will there be loathed, and the most beautiful abhorred. When a passing flame, that goes but skin-deep, produces such dismal effects—who can comprehend the torment of those who are sentenced to the flames of hell? Who can dwell with devouring fire? Think on this, my soul, and study to escape! Who can dwell with everlasting burnings? If gunpowder, the production of men, is so destructive; how much more fierce must that fire be, which is kindled by Omnipotence! There are some antidotes against the scorchings of earthly fire—but none against the burnings of devouring wrath. Here the poor patients are perpetually sipping some cooling liquid to allay their thirst within—but there not one drop of water can be had to cool their scorched tongue, who swim in seas of fire, mingled with brimstone, which goes into their very souls, tormenting every part, agonizing every power! Here, in these poor men one part suffers, and the rest sympathize; but there every part, every sense suffers, and none can sympathize. Surely, were the covering taken off hell, and the world allowed to look into the burning lake, they would drop down dead in a moment, the saints in a transport of joy, that they are to escape the flames; and sinners in the anguish of despair, that they are to plunge into them at their departing moments! Now, seeing these things are not dreams, why will not we awaken to our danger and our duty, and be wise before it be too late? Meditation LXXXIII. ON A SEA-BATTLE, FOUGHT AUGUST l7.* August 22, 1759. *The battle referred to, lasted five hours. Three of the enemy’s ships were taken, and two burned. The Portland, on board of which the author was, engaged the French Admiral for nearly an hour before she received assistance. Her loss was very considerable; yet during the first hour’s fighting, not one was even wounded. Sin is the source of all human miseries, making men, who should like brethren live together—devour one another like the wild beasts of the field. The ocean, which is the boundary of kingdoms, is made the seat of war; hence the briny wave is tinged with human blood; and dangers, unknown to the land, surround us, for we may be blown up in a moment; or in the twinkling of an eye go down to the chambers of the deep! Besides, what can be a more terrible scene than so many great guns thundering mutual destruction, darkening all with smoke, and spewing out fire and death? The loss of officers, the groans of the wounded, cause no intermission until the vanquished sink, or surrender to the conquerors. Now, if the wrath of men, who themselves are crushed before the moth, is so fierce, and if it is terrible to meet an enemy, though formed of the clay; how much more so to meet the omnipotent God, the Lord Almighty—in his burning wrath! How dreadful, indescribable, and tremendous, beyond conception, must be the thunders of his incensed right hand! When the hour of God’s patience is past, his thunderings shall begin—but who shall be able to stand before them through eternity? Compared with his bolts, the canon-balls of our ships are but the falling drops of morning-dew! For who knows the power of his wrath? Who can comprehend the terror of his vengeance? But, again, some men, when they see they neither can escape nor overcome—but must perish unless they surrender—they yield themselves as prisoners, and live. But sinners are obstinate to the very last, though they can never flee out of God’s omnipotent hand. Yes, the rebellion of their heart remains, though the Lord God of retribution punishes them through eternity. Again, what a lively representation of our uncertain departure is here! One who is now well—is in a moment gone—taken away from the midst of his companions into the eternal and unchanging world—unconscious of the stroke that finishes him, until felt! When the engagement began, many might hope to share the honor of the victory, and to divide the spoil, who, by a sudden death, are disappointed of all. Just so, many in the prime of life, when projecting great schemes—are cut off by a fever, or a fall, and must leave their affairs in extreme confusion. How great is the folly of man! Though nothing concerns him so much as death; yet with nothing does he concern himself so little! Here a few hours close battle cools the rage of the keenest warrior, and decides the contest. How melancholy, then, must their condition be, who, on seas of wrath, must bear the thunderbolts of Jehovah’s right hand for an eternity, without intermission, and without any possibility of an escape! On such a day as this, an enemy’s powder and shot may fall short; but the storehouses of God’s vengeance are infinite! The perpetual frown of him who is angry with sinners every day—will protract their agony and torment with their existence. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 166: 04.03. MEDITATIONS 61 TO 90 CONTD ======================================================================== Meditation LXXXIV. ON PRISONERS. Under sail, August 30, 1759. One consequence of war, is that prisoners are taken. By the laws of civilized nations, they are treated with sympathy and tenderness, as becomes fellow-creatures; yet their best situation has always something in it disagreeable, and (by the cruelty of those who forget the golden rule, to deal with others, in every situation, as they themselves would choose to be dealt with if in the same condition) something almost intolerable. For, 1. Though they are fed, yet their allowance is not the same as the king’s servants. 2. They have not the privileges of the ship’s crew as to bedding—but are crowded together in an uncomfortable confinement. 3. No confidence can be put in them; hence, though we should chance to engage an enemy, as they could not be trusted to fight, so they would not share in the honor or advantage of the victory. 4. Though in the daytime they sometimes mingle with the ship’s company, and partake of their liberty, yet they have always the badge of bondage, being attended by sentries, and at night are separated and put under double guards, and so remain until the ensuing morning. This is the fate of many in war; but, alas! a worse fate attends the rational world, where all are prisoners, and bound with the fetters of sin—except for those who have been pardoned by Jesus. And though the wicked enjoy liberties and riches in common with others, yes, more than others, yet "the little that a righteous man has, is better than the wealth of many wicked;" for if a little where love is, is better than an house full of sacrifices with strife; surely a very little, with the love of God—is better than great riches with his curse. Now saints and sinners meet and mingle in the same assemblies, join in the same societies, and share the same privileges; yet the one always drags the heavy chain about with him, is a slave to every lust, the servant of sin, the captive of the mighty enemy, and the prey of the terrible destroyer. But the Christian; being delivered from these, walks in the glorious liberty of the sons of God. While sinners feed on swinish husks, and break their teeth with gravel; the saints are allowed to feast on heavenly manna, and to drink of the water of life. The unconverted lie down among thorny cares, disquiet, terror, and remorse; but the Christian has a sweet recumbency on the love of God, takes his rest in the promise, and finds it a couch which can ease his pain, and remove his complaint. Again, as these prisoners are separated and classed together at night, so, at the night of death, the wicked mingle no more with the righteous. For while the souls of saints soar aloft to everlasting day, and their bodies rest in the peaceful grave until the joyful resurrection; the spirits of sinners are shut up in the prison of hell, and their bodies in beds of corruption until the general judgment. A little time brings about the freedom of our captives, they are set at liberty in a few months perhaps, and at the longest, when the war comes to an end; but should the war continue as long as they live, yet death shall deliver them from the power of every mortal, and translate them into the eternal world! But those who are risen up in rebellion against God—he shall shut up in hell, and pour forth his vengeance on them for evermore. Finally, we may see the depravity of the world in the conduct of our friends, who would condole more our being taken prisoner by an enemy, and losing all we had—than they bewail our natural, our unrenewed state—our loss of the image of God, of heaven, and of glory. Meditation LXXXV. A Reflection on Psalms 42:7. "Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls. All Your waves and Your billows are gone over me." Near Guernsey, June 3, 1758. O astonishing comparison of an ineffable excess of anguish! "Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls," that both may meet together, to heighten the flow of my misery to the last extremity. Now, from the tossing of this restless ocean, I may somewhat learn the force of the metaphor. Here, then, many waves, many billows dash upon us; nor do a thousand preceding waves, or ten thousand foaming billows that have spent their fury on us, stir up pity in the raging flood that forms itself into dreadful billows to fall on us afresh, and that in all quarters; not like the regular course of a rapid torrent—but like the random surges of an unruly ocean. The sea-sick passengers aboard find no compassion—but reel and stagger if they attempt to walk; and if they sit, are thrown from side to side; nay, though we were hanging for life upon the very wreck, the briny deep would cover us in its cold bosom, or, dashing us from wave to wave, would spew us on the shore. Now, if nothing milder than the ocean, not in halcyon days—but when wearing all its terrors, when roaring and raging with universal confusion, when covered with ten thousand wrestling waves all eager to destroy, urged on by following billows, and raised by the ruffling tempest from the foaming deep, could describe the condition of the psalmist, who was a godly man, a favorite of heaven, in the day of God’s withdrawing and hiding himself, though but for a moment; what shall set out the eternal anguish of those from whom he is gone forever? What billows of eternal wrath, what surges of divine indignation, shall overflow them for evermore? There, in that state, their misery is without mercy, their sea has no shore, and their ocean no bound. Hence I see, that if God is pleased to shine on the soul, all crosses are sweetened, all afflictions lightened, and the man made greatly to rejoice. On the other hand, if God hides himself, even blessings wear a gloom, and everything lowers, until he arises again with healing in his wings. Meditation LXXXVI. ON A SHORT INDISPOSITION. Two days ago, sharp pains perplexed me, and made me turn and toss from side to side, seeking what I could not find—ease to my weary body. The indisposition filled me with disquietude, scattered each composed thought, and fixed an acute sense of pain. Indeed I soon got the better of it—but may I thereby be instructed of the fierceness of the torment of the damned. Let them who have cancer, gout, stone, or any other grievous illness—think what torment must be, and thereby study to escape, while there is left a way to escape. Or to prize their deliverance (if delivered) from so great a death as the second death is—where all is torment in the highest degree; where the bed is burning brimstone; where the chains and fetters are of fire and flame; where their view is the blackness of darkness forever; where their companions are devils and damned spirits; and where every sense is on the very rack, and nothing free of torment. The most acute agonies which we feel in this present world, would be a kind of pleasure and delight—in comparison of the torments of hell! What shall people, laboring under excruciating diseases then think, if death, which must end their present disease—shall land them in hell? O then, be wise in time! Mind the concerns of an unseen eternal world—for who knows the power of his wrath? And if I can scarcely now endure a little pang in one part—how shall I suffer torment in a every part and power, in every sense and faculty, through the whole soul and whole body—and that ages without end? Meditation LXXXVII. ON PUTTING OUT A LIGHT. Off the Coast of France, June 8, 1758. The place I dwell in being secluded from the solar ray, is lighted by a glimmering candle; and when that is extinguished, total darkness prevails at once. This puts me in mind of the more mournful situation of the natural man, the unrenewed soul, that stumbles in darkness, and walks in the midnight gloom. While the saints walk in the rays of the Sun of righteousness, and rejoice in the light of his countenance, poor sinners dwell in the region and shadow of death. Let them boast of the glimmering light of reason; it can no more direct them about the affairs of their souls, the interests of eternity, than we can survey the midnight stars by the light of a candle. But faith beholds spiritual things, and takes steady views of eternal excellencies. With what reluctance do we remember the wicked, who "caused their terror in the land of the living!" and how does their memory stench when dead, like the snuff of that extinguished candle! And as there is no light, no spiritual illumination in them, so at death they are driven from the light of life, the light of hope, and the light of the gospel, into the darkness of utter despair, and into the eternal storm and tempest of God’s devouring wrath. This the last—but lamentable end of the wicked! While the righteous, on the other hand, like the morning-sun, concealed by the disking clouds of worldly baseness and contempt, shine more and more unto the perfect day, grow from grace to grace, until, fixed in the skies of glory, they shine celestial suns. Let my light be spiritual; my happiness that which is hereafter; and my glory that which shall be revealed. Meditation LXXXVIII. ON DIVIDING THE SPOIL. In all ages of the world, so great has the joy of men been on this occasion, that it has become proverbial, "as men rejoice who divide the spoil," and no wonder. To come off in safety from the field of battle, while not only foes—but fellow-soldiers fell around them; and to come off victorious, and find themselves possessed of goods they never labored for, of riches they never expected—must swell their bosom with transport and joy. And this joy of theirs in the severest manner reprimands me for not being filled with more joy in believing, for not thinking more of him who is more "glorious and excellent than the mountains of prey." Now, though the metropolis of this kingdom were robbed of all its wealth, and laid in one heap; and, to swell the wonderful pile, though all the stores of the silken Indies, the gold of Ophir, and the precious stones of every land, were added; yes, to make the collection perfect in its kind, though all that ever had a place in the museum of the philosopher, the cabinet of the curious, or the treasuries of kings, were amassed together, until the heap rose into a hill, or swelled into a mountain, from which the slaves might gather crowns and scepters, the poor treasure in abundance, and the naked shine in silks and cloth of gold—yet Christ is infinitely more excellent than this mountain of prey, and that on a double account. 1. Nothing here is for the soul, all is for the body. 2. All these things must be torn from the possessor in the hour of death, and cannot attend him to another world. But Christ satisfies all desires, replenishes the whole soul, makes happy in time, and happy to eternity, and is a portion every way commensurate to the unbounded wishes, and immortal nature of the soul. Why should the saints less rejoice than these men who divide the spoil, when in a little while, the King himself in person shall distribute crowns and thrones, kingdoms and dominions—to every saint above? This earthly spoil, if it enriches the conquerors, impoverishes the conquered, and perhaps has cost many of them their lives. But Christ may, in all his offices, relations, fullness, and glory, be the entire possession of every particular child of adoption, without diminution or injury to any of their happy fellow-heirs. Some who engaged the enemy fell down slain, and are now where a whole world of these trifles, which afford survivors so much joy, would not be accounted worthy of a wish or a passing glance. Henceforth, let me rejoice at your word as one who finds great treasures, and esteem the word of your mouth better than thousands of gold and silver. I shall never be robbed of the heavenly treasure, which scatters my fears, dispels my despondencies, enriches my eternity, and ravishes my whole soul! Meditation LXXXIX. A DAILY CATECHISM FOR SEAMEN. March 25, 1758. 1. How do I like the company of the wicked, and the converse of ungodly men? 2. Is their swearing as disagreeable to me as when I came first aboard; or am I more reconciled to their blasphemous talk? 3. Is my abhorrence of sin the greater, the more I see of sin? As man’s fears increase with the increase of his foes, so should my hatred of sin with the increase of my danger. 4. The more that I am beset with snares and sin, am I the more watchful against sins and snares? 5. Have I forgotten to look into myself in the midst of this hurry and confusion? Reflection is a duty which no situation can loose me from. 6. Does the reaction of sin reiterate my grief and abhorrence of it? Or, like a lion’s keeper—do I venture to sport with the destroyer, from which at first I started? 7. Do I resist the first appearance of sin? For sin, as well as strife, is like the letting out of waters, which at first appears a little spout—but as it passes along pushes on every side, until it spreads into an impetuous torrent, which nothing can resist, and therefore should be left off, and never meddled with. 8. Does the impiety of the company, or any other hindrance, prevent the performance of secret prayer, on reading the scriptures, as formerly? 9. Is the Sabbath still strictly observed by me, by my keeping not only from bad actions; but idle words and vain thoughts? 10. Am I careful to purge myself from all the sins which I have heard through the day, by reflecting on their vileness, protesting against them in my own bosom, dipping by faith in the blood of sprinkling; and praying that I may be pardoned for what I have been guilty in a greater or less degree? 11. Am I studious to draw the more near to God, the more that all things would drive me from God? and to beg of him, that according to my days and demands for aid, so my strength from him may be? 12. Am I ready to drop a word against vice, or in favor of true religion, without regarding ridicule, not knowing where a blessing may come; or that at least they may know that there has been, if not a prophet, yet a reprover among them? Meditation XC. A PROPER INSPECTION. Lying off the French Coast, June 8, 1758. At all times, men ought to examine their state, and fitness for going into the changeless eternal world; more especially when old age has overtaken us, or the pestilence is in our borders; or when called into the field of battle, or into the dangers of the roaring ocean. Now, as we may be surprised at any time by some event—we should be prepared at all times for every event. And, as one of these situations is at present mine, it is my duty to propose some interesting questions, to examine myself thereby. 1. Am I content with salvation from Christ on his terms—that he be my complete Savior, and that I be nothing at all? 2. If I believe, is my faith dead? Or is it a living faith, working by love, and bringing forth the fruits of righteousness? 3. Do I love God? "He who loves not, knows not God, for God is love." Love to God and man is the fulfilling of the whole law. 4. Do I love the saints, and esteem the poor but pious ones, more than all the pompous sons of vice? "Everyone who loves the Father loves his children, too." 5. Is it my desire, that in all things God may be glorified—though it were to my dishonor and loss? 6. Do I choose rather to be the proverb and reproach of all the ungodly among whom I dwell—than to speek one word against true religion? 7. Do I hate sin in its profits and pleasures in myself and others, because God hates it, and it ruins souls? 8. Do I rejoice more in hope of the glory of God, than in view of possessing all that the world can afford? 9. Is the exercise of pious duties the secret delight of my soul? 10. Do I faithfully strive against all sin, and count the victory over one lust a greater conquest than the taking a city? 11. Am I entirely resigned to the will of God in all things, being not only contented—but comforted with his disposal, though sometimes not what I would wish? 12. Is death often in my mind, judgment and eternity in my Meditation? Am I always studying to be mortified to sin, and crucified to the world, that I may live to Christ? 13. Is the word of God the light, life, comfort, food, and inheritance of my soul—into which I daily seek and search? 14. Is sin growing more and more my burden? Are my struggles after perfection more vigorous than before, and more constant? 15. Am I, through grace, ever searching my ways, examining my actions, looking into my heart, and watching over myself? 16. Is the desire of my life mostly to serve God, and not to enjoy the pleasures of sense—but to be useful even in the matters of true religion? 17. Is communion with God the delight of my soul? Have I more joy in the fore-thoughts of that fruition which the saints expect, than in all the world’s present vanities? 18. Have I daily recourse to the fountain of purification to be washed from my filth, and to be accepted in the Beloved? 19. Do I remember Zion in her affliction, Jerusalem in her calamity, being filled with a zeal for the glory of God? 20. Dare I venture my eternal welfare on his gracious word of promise, that whoever believes in him shall be saved; and that no sin shall condemn the soul which casts itself on Christ? 21. Do I believe that the love of God is unchangeable, that his gifts and callings are irrevocable, and that at all times he is at hand, and that he will not desert his own people in their last moments? If I could return an affirmative to each of these queries it would show me to be in a happy state, at peace with God, and in some measure prepared for the other world. So that I might go with undaunted courage to the day of battle, and fearless tread the field of blood—leaning on Christ alone! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 167: 04.04. MEDITATIONS 91 TO 121 ======================================================================== Meditations 91 to 121 Meditation XCI. ON A GREAT STORM OF THUNDER, LIGHTNING, AND RAIN. Lying off France, June 9, 1758. Dark is the night—but dismal the flash that scatters the darkness. At times the whole heavens seem in a blaze, while electric streams of fire twinkle in our astonished eye, and dart across the skies. Then tremendous thunder roars, and whole clouds descend in heavy rain, while the noisy wind blows with impetuous force. Now, dare the atheist yet deny a God? Would not his conscience answer to the flames of fire, his troubled thoughts agree to the language of the thunder, that there is a Power above, who rules events below? When the night is so dark, the lightning so dreadful, the thunders so loud, and the rain so incessant—can any ascribe all to blind chance? No! the atheist himself must confess and tremble! But, O sad effects of sin! what fills the pious soul with reverence, and a secret sense of the power and greatness of God, drives the wicked into sin. They fear—but they swear; they are troubled—but they transgress. How terrible, then, will that day be, when the Judge shall come in flaming fire, to take vengeance on his foes! When flames shall blaze all through the skies—and cities, kingdoms and continents, be cast into the burning embrace—when thunders bursting from every cloud admit of no interval—but with one continued roar terrify all the nations, until silenced and lost in the sound of the last trumpet—which the dead, hitherto undisturbed, shall hear! When fire and water in contention—the elements at war are so terrible, how much more dreadful must the God of nature be, when, arrayed in solemn majesty, he comes to take vengeance on his enemies? Lest we forget his greatness, nature preaches to us, raging tempests and rending winds turn our remembrancers, flames of fire unfold our lesson before our eyes, and roaring thunders awaken our meditations. As in his temple everyone talks of his glory, so in his tent (for which he has stretched out the heavens) everything shows forth his power. Fire, rain, vapor, stormy wind, lightning, hail, snow, and thunder—all praise him. Then, since in all things, I may see God, may my soul ever go out after him, and above all things see him in the face of Jesus—as reconciled, and speaking peace to me! Meditation XCII. ON BEING INTERRUPTED IN SECRET PRAYER. Lying off France, June 13, 1758. Nothing can still the agitation of my spirit—but the fore-thoughts of perfect and eternal liberty, into which the sons of God shall shortly be delivered. Little needs the world without, to disturb our retired moments; there is enough within to distract our meditations. But, O thrice happy day, which is approaching on the out-stretched wings of the promise—when I shall stand among a numerous throng of adorers, worshiping before the throne, with the eye of my soul fixed on him who sits thereon; and not one of the many thousands of eternity shall disturb my adorations. The eye of my mind, the flow of my affection, and the flame of my love—shall eternally fix on the divine object, from whom none shall draw one thought away. Here on earth, my circumstance is doubly calamitous; for, though the busy throng should not break in on me, there is a throng of ’base distracting thoughts’ already within me, that will not be at rest; but there, as nothing shall disturb without, so nothing shall distract within. Not one trespassing thought, not one trifling idea, not a moment lost, nor one expression unworthy of the sacred subject—but all enrapt to the sublimest height of ecstasy; and every adoration of God shall be in spirit and in truth—shall be without intermission through an indefatigable immortality; without interruption, through consummate perfection; without wearying, through inconceivable joy and delight; and without end, through an eternal duration. Meditation XCIII. ON THE ARMOR OF SOLDIERS. Lying off Normandy, June 13, 1758. When I behold the warlike race, and their glittering arms, how well they are outfitted for the field of battle, at no less than royal expense; it puts me in mind of him who is Prince of the kings of the earth, and has an army maintained at much immenser cost, equipped with much diviner armor, engaged in a more bloody war, against more desperate foes—but, supported by Almighty strength, are assured of conquest and a crown at last. How are these men burdened with instruments of war wherever they go, for a soldier is but a poor man without his weapons! Even so the spiritual soldier must never be without his armor, for the better armed, he finds himself the stronger. Besides, this is the word of command by the Captain of the Lord’s armies: "Finally, be strengthened by the Lord and by His vast strength. Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand against the tactics of the Devil. For our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the world powers of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavens. This is why you must take up the full armor of God, so that you may be able to resist in the evil day, and having prepared everything, to take your stand. Stand, therefore, with truth like a belt around your waist, righteousness like armor on your chest, and your feet sandaled with readiness for the gospel of peace. In every situation take the shield of faith, and with it you will be able to extinguish the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is God’s word. With every prayer and request, pray at all times in the Spirit, and stay alert in this, with all perseverance and intercession for all the saints." Ephesians 6:10-18 (HCSB) But one thing I see—these men are not allowed to carry toys or trifles with them, only their arms, ammunition, and necessities; so "no man who wars" against hell, "entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who has chosen him to be a soldier." Again, these men are only safe, in setting their face always against their foes—there being no armor for the back; so there is not a promise in all the scripture for the saint that turns his back before the enemy; while, if they resist, even their grand enemy shall flee from them. These poor privates, as well as their commanders, must be in the hottest battle, encounter all the dangers, and perhaps fall in the engagement; but the Captain of our salvation has for us both fought and foiled the foe, swept the field of battle, of principalities and powers—so that we are only called to return to the spoil. Finally, how happy are Christ’s soldiers, in comparison with these military men! The one is wounded often to death, the other is made always to triumph; the one has a scanty allowance every day; the other has access to all the fullness of God. The one is disbanded at last, and sent, when least able, to beg his bread, and die in poverty; the other shall at last receive a crown, and be taken to dwell with the king eternal, immortal, invisible, forever! Let the potsherds of the earth strive with the potsherds of the earth for earthly things. May I fight on the side of Heaven, against sin and hell—for a heavenly crown, a crown of glory, a priceless inheritance for his children. It is reserved in heaven—pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay! Meditation XCIV. ALL THINGS MADE UP IN CHRIST. Quiberon Bay, May 11, 1760. Everyone is subject to so many losses here, that, unless he has a share in the bank of bliss, he may soon become impoverished of all his enjoyments, and be a bankrupt as to felicity. But what an enriching privilege is a saving interest in Jesus, whereby I am insured against all losses, and furnished for all misfortunes! For though in the world I may have tribulation; yet in him who overcame the world, I shall have joy. It is true my nearest and dearest friends may be removed by death; but in him I have a store of dearer and diviner relatives. My riches may fly away as on eagle’s wings—but in him I have the ’treasures of eternity’. So that it is but for a moment; and in the lowest things, that I can sustain any loss. My name may be reproached among men—but here is a divine antidote against that, that my name is written in the Lamb’s book of life, who will confess it before his Father, and before assembled men and angels. My soul may be troubled, and my mind broken—but in him I have health and tranquility for both, for he alone gives quietness, and when he gives it, none can cause trouble. My soul desires much—but in Jesus is more than my soul can desire. My needs are great, and my necessities many—but in Jesus I find an overflowing abundance that supplies all. My situation for a time may be lonely and desolate—but in Jesus I find the divinest company, and the dearest converse. His presence is a paradise below. Sin and sinners may cause me daily sorrow—but in him who me saves from both, I have abundant consolation. The things of this world may all seem jointly to go against me—but in Christ the things of the next world shall all assuredly go for me. I may wander from one place of the world to another, and be persecuted here and there for his sake; but he, who is everywhere present, shall be ever with me, and nothing shall be able to separate me from his love. My comforts may all fall off, like the blasted blossoms of the orchard; but in him ten thousand more noble comforts shall flourish, and never fade nor wither. Every day may bring me new disappointments (and what else should I look for in a perishing world?) but in him I shall never be disappointed, even to eternity. Here infirmity may often break off my noblest exercises; but in a little while, I shall put on the immortality of bliss, and rest neither day nor night in his praises, yet never be wearied. Here doubts and darkness may distress me—but Jesus is my direction and my light. In a word, I may be a complication of needs and adversities, crosses and calamities, disappointments and distresses, sorrows and concerns; but, in a word again, whatever my exigence can demand, whatever my soul can desire—is fully, wholly, and eternally in Jesus! Therefore, though death in a few moments may advance to put an end to my life, and cut me off from the world below; yet then shall my felicity begin, when, to sum up all my bliss, enjoying the fellowship of the world above, I shall forever be with the Lord Jesus! Meditation XCV. THE BIRTHDAY. Quiberon Bay, May 30, 1760. The observation of birthdays seems to be both ancient and universal—but by none more splendidly kept than those, who, not attending to the end of their creation, have but little reason to rejoice that ever they were born. Of old, a king’s birthday, in its consequences, cost our Savior’s forerunner his head; but at many such feasts now-a-days, the Savior himself is crucified afresh, and put to open shame. Surely ’to be happy’ is desirable; and who can claim this—but such as remember the day of their death oftener than the day of their birth, and choose rather to go to the house of mourning than the house of feasting? If joy belongs to any on their birthday, surely it is to those, who not only know, that on such a day of the year they become one of the numerous family of mankind—but also can, by solid arguments, and on good grounds infer, that, by the second birth, they are of the family of the living God. Job and Jeremiah, in their anguish, cursed their day of their birth; yet when the storm passed over, their souls returned to their quiet rest, and irrepressible joy. However, he who only waits for the manifestation of that glorious life, which has neither change nor end, may, to the praise of God, with an exulting bosom, talk an opposite strain: "Let the day prosper wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a child conceived. Let that day be brightness, let God regard it from above, and let the light shine upon it. Let light, and the beaming hope of eternal life, beautify it to me. Let serenity dwell upon it, and the brightness of the day banish every gloom from it. As for that night, let the beauty of the day be spread upon it; let it be joined and added as a remarkable day to the days of the year, and let it come chief to me among the number of my months. Lo, let that night be solemn and sweet, while my anthem imitates the song above, and my soul, on wings of faith, mixes with the adoring multitude on high." There are a variety of arguments against carnal feasting on my birth-day. Had I come into the world laughing, I might live feasting, and die rejoicing; but as I came in weeping, and breathed my first breathing in disquiet and cries, so it teaches me to live sober, and die serious. Since we are all born under the curse, why such a noisy commemoration of that day, when another sinner first burdened the earth, when another rebel against Heaven first breathed the common air? But if we are to acknowledge it as a mercy that we were born, as no doubt it is—yet it is not the way to show our gratitude to the Most High, by pampering our perishing clay. God will not be praised over our cups; then his name is often blasphemed. Such a practice is consistent in an idolatrous Belshazzar and his guests, towards gods who neither see nor hear—but he who is a Spirit will be spiritually honored. A back-look on my life, may hinder carnal mirth on my birthday. Sin and vanity twisting with every day of my life, should make me consider on my birthday with more enlarged views than worldlings can take, how I have fallen from the noble end for which I was created, how I have sinned, and come short of the glory of God—I who have an immortal soul within me, who shall live to eternity. One thing, however, I should consider, that since I came into this world, many thousands of my contemporaries have gone into the unseen eternal world. The forest of my acquaintances is fearfully thinned by the felling axe of death. It is a chilling thought, that so many of my companions, who lately made a figure in the mirthful world—are now enrapt up in an eternal gloom! Many of my school-fellows and comrades, of my friends and neighbors, are now no more! Yes, into my family, death has made five desolating visits—besides the redoubled blows, that made me fatherless and motherless. And though, in unbounded goodness, I survive, yet all these occurrences cry to me—that I also in a little while must die, and be no more. In this contracted span, there are not many now who reach three-score years; yet, at such a calculation, my sun is at his height, my day arrived at noon. And shall I not yet put away the follies of youth, when I know not but my sun may go down at noon, never more to rise? Then henceforth may I be the man, yes, more, the Christian, and spend every year as my last, perfecting holiness in the fear of the Lord, laying hold on every opportunity to do good, observing the conduct of Providence towards me, and doubling my diligence in the duties of true religion. And, as I am drawing nearer the unseen world, so by thinking the oftener on it, I should prepare the better for it. And as noon is followed by night; so, with loins girt, and lamp burning, I should expect the evening of death, and the coming of my great Master! Meditation XCVI. TIME PAST NEVER RETURNS. Under sail, June 16, 1758. Foolish man thinks he is born to live to himself, and that he is master of his own time—to spend it as he pleases. But, alas! he is mistaken, for he should live to God, and spend his time to his glory. How watchful, then, should I be over my time! First, because I cannot recall it when past. I cannot bring again my childish years, or fetch back my more advanced days. Now, on the sea, I cannot recall the time I spent on land; nor, when at land again, this time I spend at sea. Yes, I cannot lengthen out the minute, or make the passing moment stand still. I cannot say to time, as Joshua once did to the sun, "Stand still," for it is in continual progression. The sand-glass of my life pours down night and day; and though the gradual waste seems trifling, yet how soon shall the last sand be run out, and not a grain left! And then there is no turning of the glass again. Secondly, As time cannot be recalled—so the things done in time cannot be undone. I cannot undo my deeds, unspeak my words, and unthink my thoughts. It would be less galling, did time fly off in a blank; but it is full of activity. So the soul is never idle—but is at work night and day, which we little think of. How would it mitigate our mournful reflections, if we could get our wicked deeds undone, and our bad actions annihilated! but still they are actions once done, and stand on record, to show either the mercy of God when we are pardoned, or to condemn us when we are judged. I said, time past never returns, for us to mend what we have done amiss. Misspent time is present to torment the wicked through eternity. How cautious should I be in spending time which is so precious, and on which so much depends! The past is entirely lost, the present is on the wing, and the future is uncertain! The past is mine no more, the future never may be mine, and the present is mine but for a moment. In the time past I can do nothing, it has already fled. In the time present I can do little, as it is on the wing. And in the time to come, as it lies concealed, I know not what I may do. So then, the present breathing, this very twinkling, the single moment, and ’naked now’—is mine without the least appendix of time past or to come—but in reflection on the one, and expectation of the other. The present only is mine, which, while I use it, vanishes; while I possess it, passes away. In a little while the angel shall lift up his hand to heaven, and swear, by him that lives forever and ever—that time shall be no more. And as past time never returns, so the works I leave unfinished in time, cannot be wrought out in eternity. The foolish virgins will find no oil to buy in the eternal world. There is no acceptable repentance in the pit. There is no work nor device in the silent grave. I see, then, that every moment of time is of great consequence to one on whose time, eternity depends. O to spend that well which is so valuable, until acquitted in mercy at the end of time! Now, as time passes not to return, so all the things of time pass, both troubles and pleasures, never to return. But to render eternity, in all its glorious excellencies, a state of truest and sublimest happiness—it is a permanent, present, and abiding duration, and eternal now, that knows no after state, no futurity, or succession of revolving periods of time. Then, may it be my happiness, that when time passes from me, never to return—an eternity of glory, to consummate my bliss, may be present with me, never to pass away! Meditation XCVII. ON SHIPS STEERING DIFFERENT COURSES WITH THE SAME WIND. Under sail, June 10, 1758. It is surprising that one wind should carry ships to the different points of the compass, even to quite opposite points; but this is owing to the setting of the sails, and steering of the helm. And is it not more surprising, that the same wind that forwards the saints heavenward, should drive the wicked nearer hell? If the godly have their fair wind of prosperity, then, like Jacob, they confess their smallness, and that God has done all for them; or, like David, come and sit before God, and pour out the worship of a grateful heart. Or if the saints (which is frequently the case) are tossed with the rough wind of adversity, then they hear the rod, and him who has appointed it—turn to him that smites them—and see that it is good that they have been afflicted, avowing, with that eminent saint, "Though he slays me, yet will I trust in him." But the wicked, if prosperous—forget God, and become more worldly. If they have no changes, they fear not God; if Heaven bestows plenty on them, they consume it on their lusts. Nor does adversity make them any better; for, like Ahaz, in their distress they trespass yet more against the Lord; and, like the remnant of the Jews who were bent on idolatry—that very sin for which their land was laid desolate and their temple burnt. While suffering for sin—they continue in sin. The crucified Jesus remains a stumbling-block to the Jews, and to the Greeks foolishness—but the power of God, and the wisdom of God, to the true Christian. The ordinances of grace soften and improve the saints for glory—but harden and prepare the sinners for wrath. The patience of God leads the one daily to repentance, the other to presumption. The terrors of the Lord deter the Christian from sinning—but drive the unsaved to despair. Hence they may live together in one house, enjoy the same privileges, share in the same common mercies, rest in the same tranquility, and be partakers of the same outward comforts and happiness. Or, they may be visited with the same trials, walk under the same cross, drink of the same cup of adversity, and share the same afflictions. Yet out of both conditions the Christian shall extract food and medicine; while the the ungodly such poison and death. By either wind the Christian shall arrive at heaven and glory; while the unbeliever arrives at perdition and woe. Hence may I, like the wise mariner, make the best of a contrary wind, of cross dispensations, and adverse providences; and, in spite of opposition, reach my happy port at last, having my soul brought into a submissive frame to every turn of life and lot, that providence may lay in my way. Meditation XCVIII. ON BEING DRIVEN BACK TO HARBOR. Lying off France, June 17, 1758. There is an unseen rotation of circumstances accidental to all conditions of life, which we cannot provide against. Had we known yesterday that we would have been driven back today, we would not have left our station, nor undergone toil, danger, and damage. Even so, how many fruitless efforts have the sons of men made in pursuit of temporal things, where the people weary themselves for very vanity! So is his fate who sets out for happiness below; for after a thousand tackings and turnings to the ’empty creature’ for satisfaction, still the wind of vanity and vexation of spirit, which spreads over the whole universe, and blows in the face of every son of man, brings him back, with boisterous squalls, to where he first set out—to see his folly, and confess his mistake. So must the Christian count on meeting with crosses in his course, for it is through much tribulation that we must enter into the kingdom. Often in the day of darkness and tempest, the believer is apt to doubt his progress heavenward, and to think himself still in the port of a natural state; but as the seaman, who would reach his desired haven, however often he be blown back, must still put to sea again. Just so, the Christian, whatever storms and tempests roar around him, must still endeavor to believe on his all-sufficient Savior, who with equal ease can save the sinner from hell, as the saint from falling away. Again, as it is safer for a ship in a storm to remain at sea, than make the shore, lest she be wrecked upon the rocks that lie along. Just so, every disciple of Jesus is to contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints, is to hold fast the form of sound words, is to avoid lukewarmness, hypocrisy and defection—lest thereby he be undone forever. Finally whatever the seaman does, the Christian must still hold on his course through storms and tempests until he arrives at the heavenly shore. Meditation XCIX. THE SPIRITS OF JUST MEN MADE PERFECT. Lying off Normandy, June, 1758. Many are the enjoyments of the heavenly bliss, many are the delights of the higher house; and the sweet society and company is no small part of the happiness of the redeemed. Where sobriety is fashionable, we too little esteem the saints, these excellent ones of the earth. But when we are among the blackest sons of vice, we learn to compute otherwise, and clearly see the worth of the saints. Accordingly, it is one branch of the blessedness of believers, that they shall be brought "to the spirits of just men." But, as even the godly are apt to be involved in contention, debates, and strife, and to have corruption breaking out now and then in them, which has often happened among dear brethren, and in the church of Christ, to the grief of many a heart, therefore it is added, "to the spirits of just men made perfect." Now, if the company of sinners, such as I live among, be so disagreeable, how pleasant will the fellowship of these sanctified ones be—in the presence of the great Master of the heavenly family! Here sinners are, alas! everywhere most numerous; but then and there, not one sinner shall stand in the great congregation, not one wicked person in the assembly of the just. And as man, being a social creature, delights in company and converse with one another (so says the proverb, "As iron sharpens iron, so the face of a man his friend,") will not the saints kindle in their love to God, from the love of one another, by a sacred emulation who shall love him most, who has loved them with an everlasting and unchanging love? Hence am I instructed in this world whom to choose as members of my friends; and what value to put on those who are pious; since, amidst all his failings, still "the righteous is more excellent than his neighbor." Meditation C. GOING TO BATTLE. Now everything is preparing to engage the enemy, all hands are busy—though whatever the outcome may be, none can tell. But all souls are culpably idle. Careless of our eternal interests at other times, no wonder we are careless at our last! We know not how soon we shall be in the terrors of death—as we are soon to be in the horrors of battle. How shocking to see men unusually merry, when rushing into great danger! To live without faith, and die without the fear of God, is not the character of the Christian—who rejoices with trembling, and knows the terrors of the Lord. How stupid never to prepare for death—which, whether prepared for or not, may soon overtake some—and in a little while, will overtake all of us! Probably in a few hours, some of us will be arrived at our long home—some disembodied souls stand before the solemn judgment! I shudder at the thought! Our sympathizing friends know nothing of our dangerous situation in the contending moments, while oceans ruffled with storm and tempest rage around us, high winds and hurricanes roar above us, and the angry foes pour in death on us, with a noise terrible as the thunder, and awful as the lightning. How would our tender parents weep and wring their hands, to see us in such danger, or in the cold embrace of death! Everything is tossed down into the holds, that could hinder us in the battle. So at death we would give up all the joys of life to live a little longer; and must leave all to die. Woe to the disputes of nations; woe to the pride of kings, which kindles this bloody uproar, and calls us all to battle!____ But the drum!!!___ ___ ___ (The author appears to have been interrupted by the commencement of the action.) Meditation CI. ARGUMENTS TO RESIGNATION. June 17, 1759. To encourage to submission and resignation, let me consider and believe these truths, and then see if I have any cause to complain, be cast down, or fear. 1. That the just Lord, who rules in the midst of his people—will do no iniquity. 2. That he loves his children with a love more indulgent, and every way more excellent, than they can have for themselves. 3. That when he removes a comfort, or causes some of our blessings to wither, like Jonah’s gourd; our souls would receive greater damage by their being continued with us, than by their being cut off from us. 4. That when any affliction is sent, we would be greater losers by going without it, than by groaning under it. 5. That whatever befalls us, if we belong to God, both his glory and our good shall thereby sooner or later be advanced. 6. That no changes in the world can alter his love towards us, in which he rests. 7. That it is not safe for us, to have what God thinks fit to take away, or to escape what he is pleased to impose. Therefore humble submission befits us, whether Providence removes our relations, or other joys—or heaps troubles on us. 8. That as God now sees—so we ourselves shall, one time or other, see and confess—that all these afflictions which befell us in the world, were highly necessary for preparing us for the everlasting kingdom. 9. That whatever affliction takes from us, or whatever bitter cup it puts into our hand; still there is enough in God to make up for the loss of the one, and overcome the bitterness of the other. 10. That it is better to get afflictions with a blessing, than mercies with a curse. As Israel had their meat in the wilderness with a curse; their request granted—but leanness was sent into their soul. 11. That it is not safe to contend with God, nor quarrel with the divine conduct, which cannot err. 12. That submission and resignation in all things, and at all times, to the divine disposal—is our indispensable duty. 13. That God, out of what at present seems the greatest evil—can bring the greatest good—and often turns our sorrow into singing. 14. That besides the good which accrues to us here from afflictions, they work for us, by the divine blessing, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we look not at the things which are seen, being convinced they are temporary—but at the things which are not seen, being confident they are permanent and eternal. Meditation CII. SAINTS HAVE NO CAUSE TO COMPLAIN. Dec. 24, 1760. "You are ever with me, and all that I have is yours"—is a privilege which may compose the believer’s bosom in the most gloomy days, and amidst the most distressing vicissitudes of lot. For in this promise, which is sweeter than honey, and the honey-comb, the ear of faith may hear God speaking thus, "Believer, can you, who have the treasures of eternity reserved for you—look sad, or grudge the temporal happiness of any! Neither should it vex you too much, that your situation is not such as you desire in this transient world; seeing you are ever to be with me, where all my perfections shine, and all my glory beams forth." O how happy, then, are the saints of God, who may put on a cheerful countenance even in the general conflagration. And if so, how much more under a few disappointments which are sent for wise ends, and redound to their spiritual good in their outcome. Invested with this celestial charter, well may we smile—though all nature frowns; and well may we rejoice—though an angry world rages. By this we dwell in the sunbeam, and walk in endless light—and need not be greatly troubled at the loss of all things. But what do I say? For how can the heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ, loose anything at all? How can he who fills heaven and earth, be lost? Ah! cruel unbelief only attempts the horrid sacrilege to steal Christ from the heart—but such a promise as this bids defiance to the monster; and while we expect its full accomplishment (nor let the time seem long) the day dawns, which ends the dark night of our sinning and suffering, and translates us to the realms of bliss. Eternity only can declare what it is to be with him, whose presence makes a heaven, and whose love is better than life; and what it is to enjoy all the fullness of the Godhead, as far as glorified creatures can. Meditation CIII. APPROACHING FRUITION. Hamoaze, Dec. 28, 1760. Still, my soul, in spite of all your fears, remember that the day-spring of eternity will appear at the appointed time. Sin’s gloomy night is far spent, and the morning drawing near, when all the thick shadows will dissolve in endless light. A few revolutions will bring the longed-for day, when he shall appear without sin unto salvation. A general shout shall welcome his second coming, and united hallelujahs attend the triumphant Judge (when sin and sinners are no more) to the highest heaven, where the bliss of saints and angels is complete, without the least shadow of change. O how sweet the warblings of celestial song, how fair the beauties of eternal noon, and how divine the glories of the throne! What must the promised land be in the eternal possession—when the account of the two faithful spies, faith and hope, backed by the divine record—is so ravishing! Creation can scarcely furnish fine enough materials for comparison, much less for our bliss itself. There gold is but the dust of our feet, pearls the gates of our city, and gems the foundations of our walls. The sun is but an extinguished candle in the diviner blaze of glory. The stream and tree of life, at which we feed, continue us immortal. But all this is only the beginning of our happiness, for God reveals himself to every glorified saint in ways not known before, and then what transport fills the soul, what floods of pleasure rise, and deluge every power of mind! O how shall I lie dissolved in ecstacy through love’s eternal day! But this abundance of joy shall not have the effect it has on earthen vessels here, to crack and crush them—but shall strengthen all my inward man, that I may praise like angels, and love like seraphim! What raptures shall arise from that intimate communion my soul shall then enjoy with God, though now my words cannot express it, and my thoughts cannot conceive of it! Then there shall not be the least remains of sin in my soul, not a wandering thought, which now at my best times troubles me; nor a frown in the countenance of God, and therefore no more grief or sorrow. Then I shall fear him out of the purest love; serve him, and not be afraid; approach and come close to his throne, and yet not be accused of presumption. I shall see him, and not die; and enjoy the nearest and sweetest fellowship with him forever, without being in danger of a wound from spiritual pride. Then will God in very deed dwell with men, and in men; and then, O how full shall my soul be of God, and how satisfied with the society of the heavenly inhabitants! God stamped on every soul, dwelling in every bosom, possessing every thought, the subject of every song, and the object of all our love—renders the whole celestial multitude happy, extremely and eternally happy! Meditation CIV. INFINITE AND ETERNAL PROPERTIES OF THE BLISS ABOVE. Jan. 4, 1761. Had I but one moment’s glance of the glorious sun, which, while I began to gaze, were concealed, never to be seen again, such a view would only kindle an anxious curiosity—but not satisfy one longing desire. Even so, a passing glimpse of the celestial glory would only set on edge—but never satisfy the holy appetite of the heaven-born soul. There is an immortality in my soul, and there is an eternity in my portion. Vast are the demands of the renewed mind, such as the whole creation cannot satisfy; but in God’s sacred super-abundance, in his infinite fullness, there is enough and to spare. What divine harmony in all respects takes place above! God, the enjoyment of whom is paradise and bliss—is infinite—and every faculty of the soul is capacitated, in the highest degree, to enjoy much of God; and our divine communion and fellowship also is eternal. What keeps the worldling in perpetual anguish—but because his portion here is neither complete nor permanent? Yes, what would the bliss above be, if either infinity or eternity could be separated from it? For what would avail the possession of crowns and kingdoms, nay, of more substantial bliss—if but for a moment? and what would perpetuity itself profit, if spent but in gazing on a glow-worm, or enjoying a temporary good? But it is otherwise here; for when wafted to the higher house, to the heaven of heavens, I shall find myself in the midst of ineffable glories, and plunged among infinite beatitudes, and all the unbounded emanations of a Deity, whose every perfection may through endless ages employ the whole multitude of glorified admirers. But while his eternal excellencies captivate my ravished powers, and all his goodness passes before me, how would my finite mind be pained that I can comprehend so little of this almighty all, if not comforted on the other hand with this—that I shall go on, and grow in knowing God through eternity! O eternity, eternity! how much shall my soul know of God before ten thousand years are spent! and yet these cannot diminish the eternal duration one moment! And, as my portion, even after all that I shall have seen, adored, and enjoyed—will remain full and overflowing, being infinite. Just so, the time of possession, communion, and enjoyment—even after ages of bliss are elapsed—will always continue the same, being eternal. Meditation CV. BAD COMPANY. Hamoaze, January 11, 1761. Sometimes our situation may be solitary, our friends being cut off from us by death, or we from them by distance. Or, our company may be such, as the safety of our souls forbids us to converse with them. It has become customary with us to complain of this, and to cry out for the communion of the saints; and indeed it must be owned, that as iron sharpens iron, so does the face of a man his friend. Yet, if grace is at work to find God in every circumstance, even this prejudice may be turned into a spiritual advantage. When my company is such that I shun to sit with them, then I dwell alone, and seek after communion with God himself; and while faith gets a view of his divine love, and dazzling perfections, I can never lack matter for meditation. Thus the right improvement of a cross, which in itself is heavy and afflicting, even sojourning in Mesech with the sons of consummate folly—may produce the greatest blessing—even communion with the Most High God! And, though I am not to expect a voice from heaven to carry on a dialogue with me, yet, by his Spirit speaking in the scriptures, and breathing on my soul, I may converse with God, and talk of the glories of the world to come. Yes, this situation, though in itself mournful, is not barren of useful instructions; for I learn, 1. What a pleasant place the church and Zion of God is, where saints may talk together of redeeming love, until their hearts burn within them. 2. That the expectants of the better country are too shy to tell to one another what God has done for their souls, that all may give him praise. 3. That one Christian is readier to receive hurt from the worldly and carnal discourse of another professor, than from the belchings of the profane. For the profane man drives him to God—but speech of the worldly professor harms him. 4. That no confusion or confinement can hinder the rightly-exercised soul from walking at large in the promise, and with God. I may have neither field nor garden to walk into; and yet walk over the fields of bliss, and take a tour through the paradise of God. My situation may, in a great measure, forbid the use of my voice in my devotions, yet I may cry and be heard in the highest heavens. 5. Admire and adore the goodness of God, who turns all things to the believer’s advantage, who, when associated with men that seem incarnate devils, may entertain heavenly meditation, and maintain communion with the God of angels. 6. To put a proper estimate on the saints; to choose all friends of such; and to be ready to break off other themes and begin the divine subject among them. 7. To look forward to that day when the wicked shall fall off round about us, as the failing leaves from a frostbitten tree, and we shall rise to dwell among glorious angels, and perfected saints, where we shall talk of him and to him forever—and not a wretch break in to mar our dearest, our divinest theme. Meditation CVI. ON GOING BEYOND THE LINE. Plymouth Sound, March 14, 1761. Commanded by our Sovereign, with cheerfulness we leave our native land, and pursue our course through raging and extensive oceans, to unknown climates abroad, though we may meet with enemies, be overtaken with diseases, and must pant beneath a scorching sun. Why then, O my soul! afraid, at your heavenly Sovereign’s command, to pass the line of time into the wide ocean of eternity, and unknown worlds above; seeing you have his divine promise for your protection in the hour of death, and the sure hope of a divine friend with you, who is Lord of all the unknown regions of glory? The saint should even rejoice in the prospect of death, which turns out to his immense, his everlasting gain. For here in this present world, he may have little or nothing—but there is his infinite inheritance. Here be may be an exile—but there he is at home. Here he is a stranger—there he is among his friends. Here he is often mourning without the sun—but there he is eternally with God. One, from the large quantity of stores and provisions of all kinds which is brought aboard, might well conclude we were destined for some distant part of the world. O! then, seeing I have such a long voyage before me, and must live in worlds to come, how is my soul provided? what have I in hand, what have I in hope? have I the promise, and Christ in the promise in hand? and its full accomplishment in the full enjoyment of him in hope? Were I only to land on the shores of time, die like the beasts, and be no more—to be unprovided would not be a crime. But to launch into eternity without the provisions proper for an immortal soul, is more desperate madness than for ships to sail to the farthest Indies without bread and water. It concerns me to go abroad, and not know if ever I shall return to my native land, or see a friend I have in life. But faith’s enlarged view shall dissipate the gloom, for the sun shines as brightly on the other side of the line as this; the stars twinkle alike richly in all quarters; and heaven, surrounding the whole globe, is alike near to all places. Yes, God being everywhere present—he that lives in God cannot be separated from him, or die outside of him, by distance from his country and his friends. But at the hour of dissolution, he shall go to be forever with the Lord, where he shall be allowed the nearest approaches, and most intimate communion with him who dwells in inaccessible light and glory! Meditation CVII. ON A POPISH PROCESSION, TO PREVENT THE RETURN OF AN EARTHQUAKE. Madeira, April 2, 1761. Of all curses, those that are spiritual are most terrible; and none more dismal than to be given up to strong delusions to believe a lie. Do these men think that the Deity is like children—pleased with pomp, and novelty, and show? When the power of religion decays, it goes more and more into bodily exercises, which profit little, and into external forms and farces. Will a few boys, creeping on their hands and feet, before you through the streets, make the heart-searching God believe you are truly humbled? Do you substitute the walking bare-footed along a stony pavement—the same as walking with God by faith? Do you imagine you shall avert divine wrath by gently whipping your naked bodies? Is such treatment of the body equal to a real sorrow for, and turning from sin? Do you think God has ceased to be a spirit, and no more demands to be worshiped in spirit and in truth—but, like the idols of old, with the fooleries of men? Are the graces of the Holy Spirit converted into bodily-gestures? Can your being veiled in a mournful manner deceive him who sees through the thick darkness? Do you think that the carrying a piece of wood, in the form of a cross, through your city, will awe the earthquake into eternal silence? Will God look down favorably on the image of your saint and patroness which you have made in breach of his own express command? Our blessings must come through him who suffered on the cross, and for his sake—but we must expect nothing from the cross itself. Of old the doctrine of the cross was foolishness to Jews and heathen Greeks; but now the cross, while its divine doctrine is dropped, is very folly among nominal Christians. Now, if God, who has another time to judge, should, in his general forbearance and common mercy, not send a second earthquake, how will they be persuaded of the prevalency of their procession, and thus be hardened in their superstition and delusion! O with what fervor, for it is the interest of Christ; with what constancy, for souls are precious; with what tenderness, for they are our fellow-creatures and brethren—should all the reformed churches pray for the destruction of the man of sin, and the fall of Babylon, that nations who have nothing but shadows for substance, rites for religion, and the inventions of men for the doctrines of truth—may walk in the light, and enjoy the liberty of the glorious gospel! But shall I forget the special favor of Heaven to me? for it was not by chance that I was born in a Protestant land—but by the good will of him who has determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of the habitation of every individual under the sun. Meditation CVIII. SAILING IN THE TORRID ZONE. April 11, 1761 What extremes are found on this little ball that is hung upon nothing! Here nations tremble among mountains of ice, and deluges of snow. There kingdoms pant under a scorching sun, and breathe in a sultry air; while other nations (though perhaps not better pleased with their situation than the former) have but a moderate degree of either. It fares the same way with the rational world as it does with the terrestrial globe; here some live in dire poverty; there others live in luxury and wealth; while others have the desirable sufficiency, and yet, like the inhabitants of the temperate zone, are scarcely content with their situation, or thankful for the mercies of their lot. The inhabitants of one country think that another country abounds with the plenty of the universe; but he who tries all, finds a deficiency in each. But whatever difference there be among men with respect to the bounds of their habitation, surely the whole world dwells either under Sinai’s tremendous thunderings, or Zion’s peaceful voice. The situation of the one is terrible—but of the other triumphant. And what is awfully surprising, is, that though the thunders are both loud and long, yet, being asleep in sin, they hear them not, and so bless their state, until the terrors of death, rouse every organ with the deepest anguish, to be attentive to the everlasting thunderings of an avenging God. But the still small voice, being accompanied with divine power, speaks into the very hearts of those, who, by believing on the mediator of the new covenant, have come to the heavenly Mount Zion. A warm sun, and a bright day, are big words among the northern nations, who have often a cloudy sky, a short noon, and a long cold night. So affluence and plenty are words of a big meaning to those whom poverty follows, and from whom pity flies. But it is better to struggle with losses and crosses—if by such the graces of the soul be kept alive—than to lie on a bed of down, fall asleep in carnal security, and never more awake. It is dangerous to swim in warm seas, where sharks swim, or along shores where alligators devour; and doubly so to wallow in wealth and ease, where lusts and Satan destroy. The European beauty would not exchange her fair face with a swarthy complexion, for all the treasures of the south; and should the Christian who is all-glorious within, choose a condition that may cast a blemish on his better part, like Jeshurun, who, when he waxed fat, kicked; and in his greatness forgot him that made him great? More venomous creatures crawl in those countries which never felt a cold day, than in such as annually feel a pinching winter. So, generally speaking, more corruptions (pride, lust, carnal security, anger, etc.) abound among such as are finely clothed; and fare sumptuously every day, than among those that sit down to one meal, and know but little how to provide the next. But again, are the distant beams (for even under the meridian line the sun is millions of miles removed from us) of a world of fire, so excessively hot and scorching? Then what must the wrath of the Almighty be? Though all the sky were full of scorching suns, they could convey no idea of God’s terrible indignation. Who, then, can describe his terrors, or the fierceness of his wrath? Immensity can only measure its extent, and eternity its duration; well then may it awe a finite worm into silence! Meditation CIX UNDER THE DIRECT MERIDIAN. London 9, April 16, 1761. Stretching towards the south, we are at last arrived at the true meridian, where our eyes need not travel through spacious skies, or journey towards the chambers of the south, to find the glorious sun; seeing from the summit of the skies he shoots down his perpendicular beams, and gives the brightest day. This appearance would look strange in the northern isles, and therefore invites to some meditation. Then, as one who is always sailing to the south, though sometimes he may be overtaken with calms, or contrary winds, yet sooner or later will reach the line; so the Christian who steers his course heavenward, though he may have many heavy obstructions, from without, and from within—as the contrary winds of strong temptation, the bursting squalls of inbred corruption, and the no less dangerous calms of spiritual sloth and carnal security—shall, in spite of all, reach the meridian of glory. Indeed, the poor sailor may perish before he can come to his port; but the believer, having his anchor within the veil, though earth and hell, and remaining sin—the worst of all the three, often threaten his ruin—shall safely arrive at the haven which he desires to see, and then shall he remember the perils of his passage, and dangers of the sea, only in grateful songs to his divine Deliverer. Never was I apparently so near the sun as now, and yet never did the sun seem so high above me. So it is with the Christian; the more he knows of God, and the nearer he is permitted to approach to his throne—God is the higher in his esteem, and the more glorious in his adoring eye—while he himself is the lower in his own sight, yes, ready to sink into nothing while admitted to unclouded views of the divine majesty. And this, and this only, is the desirable situation below, when the soul, in deep humility, adores the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity, wholly emptied of himself, and fully replenished with God. Again, only under the meridian can I set my face every way, and look up and see the sun, because he shines straight above my head, and all in the same latitude share the same amazing noon. Just so, in the land of glory shall the Sun of righteousness shine in all the brightness of his uncreated beauty, into every soul, and be no more a rising, a setting, or a clouded sun—but eternally dwell in the full view of all his numerous adorers. The Deity, in his most ample revelations, in his most satisfying manifestations, shall fill all the higher house; yes, every entranced adorer sees God in one another, for seraphim and cherubim flame in his brightness; angels and archangels sing and shout in his day, and all the saints shine in his similitude. Nothing is there (for the fearful and final separation has taken place, O tremendous day!) but God and goodness—but innocence and peace—but sanctity and joy—but harmony and song, transport and delight, love and illumination. Here our bright day has an enfeebling influence, and our high sun-beams almost insufferably hot; but there (O! shall such a one as I be ever there?) I shall bask in his noon-day beams, and share the effulgence of his inconceivable divinity, yet not dissolve into death—but thereby be invigorated for the whole task of an eternal adorer! Is this globe of light and ball of fire, so amazingly majestic, that heathen nations have given him divine honor as a God? then how incomprehensibly great, how ineffably glorious must Jehovah be, whose bare word spoke such beauty into being! And is my eternal noon to be by the brightness of his presence, the emanations of his love, and the glory of his power? Yes, is even Jehovah himself to be my light and day, my life and bliss, my portion and song? What then, though some few dark nights intervene, since this day is on the wing, when my views shall all be bright, because in his light I shall see light clearly? O these transporting, these transforming views, that shall forever entertain every enquiring, enlarged faculty of soul! Henceforth let my soul dwell by faith in endless noon, until over all my shadows this endless noon prevails. Meditation CX. UNDER THE MERIDIAN, THE SUN AND MOON HIGH. April 19, 1761. When the starry heavens engaged my attention in the northern climates, many of their bright inhabitants, and the moon herself, seemed low to me; but here, under the meridian, not only the sun but the moon in her proper hour possesses the summit of the sky, and the bright beauties which seemed to be in some low station, partake in the same exaltation. Now, is not this a lively picture of that happy and triumphant state that the church shall be exalted to at last? Christ has ascended up on high, not for himself (for as God he is over all blessed forever) but as our representative, and in our name, that where he is, there we may be also. And as his Father has a seat on his throne for his beloved Son, so has the Son promised that those who overcome shall sit with him in his throne. Yes, every saint shall partake of his Redeemer’s glory, for if we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him; and if we confess him, before an abandoned world, he will also confess us before assembled men and angels. Then, although the moon suffer an eclipse, it is not to be thought that the planet is destroyed, for she shall yet reflect many a bright beam, and, to some parts of the world, run in an elevated orbit; so it is with saints in particular, and the church in general, they may be both low and little in the account of carnal men—but they are not the less noble in themselves, nor of smaller account with God. The certainty of this exalted state may well support us under the deepest abasements; for because he lives, we shall live also, and every member shall rejoice with his glorified Head. What though the saints now suffer under diversified trials, like the inhabitants of the frozen north, who have only a peep of day through the whole winter—but are harassed with a burst of tempests, or a covering of snow, or a field of ice; since they may look a little forward, and see themselves placed in these happy regions where their divine Sun sheds eternal noon, and makes them shine forth as stars in the kingdom of their Father! Meditation CXI. A SQUALL OF RAIN, LIGHTNING, AND THUNDER. April 20, 1761. The other day, when the meridian sun brightened a cloudless sky with amazing effulgence, and all round about was light and beauty—I did not dream that such a tremendous night would so soon ensue. The winds blowing with amazing vigor, the disquieted ocean roaring beneath, the glaring lightnings flashing over the whole heaven, the broken clouds pouring out floods of water, and the rolling thunders echoing the majesty of the Eternal, through the conscious void—make up the solemn scene. In like manner, trouble and disappointment will often break in on the most beautiful prospect of earthly felicity, and raise a hurricane amidst the most perfect calm. Hence, we should learn, amidst the possession or expectation of any earthly bliss, or temporal good—to hold all we have or hope for, at the kind hand of the Sovereign Disposer of all things—of whose conduct we should never complain. Again, if the least contest among the elements, produces such dreadful effects, how terrible must the state of sinners be, who wage eternal war with Omnipotence, and shall have the arrows of the Almighty within them, the poison whereof drinks up their soul! No place or latitude can at times boast of so delightful a day—but at other times no place undergoes a more dismal night; so let churches in general, and saints in particular, stand in awe to sin, and beware of presuming on their privileges, saying, ’The temple of the Lord are we. We have Abraham to our father.’ For of all people, none are more severely punished than those who have approached nearest to him: "You only have I known of all the families of the earth, therefore will I punish you for all your sins." Capernaum, which was lifted up to heaven, is threatened to be thrust down to hell, for abusing these singular blessings. And Jerusalem, the beloved city, where the holy temple stood, and where God was served, and manifested his glorious presence; yet for her sins, she was punished more severely. Woe, then, a triple woe, to the poor apostate, who has once tasted of the good word of God, and has been made partaker of the Holy Spirit, and tasted of the heavenly gift, and the powers of the world to come—when he falls into the hands of an offended, angry, and avenging judge! Oh! with what care should he who thinks he stands, look to his ways, that he may never fall! This heavy rain reminds me of the deluge. The fire and thunder reminds me of Sodom’s overthrow. The first shows me how the old world perished, the last how this world shall be destroyed. The bellowing wind proclaims shipwreck to the sailor, and the sudden squall bids me be always ready for the worst event. The whole scene summed up together, preaches to me the goodness, the power, and providence of God. Meditation CXII. ENVY. May 10, 1761. It was a saying of Moses, the man of God, when one told him that two men prophesied in the camp, "Are you envious for my sake? I wish that all the Lord’s people were prophets." The holy man took it not amiss that others had of the some spirit he had, to perform the same functions, and shine in the same character. What a shame is it, then, that the children of God should envy one another for the excellencies of their gifts and graces! If God is greatly glorified by any, should I be greatly displeased that it is not by me? Shall I contend with God about his distribution of blessings, and begrudge his liberality to any more than myself? Does one minister darken another in preaching, or one saint excel another in prayer? Who of Christ’s servants can be darkened if their Master shines? Or who of his saints will not bless him for his goodness to others as well as to themselves? It is as base to be peevish because of the excellencies of others; as to be proud of our own. Our great, our universal struggle should be to set up God on high, and our great joy should be to see him set on high—whoever is the happy instrument. Ah, how base to bow the ear to vulgar applause, and listen to, or lust after, empty fame! In the natural body, is the one hand affronted that the other hand wears the ring? And among David’s worthies, were the thirty chagrined that they did not attain to the first three? Then why should saints and the servants of God, envy one another! Surely, it is rare to have singular gifts and graces, and not know of it; and it is almost impossible to know it, and not be puffed up in a greater or less degree. O what a degree of humility should the spiritual worthy pray for, lest at any time he be puffed up with pride! Should the servant of Jesus take it ill that hearers flock more after others, rather than himself; seeing it is, at least should be, still Christ they are running after? Can it vex him, if he speaks in sincerity, because some are masters of more eloquence than he? O for that noble disposition of blessing God with a cheerfulness for the singular gifts of others whereby he is glorified—which should be my whole aim! Let others excel in setting you upon high, though you should always refuse my service. Let the spiritual temple be built, though I should never lay one stone in the edifice. Give liberally, very liberally, to all your saints and servants, and my eye shall never be evil because your is good. It is enough to be a cup in your house, though others be bowls and flaggons. Surely the loyal subject will give his joyful acclamation at the coronation of his king, though not permitted to place the crown on his head, or perform any of the ceremonies. Is there any dissonance among the stars (nor should there be among the saints) because one star excels another in glory? Such and such gifts, or such and such degrees in these gifts, which I strive for, might hurt me. Fire may be kept in a brazen vessel, which would burn a wooden one. Boiling water might crack a glass bottle—but not a stone bowl. So these qualifications which I think would make me all vigor and spirit, might hurt my spirit in more spiritual things. Few, like Moses, could carry a command so vastly great, with a vastly greater meekness; or have the humility to cover his face when it shines, and reflect the glory God-ward. Though I could pray like an apostle, and speak like an angel; yet, if the least pride springs from the performance, it were better to speak like a babbler, and pray like a babe in grace. I should press after grace continually, and grace in the highest degree—without which the noblest gifts will be but noise and smoke, without heat; while the weakest gifts, with true grace, may edify both myself and others. I should rest satisfied in the all-wise disposal of Providence, who gives to all as he pleases; since, though there be diversities of gifts, it is the same Spirit who knows best how to divide, and to whom. And if God is exalted, though I should exert myself, and would choose to excel; yet I should not take it amiss, that in that excellent work everyone excels me, and out-does my utmost. Finally, though my capacity may be weak, and my faculties shallow, yet hereby may all my deficiencies be made up—if I am rich in faith, to draw out of his fullness for my exigence; if I am rich in humility and gratitude, to disclaim anything in myself, and give him all the praise; and if I am rich in love to God, to pour out my whole soul on him, while he kindly dwells in my heart, and replenishes every power with his presence. Meditation CXIII. BIRTHDAY. May 30, 1761. When I dropped some thoughts on my last birthday, I was uncertain that I should see another—but now I am certain that this day I shall never see again. I am another year nearer to the unseen world. Surely my years, like figures in arithmetic, rise in their value as their numbers increase, and the last redoubles the whole. So much experience of the vanity of all things—so many providences ever working for me—such fatherly chastisements—such rich displays of grace—such divine admonitions—so many tender mercies—such sweet, sweet outlettings of God’s love—leaves a heavy charge at my door, if I walk not answerably to them all. Though I am alive, and O that I could live to him in whom I love; yet several of my friends have wept and wrung their hands for their expiring friends, in the short period of this past year. And O how soon must I feel the mortal dart fixed in my own heart—and every sickening pulse proclaim the approach of my last moments! Then only thus shall I get my heart fenced against the terrors of death—by having my life hidden with Christ in God, and my conversation in heaven. So should I anticipate my future happiness, begin eternity in time, and, like Enoch, walking with God, would get my soul fed with such an ardent flame of heavenly love, that I would have a desire to be depart, and to be with him. What a happy state would this be—for death would drop his sting, the grave would cease to gloom, and solemn eternity excite a song of triumph! Thus, while unprepared mortals tremble at the thoughts of death, I, longing for perfect freedom from sin, and eternal communion with God—in a kind of holy impatience, would cry out—Why is his chariot so long in coming? Why do the wheels of his chariot tarry? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 168: 04.04. MEDITATIONS 91 TO 121 CONTD ======================================================================== Meditation CXIV. THOUGH WE WALK ON EARTH, OUR CONVERSATION SHOULD BE IN HEAVEN. July 7, 1761. The traveling man has little on the fatiguing road but his weary feet; his heart being set on his family, his friends, his home; his affections on his native country, and his desires terminating on his journey’s end. Am not I a traveler heavenward—a pilgrim—a sojourner on earth? What then have I here on this perishing earth; or whom have I here, to captivate my affections, and hinder them from being set on high? If I have any treasure, it must be in heaven, for nothing on earth is worthy of the name, seeing all terrestrial things take wings, and fly away; or if they remain, it is but to be consumed in the general conflagration. Though my body should dwell in this world—my heart should be an inhabitant of the better country: and it is highly reasonable that it should be so, for my hope, my joy, my all are there. 1. My eternal Father is there, the beloved of my soul, and the husband of my espousals. The sanctifier of my affections, and the kindler of my love, is there. 2. All my godly friends are there, even the whole family of my heavenly Father—angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim, and the spirits of just men made perfect. Who would not then dwell in such an assembly, and love such a divine society? 3. My house and home are there, and it must be an estranged heart indeed that never thinks on his own house, and never longs for home. 4. My inheritance is there, and a goodly portion it is, and pleasant lines they are, that are fallen to me. The heirs of this world only farm from father to son, and death determines the lease. But there everyone inherits for himself, and that for eternity. 5. The objects of my faith, the subjects of my song, and the darlings of my love, are all there. What soul would not dwell among such divine delights, walk in such a paradise, and breathe in the very air of sanctity and bliss? O what a loss do I sustain by my ignorance of the divine life, and by the carnality of my mind! But is such a happiness attainable below? Yes! The Christian, even here, may have his heart and life in heaven. Then, 1. He who lives anywhere; must buy and sell, and do business with the men of his place. Just so, may I buy the merchandise of bliss without money, and without price; and carry on the noblest business with the highest One in the most interesting concerns of my soul. 2. Where one lives he necessarily walks and talks, eats and drinks, sleeps and wakes. Just so, may my soul by faith walk over the fields of light, and talk with the Author of my bliss, the fountain of my joy, and the center of my love. There I may eat of the hidden manna, pluck off the drop-ripe apples of the tree of life, and drink of those rivers of pleasures that eternally overflow in his presence; yes, and fall asleep amidst the numerous beauties above, and awake with God in the morning. Now, as one traveling home, only attends to his journey, and provides his food for the way; (nor would his friend help him, if he would load him with gold bars, or silver ore;) so a few of the necessities of life are sufficient for my support, until I arrive at that better life that shall need no such assistance. Then, seeing my house, my home, my friends, my bliss, my joy, my inheritance, my crown, my life, my light, my glory, my Savior and my God—are all on high, and nothing here in this present world, but a waste and howling wilderness, through which I travel with danger and dismay. In heaven—may my longings tend, my wishes wing, and may my desires center, my affections be fixed, and my whole soul dwell—that at death nothing may remain but to leave this house of clay, and at once be a free and immortal citizen of my heavenly kingdom! Meditation CXV. GREAT LOVE IN GOD, THAT WE MAY LOVE GOD. July 19, 1761. O how ardently would I love God, who is loveliness itself! Gladly would I have my heart filled with divine breathings after him—who is all beauty and wholly desirable! But, alas! I know not what it is to love God, which is the highest attainment of men, and the best exercise of the brightest seraphs. I have heard a soul-warming fame of his likeness in his people; and where it is most perfect, it gives them such a celestial tincture, such an heavenly hue, that they are like angels dwelling among men, or saints, whose lives are already in heaven. But woe is me! my ignorance, my ignorance! I know so little of you—so how can I know your likeness! Alas! my chains are heavy, and my wings are weak; my affections sensual, and my spiritual desires languid. Yet I have some sunshine and serenity in my winter—and though I cannot love you as I would, yet I am filled with longing after some of this divine flame of love, that shall turn all the out-goings of my soul Godward; and turn the world, in all its beguiling and bewitching vanities, eternally out of doors. O that I knew where, how, and in what I might love you! May I love you anywhere, and everywhere! at home, or abroad, on sea or land, among friends or foes, among men or devils, among saints or sinners, in life or death, in time or in eternity! But again, how or after what manner may I love you? May I delight myself in you, meditate on you, walk before you, imitate your divine perfections, talk of your glory, mention your righteousness, recount your mercies, and sing aloud of your love! May I praise you, pray to you, plead with you, depend upon you, and roll myself wholly over on you! But again, in what may I love you? May I love you in your Son and in yourself, in the unity of Godhead, and in the trinity of persons, in your perfections and attributes in the largeness of your love, and in the brightness of your glory! May I love you in your angels, in your people, and in all your other creatures! May I love you in your power and in your providence, in your counsel and in your conduct, in your chastisements and in your comforts, in your favors and in your frowns, when you wound or make whole, when you give and when you take away; in all your secret decrees and in all your open dispensations! May I love you in your gospel, and in your ordinances, in your law and in your testimonies, in your scriptures and in your sacraments, in your promises and in their performance, and even in my own soul! O to see you, O to know you—in your grace, and in your glory! Again, may I love you at all times and all seasons, in youth or in old age, in my family or in the field, in company or alone, lying down or rising up, going out or coming in, in health or sickness, in wealth or in poverty, in a prison or in a palace, in reproach or applause, in the body or among the spirits of just men made perfect! O astonishing condescension! that one under so many deformities and deficiencies, may love continually so great a Being in all his glorious excellencies! Will a king accept of the love of a subject, especially if loaded with infamy and reproach, reduced to poverty, and languishing with disease? And yet, though I am poor, reproached, and infirm—God does not despise my love—but welcomes even its few ascending sparks. O! then, what a field of love is this, God looking out at so many windows, shining in so many excellencies, and still calling—"son, give me your heart! Soul, give me your love!" O what must that love be, which reigns in the heart of God! Oh! were my soul dipped in the celestial Jordan, I would be cleansed from the leprosy of earthly-mindedness, and carnal affections, which always renders the persons infected, unclean, and incapable of holding communion with the Most High God. O dearest Lord! you have blown up a spark of love in my bosom, which lives in spite of all the waters of corruption; nourish and increase this fire, until in the day or eternity it breaks forth into a spotless flame! And then (O blessed day!) I shall even be refreshed with the perfection of my love, when I find it so spotless, vigorous, and divine, that not only I—but God, its glorious fountain, and eternal object, shall be pleased with my love; when its quality shall be suitable to that state of consummate perfection, its quantity such as replenishes the most enlarged powers of glorified souls, and its duration through all evermore! Now, since you are seen in all things, and cannot but be loved wherever you are seen—how is it that I am not wholly taken up with your love, and lost in transport and delight—in the divine survey of your excellencies? Can a poor soul like mine not find sufficient matter for meditation, where a whole heaven of perfected adorers find enough for their most enlarged capacities through eternity, and to spare? Now, here is the wonder, that God is not only lovely in himself, and in all things whereby he reveals himself—but also permits, yes, commands me to love him, making my indispensable duty my daily privilege, and my highest privilege my daily duty. O the condescension of the high and lofty One, the chief among ten thousand—that I may love him, and not be reproved; that I may kiss him, and not be despised! As he is the greatest, so is he the most generous of lovers, not only ever returning love for love—but for my spark of love, returning his flame of love; and for my faint desires, returning his captivating love. And as he is a noble, a superlative lover, so he does all things answerable to this divine character. His decrees are love: "I have loved you with an everlasting love." His counsels are love, "I counsel you to buy from me gold." His cords are love, with which he savingly draws us to himself. His rod is love, with which he corrects, for "whom he loves he chastens." His providences are pregnant with love. His promises are pure love. His name is love. His offices are love, for to teach and instruct, to plead and intercede, to lead, rule, and defend, to help and heal, to counsel and comfort—are certainly offices of love. His relationships are love—a kinsman Redeemer, a friend, a brother, a father, a husband—are kindly names, and full of affection, especially in him. His banquet is a feast of love. His banner is a banner of love. His chariot is paved with love. And he himself is altogether lovely. May I, then, love such a lovely and loving one—and not be deemed audacious! May I claim the darling of heaven as mine, and maintain, with all the warmth of immortal love, "This is my Beloved, and this is my friend," and not be accounted an offender among all the enamored adorers of the heavenly house! But, O where shall I find, or where shall I fetch—a love worthy to be bestowed on this lover—who has not his equal on earth, or in heaven? O, that I could glow like angels in their celestial ardors, and burn like seraphs in their deathless flames! O how strange! That the mighty One of eternity accepts the love of a perishing worm! That a vile sinner is allowed to be a lover of him whose name is holy! May dust and ashes not only talk—but carry on an interchange of love, with the eternal Father? Yes! For you not only allow me to love you—but to know that I am loved by you, in an infinitely higher manner than I can love you. Yours is an ocean of love—mine a drop from your fullness. Yours is the sun—mine a spark kindled in your beams. Yours is the eternal emanation of sovereign love—mine the reflection of heaven-born gratitude—for I love you, because you first loved me; and as you were first, so are you highest in your love. It was much for your people to be loved like your angels, archangels, your seraphs, and all your bright armies of light. Yet you have loved your people with a love above that; for in that matchless prayer, the divine Redeemer says, "That the world may know that you have loved them—as you have loved me!" What a wonderful love is this! But what a worthless lover am I! O happy, thrice happy heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ! whom he invites to a seat with him on his throne! Surely, under a sense of so much love, and yet power to love so little, I would die, did I not wait for my removal to the region of pure love, where my powers of mind, enlarged and strengthened for the transports of eternity, shall be wholly exercised in love. O that divine freedom I wait for, that glorious liberty of immortal lovers that I pant after—where my eye shall view all of his glories, and my ear shall be all attentive to the account of his excellencies! Surely, my song and soul shall be full of love to him! Yes, nothing but love—centering on him, and singing of him, with the highest degree of ardor—shall employ my every power forever! And here, dear Lord, while I walk on the dark mountains, let it be regarded as a kind of love to think—since I cannot love you as I should and would—how perfectly I shall love you in those blissful regions, in those days of future glory, and in your heavenly presence! With what fresh ardor, and unimaginable delight, I shall adore the God of love, who is not only altogether lovely—but pours out full floods of love on the ’emmets of creation’—and welcomes the trifling returns of love from the ’dust’ of his footstool. Meditation CXVI. PROVIDENCE TO BE APPROVED OF. Portsmouth Harbor, Oct. 31, 1761. Nothing is harder to attain to, than an entire resignation to the disposal of Providence; and in this very thing I condemn myself. But, O how absurd to quarrel with God about his conduct towards his creatures! Did I ever demand a reason why God sends Gabriel on this or that errand, and not some other of the bright multitudes of bliss? Dared I ever find fault with the immense distance of the stars or the huge magnitude of the sun? Did it ever give me uneasiness, if foreign nations were scenes of revolutions and wars? But if any trying providences come home to me, I am up, if not in arms, yet in astonishment, at God—and wonder why he deals so and so! Now, God’s right over, and propriety in me, is as full and sovereign as over any other of his creatures. And so I should be as well pleased with what he carves out for me, as I am with what he does for others. I never complained of the age of the world in which I was born (nay—but have blessed God for it;) and why should I, of the time of life that this or that event concerning me takes place? I pant after some things which in themselves are good—but God postpones them, as I think. But the truth is, the proper time of God’s giving, and my receiving, has not come. And yet in the greatness of my folly, I grow impatient, like the farmer, that for an early harvest, reaps corn not fully ripe. Now, my will shall be swallowed up in yours, since I am more your property than mine own. And as I would not direct Omniscience how to dispose of his angels—so will I never tell him how to deal with the inhabitants of his earth, though I am one of the number. Yet, O Most High! as you will be inquired of by your people for these free mercies which you will bestow, and even importuned (as once by wrestling Jacob) for blessings, and the performance of your promises; so I implore your divine interposition in my behalf—if it is your holy will, and that you would bring me again to my homeland, that I may hear blessings instead of blasphemy, and see your glory in churches. O let my absent moments from Zion be numbered up, and finished; my wanderings counted, and completed; my company changed, and my song be to the God of my mercy in the courts of his holiness; and make me yet see some of the days of the Son of man, in commemorating the sufferings and death of my divine Redeemer! In your tender mercy—hear, help, and give an answer of peace. But, Lord, if you shall (and for your glory I would gladly live) be more glorified in my resignation to your holy will, and my remaining in the state I am in, than in my possessing those things I long after—I cast myself over on you; and to your kind and wise disposal say, Amen. Meditation CXVII. BRIGHT VIEWS AND BOLD LANGUAGE ABOVE. Under sail for Lisbon, Nov. 29, 1761. Often at the description of divine things, by a masterly pen, or a truly poetical genius, I have been astonished; and admired the enlarged views of those, and their sublime thoughts, who, like myself—but dwelt in clay. Then I thought—What must the songs of the new Jerusalem be, when a stanza or two, wrote by a poor mortal, laboring with corruption, and bewailing his ignorance of sacred things, yields so much pleasure and delight! I shall, then, for a moment, suppose myself arrived at the regions of glory, and welcomed by the King eternal to the heavenly world. But how am I at once transported with the harmony of bliss, while I am indulged to look into the library of heaven, and read all the songs of eternity itself! First, then, a celestial hymn spreads before me, whose majestic style astonishes, whose soft and flowing numbers ravish, which was sung by the morning-stars together, by all the sons of God, when the earth was created. And next, an matchless song, composed by the first bards of light, and sung by part of the celestial choir, when the son of God condescended to be born. Then a triumphant anthem, sung and echoed round the whole court of heaven by all the multitudes of light, when the Son of God ascended conqueror over all his foes, and sat down on high at the right hand of God. But the most amazing and inimitable piece, for abundance of subject, for excellency of matter, for beauty of expression, for ardency of love, for intimacy of communion, and for refined and exalted thought—is the divine wedding song, which, at the marriage supper of the Lamb, when the whole family of heaven is assembled to divide no more, shall be sung by every guest at the feast of love, at the table of bliss. Besides these, here are some reviving hymns, composed by angels rejoicing over repenting sinners. What exalted joy sparkles in that angelic composition over a penitent Manassah—and every returning prodigal! Gabriel, in this matchless ode, sings of the eternity of God, in such strains as would astonish all the bards of time. In that song of praise, Raphael dwells on the trinity of persons—while Michael celebrates the majesty and power of the Eternal, with such energy of thought as would darken the brightest poets which the world ever saw. In another song, a mighty seraph sings matchlessly of sacred love, and all heaven echoes amen to his divine praise. Yes, now every saint is a poet, every believer a sweet bard! O how sweet are the songs of the higher temple! how soft the harmony of eternal day! What hallelujahs rise from the angels of God! what hosannas from the church of the first born! What concord and symphony are in the songs above! How dark, compared to these, were the brightest descriptions of God I ever heard below! How dull are my former ardors to those which now I feel! How faint and languid my love to what now kindles in my bosom! Here in glory, is the refined expression, here the noble idea, here the exalted turn of thought, here the true sublime of divine poetry, and here the enlarged, the unveiled view of divine things, of heavenly glories—to embolden and enliven every song. Here we talk of God at his throne, and while we commend him, we behold the beauties of his face! While we exalt him, we enjoy him, and so can never cease extolling him! But, alas! my dark views of future things convince me that I am still in the body. Yet great things I may expect in that state of perfection. And though now I cannot serve God, nor sing to God, as I would, and as I should—yet there is a day on the wing when I shall join the anthem of love, and, being loosed from all my present fetters, shall sing through eternity with the bards of paradise, "To him who loved us, died for us, rose again, and reigns on high—be honor and might, power and dominion, blessing and glory, forever and ever, Amen!" Meditation CXVIII. DECLINING YEARS. River Tagus, at Lisbon, December 26, 1761. Hitherto I have looked upon myself as young, and coming to my prime of my life. But henceforth I shall consider myself as in my declining years. I am certain how long I have lived in the world—but quite uncertain how soon I must leave the world; and therefore should be preparing for my final departure, and daily be ripening for the regions of bliss. Nothing would be a more forbidding prospect, than the verdure of spring to clothe the fields in harvest; but nothing would be more pleasant, than to see maturity keep pace with the approach of autumn. So should I grow daily riper for the great harvest, as the time of ingathering draws daily nearer and nearer. Leaves are pleasant in the infant orchard—but fruits are expected from the full grown trees. So in the young converts, the breathings of grace are sweet; but aged saints are expected to abound in fruits of righteousness. My love, like Ezekiel’s holy waters, the longer it runs, should rise the higher, and spread the wider, until lost in its divine ocean above. The longer we live with our friends, we grow better acquainted, more intimate with, and fonder of them. Just so, the longer I enjoy communion with God, the more ardently should I breathe after uninterrupted communion with him. As my years decline, and my outward man wastes away, so should my graces bloom, and my inner man grow strong; and when it is almost dark night with my life, it should be bright noon with my expectations. O how pleasant is it, that the longer I live in the world—the closer I rise to heaven! If I make progress in my spiritual pilgrimage, the world and all its vanities—which is the wilderness I am traveling away from—will become less and less to me. I will daily see more of the tops of the heavenly mountains, of the towers of the New Jerusalem, toward which I am traveling. A state of grace is a glorious condition at all times; but a growth in grace is a sweet proof and heavenly consequence of being in a state of grace. My affections should be more and more loosed from the creature, while the pins of my earthly tabernacle are loosening every day. I should at all times have my heart in heaven—and especially when walking with one foot in the grave! Now, though the time of my death seems far distant; yet thousands at my age have died—who had as many pretensions to longevity as I. My walking with God will not shorten my life—but brighten it, and make my sun set with all the sweetness of a cloudless evening. Enoch walked with God for three hundred years. In this manner, he began heaven upon earth—so that he grew immortal, and ascended deathless to the very throne of God. O how pleasant is it to feed on the fruits of Paradise, while entering into the land of promise; and as it were, to be a citizen of heaven, before I go to dwell forever there. A young man, and a holy life; one in his prime, and all his graces flourishing—is lovely to behold. But a grey head, and a carnal worldly heart, is a wounding sight! Henceforth, be gone bewitching vanities, and all the enchantments of the world! the last years of my life are not to be trifled away with you! Death attends me! The grave awaits me! Eternity is at hand! Therefore, may my purified affections, river-like, enlarge as they approach the ocean; and on the wings of faith and love, may I often fly to the hills of spices, where your glories shed their beams. May I walk in the liberty of spiritual meditation in the land of bliss, that so death, when it comes, may have no more to do than lay my slumbering ashes in the silent grave—and loose my soul to be a free inhabitant in her blessed abode. Meditation CXIX. THE EXPECTED CHANGE. Jan. 10, 1762, Lisbon River. Whatever horrors may beset the carnally-minded, when they think of their death; yet no prospect affords me such pleasure as that of my death and final change! I have exceeding great cause to rejoice, when I compare what I now am and suffer—with what I shall then enjoy and be! Now my joys are future, and in expectation—for I walk by faith, and live on hope. But then they shall be present, and in possession—for I shall dwell in light, and feed on fruition! Now I am daily struggling with death and sin—but then I shall eternally triumph over both! Now I toil along a tiresome road—but then I shall walk above these skies in the very heavens! Now my eyes rove from vanity to vanity—but then they shall see, yes, fix on the King in his glory, on the King of kings in his divinest glory! Now I dwell among fire-brands, and surrounding sinners daily give me pain—but then I shall dwell among the multitudes of the redeemed, see angels and archangels increase the throng, cherubim and seraphim join the song, and not one sinner among all the heavenly multitudes! Now I often bewail myself as a frail inhabitant of feeble clay—but then I shall find myself possessed of all the vigor of immortality—of all the briskness of eternal life! Now I am often puzzled about the providences of my lot—but then I shall approve, and see a divine beauty shining through the whole conduct of providence, in the light of glory. Now, in the noblest subjects my ignorance often leaves me greatly in the dark—but then shall I know, and that even as I am known. Now I have foes without, and foes within, the sin of my nature, and the idols of my heart, enemies from earth and hell to grapple with—but then, triumphing over every foe, I shall sing the conquest of the Captain of my salvation, the victories of the divine Conqueror, and never cease from this matchless, this unexhaustable theme! Now sometimes, I am debarred from the precious ordinances and sacred courts of God—but then shall I be a pillar in the temple of God, and go no more out—and always worship at his throne! Now the cruel hand of death comes among my friends and family, and leaves me like a sparrow on the house-top alone, or mourning in the wilderness—but then not one of all the numerous inhabitants shall so much as say, "I am sick," because they are an assembly of sinless ones. Now my Sun often conceals himself, so that I go mourning without him; but then in the light of his countenance, in the brightness of his glory, shall I walk on forever! Now I am crawling along the road of life in company with fellow-worms, who dwell in cottages of clay, and are crushed before the moth—but then, dignified with his divine likeness, I shall dwell with the Ancient of days, and enjoy the dearest and most intimate communion with Jehovah and the Lamb forever! Now my time is wasting away, and I may be very near my latter end—but then an endless eternity shall be mine, and my bliss be as durable as it is desirable; and as permanent as it is pleasant. O! then, who would not prepare and wait for a change that is so pregnant with glory and bliss? Meditation CXX. ARGUMENTS FOR FAITH IN GOD. Jan. 22, 1762. Under sail for England. The noblest way to glorify God, is to be strong in the faith, like Abraham, the friend of God. And as this confers most honor on the divine Promiser, so it conveys the greatest quietness to the soul. But, as I am more fearful than many of the faithful, and cannot attain to that confidence in God that the most part of believers have, let me strengthen my faith by the scriptures of truth, which can never be broken. First, then, these sacred records hold out a chain of the nearest and clearest relations between God and the happy soul which has a saving interest in him. He is a Judge, the Judge of all the earth; and can I dread wrong judgments at his hand? He is the orphan’s stay, the strength of the poor, and the stranger’s shield; what then may not the orphan, the poor, and the stranger expect from him? Again, he is a Father; and what may not I expect from such a Father, who, in the tenderest manner has said again and again, "Son, all that I have is yours"—a Father, who has heaven and earth at his disposal, and the hearts of all men in his hand—a Father, whose divine affection infinitely exceeds that of the best human father to his most engaging son, or of the most loving mother to her most amiable babe—a Father, whose wisdom knows infinitely well both what and when to give; whose eyes and ears are continually open to their calamities and complaints; whose love and grace waits to bestow; whose promise is no dead word—but reliable and pregnant with good—a Father, who has given the most amazing instance of love, in that he kept not back his Son—but delivered him up for us all; and if he gives me his salvation—he gives me the graces of his Spirit, promises me his heaven and his glory, in a word, gives me himself. What then, will he withhold, what will he deny? Surely, I have hitherto had too low thoughts of the goodness of God. Yet I may assure myself with as much certainty as the sun is in the heavens, that all the promises of God shall have their full, their perfect, their complete accomplishment toward me, and at the time that is most proper in the eye of Infinite Wisdom. Henceforth no doubt shall disturb my bosom; I will patiently wait on the Lord, who not only promises great things—but performs whatever he promises; knowing assuredly that though now I too much imitate murmuring Israel in the wilderness, yet, like them, when I arrive at the land of promise, the Canaan above, I shall profess before the whole assembly of bliss, that there has not failed any good thing whereof the Lord had spoken, or given promise—all has come to pass. Meditation CXXI. THE TRAVELER AT HOME. September 7, 1776. These many years have I dwelt in my native country, and in my own house. Through the perils of war, the dangers of the sea, extremity of cold in one part, and scorching heat in another, have my life and health been preserved, to my own surprise; while numbers saw their native land no more. But, as a traveler, what have I seen? Just sin and vanity in every land, grief and pain in every bosom, the fruits of the fall, and the havoc of the curse in all nations. I dwell in my own house, and bless the bounty of Providence, which, from floating on a restless ocean, has given me a settled habitation. But I look forward, and see that I have a long, a difficult, a solemn journey before me—not from one kingdom to another—but from one world to another. Hence (not forgetful of all his mercies that accompanied me in all my wanderings) to lay up my treasure in the better country, to prepare for my approaching eternal change, to improve for my future society, and to ripen for heaven and glory—shall employ the remainder of my life, that I may finish my course with joy. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 169: S. CONVERSE WITH THE UNSEEN WORLD ======================================================================== CONVERSE WITH THE UNSEEN WORLD By James Meikle, 1730-1799 1. FUTURE GLORY. When, some years ago, I left my native country for another land, my thoughts went before me; and when I foresaw, that, in the course of providence, I would cross the glowing equator, still my thoughts got the start of me, and were, as it were, acquainted with the place before my arrival there. Since, then, I am on my journey towards eternity, and the world unseen—why is not my meditation there? Shall the howling desert, through which I hasten, engross all my attention—when paradise is before me? Tell me, you inhabitants of bliss, how you employ yourselves—you who have bid everlasting farewell to all created things? "Oh! man, your question moves our pity, and proves that you dwell in thick darkness. Could you thrust your head through these heavens, and get one glance of the glory we dwell in, of the divine person we adore, you would never ask the question again—but ardently long to come up here, and account the conquest of an earthly kingdom, like the childish acquisition of a feather or a fly; you would turn the world out of your mind, and trample on its noblest things with a disdain befitting an expectant of glory." My divine Redeemer, I see, then, that in your presence there is fullness of joy, and that at your right hand are pleasures evermore. Too long the things of time have gained on my esteem; too long have I been enamored with creature-charms, and mistaken the chief good; henceforth I will meditate on that world, where in a little while I shall dwell forever. The more I meditate on divine things, the more I love them, and find the greater delight in my meditations; but the less my thoughts are on them, alas! the less do I esteem them. Ah! hitherto how have I refused and fled the purest felicity, and followed after vanity and pain! 2. LACK OF LOVE TO GOD. Bleed, my heart! and be pained, my inmost soul! at the irreverence that too often troubles me in my devotion, and defiles my best duties. O you sons of light! I see you stand at the eternal throne, and worship the Almighty, with profoundest awe and reverence. Yes, you angelic throng! though your countenance sparkles with glory, yet, before the Ancient of Days, you hide your faces with your wings, drop your greatness in his effulgent Majesty, and lose your beauty in his diviner beams. There the mighty Gabriel is a celestial worm; and all the seraphic principalities are but insects round the throne! What, then, must I be before the High and Lofty One who alone inhabits eternity? I who dwell in clay, am crushed before the moth, clouded with ignorance, defiled by sin, dogged by death, pleased with phantoms and charmed with painted nothings! The language I write in, cannot afford words to describe my vileness; metaphors fall short, and fruitful fancy toils in vain. Then let me think, and fall down in deep debasement. O tremendous gulf! where am I now! You fallen angels! you infernal throng! you I resemble in my irreverence towards God. Oh, horrid! shall I be like these wicked specters, these ancient sons of sin and death? Out of the belly of hell will I cry unto you: yet you have my heart, you have my love, and I will worship at your throne prostrate on the humble ground. O you happy assembly on the heavenly mount, the mount of God! could I think like you, could I know like you, could my whole soul be enrapt in adoration and divine attention to the sweet employ, what delight would diffuse through all my powers of mind in my happiest moments! What cause have I to fear lest your burning thunderbolts break on my irreverent head, and dash the daring wretch out of your gracious presence into perdition and woe? Be exalted in your condescension to my state, in your pity to my frame, and let your patience and forbearance swell my grateful anthem, while I long for that perfect state, wherein, though blessed with the nearest approaches, I shall always be filled with the profoundest respect, divinest awe, and not one improper thought of God shall pass my bosom. 3. WE GROPE IN THE DARK WHILE HERE BELOW. You heirs of endless rest and joy! You no longer experience the anxious thought, the troubled bosom; your cares are past, and your concerns have come to an happy end. Yet this day I wait the doubtful outcome of some grand affairs which very much concern my passing life. Not a cloud is in your sky, not a doubt is in your mind—while I dwell in the stormy twilight, and fear a tempestuous night. O you shining ones! is it possible, that ever, like me, you dwelt in this valley of Achor? Were your composed countenances ever disfigured with sorrow—or did the briny tear ever trickle from your sparkling eyes? "Yes, mistaken man! we all—everyone of us, came out of great tribulation! There is not an inhabitant of the Canaan above—but traveled through the wilderness below. We lost our sorrows when we left our mortal frame, and at once found immortality and joy; and now our happiness is as vast as thought, unbounded as our wish, and stable as the hills of bliss!" Well, well, you sons of joy! I reckon my happiness as well as you. If your felicity be secured in the possession, mine is secured in the promise. He who delivers out of Egypt, also brings safely over Jordan, Once, like me, you wept, you mourned, you stood bewildered, and knew not what to do. So, in a little while, I, like you, shall shout and sing, and share eternal peace, and the conduct of my glorious Guide. Comforted with these prospects, I will encounter all the changes of a transient state, and fix my eye on the felicity to come. By faith I will drink at the river which flows from the throne of God; and thus, become immortal in my highest hopes, and most endearing prospects, I will bid defiance to all the darts of woe that can strike me in time. What can changes do to me, since my last, and most terrible change shall fix my felicity, and render my best state unchangeable? 4. ALL THINGS WORK FOR GOOD TO THE SAINTS. May I endure as seeing him who is invisible, and having my eye much on the world to come! Time now passes, and passing time has perplexing scenes. But, O you citizens of the New Jerusalem, your mountain stands fast, and shall never be moved, and your beloved is in your arms; and an everlasting hallelujah dwells upon your tongue! Here I dwell in the dark, and am much in doubt, nor know what conclusion to draw from the conduct of Providence concerning my present state. I am confounded and pray, and often am at a loss to know my duty. Is there none in your great assembly who wish that some of your crosses had not taken place in time? and that the divine conduct had been otherwise? "No, complaining mortal! No! Be it known to you, and all the mourning throng, that we adore and acquiesce in all that ever befell us below. Yes, the very providences which troubled us most, and made us almost doubt the love of God, and disbelieve his promises; now, when unfolded in the light of glory, fill our hearts with joy, and our mouths with songs, while we adore the infinite love and amazing wisdom of our God, who made all things work together for our eternal good!" What! Is there not one in all your numerous assembly that has had dark and bewildering providences in his lot? "What, then, presumptuous inquirer? It comforts us, that God, our own God, has sent the dark and bewildering providences. And though we should never be able to find out the cause, or be indulged with the mystery unfolded, we are all well pleased to have the strongest impressions of Jehovah’s absolute sovereignty—who gives no account of any of his matters to men or angels—thus preserved on our enlarged souls, to all eternity." Shall I not, then, from this time, O Lord, claim you as my Father, and the guide of my life? Thousands, and ten thousands, by your divine conduct, have safely arrived at bliss, and not a complaint on their tongue, not a murmur in their mind—for one step in all the rugged way. 5. A SOUL CONVERTED, JOY AMONG THE ANGELS. "One of our blessed number is just now arrived from ministering to the saints on earth, and brings the joyful tidings, that a sinner is converted, an heir of glory born, and therefore joy sparkles in every angelic countenance, and triumphs in our rapturous hallelujahs. Let this day be marked in the records of heaven, in the annals of eternity!" What is the meaning of this great shout in the camp of heaven? Hail, happy day, when the conversion of my friend, whom I have daily prayers—shall cause joy among the angels of God! Yes, when the Savior shall see of the travail of his soul, and be satisfied! Methinks I see the rosy dawn of divine power, when the soul who once resisted Jesus flies into his arms. Then the peace of God, and peace of conscience, are prized above all the things of time. Jesus! Your name is salvation, your word enlivening, your merits infinite, and all your affections love! Again the heavenly arches ring, "Another captive is rescued from hell, another sinner is converted from the error of his way!" Let all the ransomed throng exalt the riches of free and sovereign grace, while all my powers are swallowed up of astonishment and love! 6. EARTH NOT OUR HOME. Why am I so fond of this land wherein I am a stranger, of the place of my exile? The decease of all my ancestors proves this; not one of them is this day alive, and I shall shortly follow them. O to get this world under my feet, that it may not be a dead weight on me in my journey! This is the land of idols, and every image dares compete with eternal realities for my affections. Time is as often in my thoughts as eternity. Earth engrosses as much of my concern as heaven. The expectant of glory will not own his home beneath the sun; for it is but a wilderness where sin and Satan reign; where God is seldom seen; and where the Christian is often weeping. But, O blessed inhabitants! who dwell where the Lord God and the Lamb are the temple, the Lord God and the Lamb are the light, and the joy of the whole land. You not only dwell in heaven, but heaven dwells in you—while earth and hell struggle hard for room in my heart, and, alas too, too often prevail. Compassionate Redeemer! when shall your traveler arrive at these realms of day, join the sinless throng that worship at your throne, and never, never, sin? 7. WE SHOULD LIVE ABOVE THE WORLD. O divine Lover! O divine love! how wonderful are your works! In eternity past, there was not one adorer to be found before the throne; but now how are the courts of the great King thronged! and thousands and ten thousands continually worship at your throne! And by and by not only the angels of light, but all the heirs of love—shall all sit down in the kingdom of their Father. Then shall I get full views of you—O darling of heaven, desire of nations, light of the world above! Men and angels were created to be happy in you, and got their beings that you might be glorified, and they might be blessed. But all men fell into sin—that some might be redeemed. O wisdom finite! O Sovereign love! Then, not only being and bliss have I from you in creation—but in the wonderful work of redemption. And yet I am a stranger to my divine Redeemer! O when shall I come and stand before your throne? As fast as the chariot of time can drive, I am posting to the unseen world—but how shall I be ashamed that I had not more acquaintance with you! To sit at your feet, will be my joy through eternity; and to talk of your love, will heighten my joy! Should not your love be now my daily theme—which shall be the praise of the marriage-supper of the Lamb through eternity? Do I believe that this world and I must part? Then, may my heart and mind be set on eternal realities, and not on the the world’s lying vanities! 8. JOY AWAITS THE SAINTS. "He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." Zephaniah 3:17 Can I complain of my present troubles, since in a short time—like those who walk in white robes, with crowns on their heads, and palms in their hands—I shall be in an ecstacy of joy forever? When I am brought from the house of mourning, to make my solemn entrance into the King’s palace, it will be with gladness and rejoicing. All my powers of mind will be entranced at my admission into your beatific presence! All the heavenly graces will sing in concert at receiving the crown of perfection! All the angels of light will welcome me with joy to their great Master’s house! and the whole church of the first-born will shout my happy accession to the purchased throne! Yet, for all this, my welcome would be but dry, and their song but dull—did not you, O Jehovah! rejoice over me! Did you not rest in your love, and rejoice over me with singing! How can the heaven be silent, if Jehovah sings? All your attributes, all your perfections shall harmonize in my salvation. Mercy and truth, righteousness and peace—shall meet and kiss, and shout and sing! O what astonishing transports and entrancing melody shall fill the highest heavens! where, O amazing! where the subject of our songs, and object of our love—shall himself be the sweetest singer—because he does everything according to the grandeur of a God! 9. THE JOY OF SAINTS UNSEEN. How do the men of the world mistake piety, and think the Christian dull, melancholy and morose! But, O Fountain of my joy! you know what divine delight I find in my retired moments. I only lament that I am not more alone, or, when alone, that I am not more with you. The request of the spouse shall be mine—Come, my beloved, let me get up early from an enchanting world, let me go forth from the vanities of time, let me lodge in the humble village of solitude, let me walk in the flowing field the promise, and there will I give you my love. In these sweet moments heaven smiles in my face, and my soul exults in God. I grasp at my expected bliss, and taste the joys on high. 10. HEAVEN THE BEST INHERITANCE. "Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, and we can’t even imagine what we will be like when Christ returns. But we do know that when he comes we will be like him, for we will see him as he really is." 1 John 3:2 (NLT) A divided sea, and a flaming Sinai, falling manna, and a friendly cloud—were wonders of old. But O what a wonder is this—that the God of glory should come down to give wings to worms of the earth to bear them to the skies! Amazing! to see insects soar above the stars, and arrive at the realms of glory! When, O when shall I also join the shining multitude that sits on Zion’s hill? But there is not one crawling insect in all the heavenly country. So, though I be a worm below, while I rise to the throne, I shall be changed into a pure being, in the assimilating beam. Truly, O King eternal! my faith sees that the land of promise is a pleasant land, and that your presence makes heaven a desirable habitation. Let worldlings contend about earthly dust. I will not be satisfied with anything but your presence. What is a province, what is kingdom, what is an empire, what a continent, what is the whole world—compared to an inheritance in the highest heaven! To your honor, O you King of kings! all your glorified subjects are both altogether and always kings. In your favor they are exalted, and none shall ever drive them from their state. A home in the wilderness was not desired by the tribes who were traveling to the land of promise. Nor shall I much esteem a plot of this enchanting world, who desire to be only charmed with my heavenly possession. O pleasant country! O land of delight! where the winter is past, and eternal summer dwells! Sin dares not pass the frontiers of Immanuel’s land; sorrow and sickness dare not invade the seats of bliss. Shall I hereafter inhabit the land where sin shall no more infest it? I who have been plagued with it all my life! Shall, then, this earth, which is marked for destruction—engage my attention, or gain my esteem—when my eternal home is so very near? I have but a little way to go until I pass over Jordan, and enter into my eternal possession of Jehovah and the Lamb, where I shall enjoy all his glorious fullness, ages without end! 11. ENEMIES OVERTHROWN. Though Israel was safe, while recoiling seas opened a passage for the ransomed tribes; and the angel and the cloud interposed between the heirs of promise and the hardened pursuers; yet when their enemies are no more—but their lifeless bodies, which caused their terror in Egypt, are lying on the shore—how do they sing and boast in their divine Deliverer! Even so, though under your conduct, O Captain of salvation! I am safe in spite of earth and hell at my heels, in spite of sin and corruption rising in my heart! Yet how desirable is it to enter into the land of rest! how pleasant to join the triumphant throng, who have put off their armor—and put on their crowns; who have dropped the spear—and taken up the palm! In a word, how sweet, how ineffably sweet, to cease from sin! You know I desire to depend on promised grace, and in the strength thereof to cut my way through all my enemies. But I also desire to pant for promised glory, when not an enemy shall be found in all the heavenly world. Hail happy day, when sin—which choked my graces, and slew my comforts—shall be cast into the lake of fire! To believe in you is my duty while below—but to behold you will be my bliss above! Faith and hope refresh and support me in earthly state—but vision and fruition shall transport and ravish me forever! Indeed my defense is the same—but the sense of my security differs. Though grace shall rise into glory, yet often my faith is shaken, and a heavy tumult ensues in my soul. But when crowned with glory, and seated before your throne, I shall sin no more, I shall fear no more—but enjoy divine ecstasies, sacred tranquility, and all the pleasures of the land of love! 12. THE EXERCISE OF THE BLESSED. O you heavenly multitudes—how are you this night employed? "In beholding him, and praising him, in seeing him, and singing to him. We look on him, and love him; we look to him and are enlightened; we see him, and are like him. No fatigue deadens our devotions, no weakness inclines us to repose! We are immortal, and our theme is eternal—so we cannot be wearied, and it cannot be exhausted!" What high and beautiful themes are in your songs, then, O you redeemed from among men! O the ravishing paeans of the hosannahs above, and the raptures of the hallelujah on high! O the sweetness of the song of Moses and the Lamb, and the melody of the mingling notes of men and angels! O the sublime subject of the anthem, and the eternity of the concert! "True, O man! for our day knows no night, our song no pause, our vision no veil, our sun no cloud, our light no shadow, our strength no decay, our felicity no period, our love no allay, and our eternity no end!" O exalted ones! Do you not pity us, the sons of men—to find us so anxious and eager in the pursuit of lying vanities—as if the things of time could please us? You are honoring Christ to the highest, for he is in your soul, and in your song—in your love, and in your eye. O blessed exercise! O excellency of bliss! The Most High God, in the highest heaven, in the brightest display of his glory, in the sweetest manifestations of his love—is the subject of your song—the object of your adorations—and the plenitude of your possession! My rest would be your uneasiness; for I must sleep in order to bear the toils of a perishing world—but you rest not day nor night, and yet are sufficient for the ecstasies of an eternal heaven! These are the years of the right hand of the Most High God; the days of the exalted Son of man—of which I long to see. O the strength that flows from that exceeding and eternal weight of glory! the more weight, the more might! Amazing thought! I shall shortly join in that song, possess that glory, plunge into that bliss, be satisfied with that likeness, see that well-beloved of my soul, burn in that love, share of that fullness, and enter into that joy! Therefore, in my present low condition, it shall be consolation to me to meditate on the sublime employment of the higher house, until I am transported there! 13. COMPLAINTS OF SPIRITUAL LANGUOR. O Lord, these many years I have pretended to love you. I have indeed tasted that you are gracious; but, alas! how can I say that I love you, when my heart is not fixed on you? Can I love you, and not long for you? Surely it is the nature of love to be impatient and restless until possessed of the object beloved; yet how little do I long for you! How can I dwell with so much contentment at such a distance from you! I am not only astonished—but terrified at myself. O lukewarm heart! O lifeless lover that I am! is this my kindness to my friend? Did I rightly esteem the smiles of your face, and the light of your countenance, I could not dwell with so much pleasure in this land of darkness. Did I regard the honor of your name as I ought, the daily sight of your enemies would be my daily grief; and to find myself so often acting the enemy against my dearest Lord, and best friend, would be my continual lamentation and burden. Is it possible I can be an heir of God, an expectant of glory—and not pant after communion with God? Ah! in what delusive dreams have I hitherto been held! Is the whole creation able to balance the loss of one moment in heaven? Shall I dwell so long at Jerusalem, and not long to enter into the palace to see the King’s face! O chief among ten thousand! strike off my fetters, and captivate my love! Divide your heavens, and let my eye of faith look in—and my soul will follow my eye. Why should I, when invited to a crown of heavenly glory—resort to worldly vanities? What a struggle have I with stubborn self, present things, a carnal mind, a weak faith, cold desires, and languid love! O to be enriched with that faith which is the substance of all that a believer can hope for, the evidence and pledge of all the divine excellencies of the unseen world! Then, my faith shall work by love, and my love shall go out on God, and I shall truly long to be forever with the Lord! 14. PREPARATION FOR HEAVEN. Were I to go abroad, with all my substance, and spend the remainder of my days in another land—would not some things gain my attention? 1. I would study the language of the country, that I might converse with the inhabitants in their own dialect. 2. I would get all the knowledge I could of the laws, liberties etc. of those among whom I were to take up my fixed abode. 3. I would use my utmost endeavor to contract acquaintances, and establish a friendship with the men of the place. 4. If possible, would get recommended to the favor and protection of the ruler of the land. Alas, then! am I less provident for heaven than I would be for earth? You inhabitants of the heavenly Canaan, how will you stare at me, if I enter your assembly an utter stranger to your songs? My trifling discourse, and carnal converse, will sound and smell of hell, in the courts of heaven! Oh! am I to converse through eternity in the language of love, and yet not know a letter below? Am I to be under the laws of your scepter, O King of saints! and not know that God is love! O! now to be searching into the privileges of that land which I am to inhabit, not for the short time—but for eternity itself; where I shall see the King in his beauty, and share of the divine fullness of my exalted Head. Would I be acquainted with the glorified church, and all the angels of light (and, you happy ones, I hope to join you soon)—then only in our employment we contract acquaintance, for while we worship at the same throne, and behold the same amiable Being, faith and vision having like effects, we are companions in love, and associates in work! and are assimilated to the glorious object we behold! Since in the smiles of your countenance I shall find my eternal heaven, how should I esteem your favor above life, and ardently breathe after communion with you below! I may dwell in any country here, and neither know nor be known by the king; but this cannot be in your land, O Immanuel! for unless I know and am known personally to the King, I can never enter into that glorious place! 15. THE ETERNAL SABBATH. How is it that I, who pretend to love you—should ever be wearied with a Sabbath-day’s devotion? If the body is fatigued, or the spirits exhausted, how shall I stand under much intenser ardors, through eternity itself? What do you say—you adorers round the throne? do you never long to rest from your divine employment? "O poor mortal! how ignorant are you of our frame, our faculties, our felicity and strength! The rest you speak of would be our torment; an intermission of praise would pierce us with the severest pangs of anguish. Did you see him as we do, you would wholly melt in admiration, dissolve in love, and pour forth in praise—and never cease, and never tire through eternity itself." O Father of lights! pity my darkness, and enlighten me! O fountain of life! pity my deadness, and enliven me! Though the saints in glory never are fatigued or dulled in their divine exercises; have not I had some happy moments, of which I did not weary? Now, when in my best frames, I have found it so for a while. But corruption and infirmity daily distressing me altered all, else I would have found it so for a long time. But in heaven the spiritual frame is fixed, and infirmity and corruption are no more; therefore, with equal ease and vigor I will worship God through eternity, as I would one hour on earth. Well may the fire of love continually burn in heaven, having fresh fuel added to it by the hand of God; well may my soul follow hard after you, being upheld by the arm of your Omnipotence. Then to worship at your throne shall be both the business and the bliss of my eternity! When once I have tasted what it is to rest in the bosom of God—to drink the spiced wine of bliss—to hold communion in the holy of holies—and to worship at the highest throne; then all created beings joined together will not drive me one moment from my dear enjoyment and divine employment! Come, O longed-for day, when I shall mourn no more over my feeble nature, and my perishing body; or my imperfect love; but rise to ardors only known above, and, full of heaven—live wholly for God! 16. INDIFFERENCE TO THE WORLD. My soul has but a dusky color, an earthly hue—because earth engrosses my thoughts, my cares and concerns. O how little converse have I with the unseen world! how little communion with God! One step into the future world will render my present existence, as if it had never been. Because this world will cheat me, shall I cheat myself? It will be a costly bargain, to give it my soul until I yield my body to its dust. Wherein shall the expectant of glory excel others—if his causes and cures of joy and grief are the same? Should one who would gladly be conversant about the world to come—so much concern himself with wind and vanity, dust and ashes? Bags of ’yellow dust’ may bring me to a throne here—but the whole world on my back, will not procure me entrance into the palace of the King Eternal. When arrived at the seats of bliss, it will not matter whether my journey was in the fair day of prosperity and fame; or in the tempestuous day of affliction and disgrace. Both are forgotten in glory. But if I love God, I will long to be with him, for I shall never get my fill of love in a foreign land. Well, death is fast approaching, and the wondrous hour that divides Jordan. Both deliver me from this howling desert—and possess me of the land of promise. Under such a prospect, well may I with cheerfulness give up my life, saying—into your hand I commit my spirit. 17. THE DISEMBODIED SAINT. Where, dear angels—where do you carry my soul—which just left its dying body? "Commissioned from your Father’s throne, we come to carry you safe into his immediate presence." What dismal howling is that I hear behind us? "It is the last yells of hell’s old lion, at your safe escape." Ah! where am I now? What wonders rise around me! what fragrance meets me from the mountains of myrrh, from the hills of frankincense! I hear the voice of my Beloved! Sacred guardians—let me leave you, and fly into his arms! Am I the one who lately lay tumbling and tossing on a deathbed—who now walks in beds of roses, and on banks of bliss? Am I the one who a little while ago, had weeping friends around his bed—who now am surrounded with angelic song, entranced with heavenly harmony, and ravished with delights? Am I the one who lately lay struggling with the pangs, and trembling at the approach of death—who now am above the reach of fear, and stroke of death? But, O Majesty of heaven! I blush at my very entrance into your courts, that I have been such a stranger here. What precious time have I wasted on toys and trifles, and despised the joy of angels and the work of heaven! Where are all the things of time now, which could once challenge God, for the possession of my heart? Why did not your glorious being feast my meditations? Why did not your love attract, constrain mine? Why did not the joys of heaven drown the fleeting joys, and dissipate the imaginary sorrows of the world? Why did I prostitute the temple of my soul to the idols of time? Why did I permit the world and self a place in that temple which the Godhead is to inhabit forever? There are none before the throne but supreme lovers of God, a name I dare not claim; then, let me retire to the outmost confines of the land of bliss, as unworthy to be nearer. Ah! no! At your throne I will dwell forever, and glow in ardors, and dissolve in love. And the sacred spark, which sin and Satan, the world and self, smothered while below—shall burn a flame intense and strong through everlasting day! 18. A CHECK FOR NOT MEDITATING ON DIVINE THINGS. Does my faith expect a kingdom—a heavenly kingdom, and a crown of glory which fades not away? And can I live days and weeks, months and years, without a real ardent desire to be put in possession of the promised land? I wonder not so much that the wicked think nothing of heaven (for who admire unknown lands?) as that the saints think so little of it, though now and then allowed to pluck the fruits of paradise! Were the day fixed, on which I should make my appearance at an earthly court, to be crowned a prince—how often would my thoughts revolve the encouraging day, and feast on the imaginary, the transitory grandeur! And in the mean time, were it notified to me, that my sovereign expected that I should often meditate on the majesty of his throne, on the equity of his scepter, on the immutability of his laws, on the wisdom of his government, on the riches of his treasures, on the sweetness of his favor, on the munificence of his love, on all his admirable perfections—I would not need a second invitation to these meditations. Now, when all these supposed excellencies in an earthly monarch are realized in the King Eternal; and I am not only permitted—but invited and commanded to meditate on him, assured that the day is on wing when I shall be brought into the palace of the King, crowned with immortality, and serve him in his temple evermore; what a shame, what a sin, yes, what a loss is it—that my whole soul, in all her thoughts, meditations, desires, delights, longings, and outgoings—is not on God, and the things of God! 19. APPROBATION OF TRYING PROVIDENCES. O governor of men and angels! how necessary is it for me to be conformed to the Captain of my salvation—who was made perfect through sufferings! Who ever expected to find bright noon—in the dark night; or serene summer—in the middle of stormy winter; or pleasing arbors and flower gardens—in a barren desert? Why then am I surprised that I stumble while traveling in the night? Or that it rains and is sometimes very tempestuous in the winter season? Or that I find barrenness in the desert, and lose sight of my fellow-travelers in the dark? I will note my afflictions—but I dare not quarrel. I will plead for compassion—but I will not complain. Death has so often visited my family, that I only am escaped alone to tell, that I have neither father nor mother, sister nor brother, nephew nor niece, nor any nearer relative. Yet, when the Son of righteousness shall arise on me, I shall share an eternal day above the reach of night, a serene summer where winter shall return no more; and a blooming paradise, and arbors of bliss, where there is no barren desert. Also, while I leave all my infirmities, and all my afflictions in the valley of misery behind me, I shall find treasures of glory, rivers of pleasure, in your presence, fullness of joy at your right hand forever! Moreover, I shall find my pious friends in the better country, whose death I now bewail. And truly I believe, I shall lose and overlook them, and all the heavenly crowd—while entertained and admitted to more divine communion with Jehovah and the Lamb. 20. FAITH’S TRIUMPH OVER AFFLICTION. In a little while, I shall be where I never was before. And where I now am, I shall never be again. Along with every immortal, I shall be in eternity, and bid a final farewell to time. I shall just be in that heavenly place where my happy meditations now are. In your presence, O Savior! at your throne, O King of kings! shall I find my heaven. Surely, then, it can never become an expectant of so much bliss, to be sad for anything but sin, or to find lasting joy in anything but in God. When I am no more numbered with the living—but lamented over as a broken vessel, I shall mingle with the multitudes of the living God, with the armies of light, and exult in my celestial privilege forever. Like the rest of Adam’s discontented family, I am often grumbling at my griefs, complaining of my afflictions, and on the brink of quarreling at the conduct of Providence itself! To be without afflictions is impossible here below, where man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Not to feel when afflicted, is a stoical, impious stupidity. But to sink under troubles of any kind, is beneath the character of the Christian. Yet, when I reflect on that eternity of bliss which is before me, on that world of glory of which I am an heir, I wonder that my afflictions are not rather more. Is it much for me to stumble among the ’rough stones of adversity’—to have my flesh pricked with the ’thorns of trouble’—who shall so soon walk the golden streets of heaven, and wear a crown of immortal glory? Though the whole earth should rise up against me—if heaven, and the God of heaven is for me—I am in perfect safety in the midst of all the storms and tempests, whirlwinds and hurricanes, which can blow! 21. A SWEET PROSPECT OF FUTURE BLISS. How soon I shall mingle with the inhabitants of the invisible world, I cannot say; but I may assure myself it cannot be long. Why then do I converse so seldom with the unseen world? Why do I daily strike my roots deeper into this world, like an old tree; when, like an old tree, I must soon be cut down? By kind providences, and gracious promises, I am encouraged to be heavenly-minded. And by afflictions I am chastened for my carnality. But could my faith get one sip of the heavenly banquet, I would long to sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb. What a rich feast is found in the kingdom of God, which entertains thousands and ten thousands of happy souls through eternity—and shall my immortal soul feed on the refuse of created vanities! I tread under foot ’earthly shadows’ and rise in my ambition to the bliss of heaven, to the fruition of God. O what beams of glory shine on me! What treasures open in my view—the all-sufficient God enjoyed through everlasting day—by all the powers of my expanding, wondering, ravished, and enlarged mind! 22. THE RAVISHING EMPLOYMENT OF SAINTS IN GLORY. It is owing to the richness of God’s grace, and the immutability of his love, that I do not forfeit my title to the heavenly inheritance—by taking so little delight in divine things, and being so captivated with the perishing creature! O fool that am! to be busied about dust and ashes, and to delight in painted nothings; for the whole creation shall at last be set on fire. Then, when admitted into your unclouded and beatific presence—what a strange change shall take place in my pursuits? I shall feel a frame of mind superior to the claim of my faith; and my soul shall be filled with raptures never felt—never known below. My soul shall largely open to the sacred emanations of the Deity, and exert all her ravished powers in searching the divine perfections, and through eternity pursue the blissful theme. Then, and not until then, shall I know what it is to see God, to have perfect communion and fellowship with Jesus, and to enjoy him in all his inexhaustible fullness. There shall not be an unemployed moment, nor an idle thought there. Crowns and kingdoms shall not excite one wish there (why then should lesser things excite so many wishes now, since, I am to be so soon there?) but God’s infinite, lovely self shall be my all in all through eternity! 23. A REPROOF FOR DECAY IN GRACE. With tears of blood might I write bitter lamentations over the deadness of my soul—the darkness of my heart! Is the beloved of my soul in heaven, and shall the love of my soul grovel on the earth? Has he who is fairer than the angels of God—lost all his beauty with me? Has he no form nor loveliness that I should desire him, meditate on him, and long for him? O the mad career of my foolish mind—to hunt after shadows, vanity, wind—and let heaven and glory go! O happy day of glory that is on the wing—when sin shall poison my pursuits no more; but all my soul, with the ardor of heavenly love, and the vigor of perfected grace, shall search the adorable perfections of God! 24. THE NOBLE INDIFFERENCE. The brevity of time, and the near approach of eternity—give to the rightly-exercised soul a noble indifference about everything below. What does it matter whether I dwell in a palace or a prison—since it is but for a day, an hour, a moment! What disappointment should grieve me in time, if I shall possess God for eternity? I look around me, and see multitudes eager on the chase, keen in the pursuit of created vanities, forgetful that the world is passing away. I look forward to the invisible world, and see multitudes in their eternal state, astonished at the stupidity of men—that the ’trifles of time’ should preponderate so much with them. I also find myself in the deluded throng of triflers, and condemn my own vain conduct. A hundred years ago, the earth was filled with inhabitants, who are now in eternity. They then straggled along the road of human life with care and concern, with burdens and bitterness—but now are forever at their journey’s end. I am now traveling the thorny path, and shall also shortly arrive at my eternal home. The interim is so short, that nothing that can befall me should either give much pain or pleasure. I am on the wing to the celestial paradise, and no blasts in my face shall hinder my flight to the city of God! The brevity of time may be bitter to the sinner, because torment and eternity seize him in the same moment. But it must afford me joy, for the shorter my time, the nearer to my endless felicity. All the complicated afflictions of time must disappear when time is no more. Why, then, take deep concern, or heavy sorrow; or much joy, or lasting delight—at the ill or good of the few flying moments on our journey to eternity? My soul is immortal, and God is eternal. Therefore in God below, and in God above, in God in time, and in God in eternity—shall my soul find boundless pleasures and unfading bliss! 25. NO HAPPINESS BELOW. Never shall I attain to happiness, while I seek it in the creature, or expect it outside of heaven! O how little concern should I have with the things of time, who am so far on my journey towards eternity! When the world gets into the affections, there is nothing but tumult and disorder there; this I have long found. But when heaven dwells within, the heart becomes a little heaven, and all is peace and serenity, composure and joy. O! then, to keep the heart barred against ’enchanting trifles,’ and to live above everything below. At the hour of death, I shall make my triumphant entry into the New Jerusalem, and from the walls of the holy city I shall bid defiance to all the cares of life, the pleasures of sense, the multitudes of corruption, and the legions of hell. 26. GOD A NEVER-FAILING PORTION. With respect to this world, I sleep but a part of every day; but with respect to eternal realities, alas! how long is my sleep, how little am I awake! O it is sad to be taken up with dreams and shadows, and to neglect eternal realities! I am happy to be shaken out of my false confidences, and to hang on my heavenly Father alone; and if disappointed in my support, it will not be owing to the instability of my prop—but to my not leaning on him aright. However, I am happy with his rich grace and overflowing love, in spite of all temporal disasters. I am content, even if the whole of my life were one series of disappointments, one continued tempest and storm—since the hour of death brings me safe to the other shore, where the enjoyment of God and the Lamb shall replenish my whole soul forever! 27. GOD CLAIMS THE WHOLE HEART. O to have communion with God in all things, and at all times; and for this end I should keep for him my heart. If I am visited by a great friend, I must not ignore him by playing with trifles; lest he grow angry, and be gone. Just so, God expects my heart, claims my meditations, and is affronted when he is not in all my thoughts. O then, to get my idols destroyed, my meditations swept of vanities, and my heart wholly kept for God. 28. THE BEST EMPLOYMENT. To prepare for the world to come may well employ my time, the short while in this world. And the sweet hopes of the heavenly paradise may well support me while traveling through this earthly wilderness. And when I arrive there, it shall not diminish my bliss, that in my pilgrimage I sometimes had storms and tempests in my face; clouds and thick darkness around me; troubles and dangers in my way; strangers and enemies as my companions by the way; and that I was often walking without any company at all. When I arrive there, I shall get such a view of the wisdom which conducted me along, that I shall not only approve of it—but admire, adore, and sing of it forever! 29. THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. If we love to converse with our friends, surely I should love to converse much with the unseen world, where all my godly friends are. Several years ago, death swept off all my family into the unseen world. Thus Providence has torn my family to pieces, blasted my pleasant prospects, plucked up the olive-plant which graced my table, cut down the fruitful vine which flourished by my side; and so desolated me, that I have no near friend to consult with about the affairs of this world, or the concerns of the unseen world. Now, if there was no other state than this, no other world but the present, surely my situation would be extremely melancholy. But there is a future state, an unseen world which balances all. So, while the tear starts in my eye from affection to my friends, a triumph rises in my heart, from a knowledge of their felicity. The days of my mourning will come to an end—but their happiness and hosannahs are eternal! 30. DIVINE WISDOM IN OUR VARIOUS LOTS. The wisdom of the gardener is seen in the cultivation of his plants; some he sets in the sun, others in the shade; some in a rich, fertile soil, others in a dry and barren ground; and thus the gardener’s skill is conspicuous, for each thrives best in its own soil. Then, since Infinite Wisdom has allotted a great part of my life to sorrow and solitude (not that I complain) I realize that I could not grow well in another soil. Behind the high wall of adversity, and in the shade of affliction, the saints will bring forth fruits of humility, self-denial, resignation and patience. These graces cannot grow so well in the sun-beams of prosperity. Now, if another soil would be more agreeable to my spiritual growth, the heavenly farmer would soon transplant me there. It does not matter, though I grow in the shade—if the Sun of righteousness shines on my soul, and makes every grace to flourish. He knows better what lot is best for me, than I do myself. In choosing it for me, I should rather admire his wisdom, than complain of his conduct; the more so, when I consider that on a barren soil, and in a lonely shade, he can cultivate plants that shall bask in the eternal beams of glory! 31. THE MIND TOO LITTLE ON HEAVEN. Alas! how little do I converse with myself, how little with the unseen world, how little with God! and yet what various events in adorable Providence call for my attention! With God there is a time to give—and a time to take; a time to remove—and a time to restore; a time to afflict—and a time to comfort. All these things point me to my latter end, and admonish me to converse with the unseen world. Now, what solid consolation may this yield to me—that he who is my best friend, is Supreme Governor over all! He will shortly, through all events, bring me to the eternal enjoyment of himself! 32. THE DUTY OF THE AGED SAINT. The kind providences of my lot, command my gratitude to my Heavenly Father—my entire dependance on his arm—and peace and composure in my bosom. The heavenly promises of being brought home to glory, and satisfied forever with his likeness, may shed a little heaven through my bosom; and because I am so far advanced in life, may rather cheer than distress me. O how vain and uncertain is this world—but how sweet and sure the unseen world—towards which I look! When Hezekiah got the message of his death, he turned away his face from his courtiers, his officers of state, and his attendants, towards the wall; for none of our friends can attend us through the dark valley of death. So in view of my approaching dissolution, I should turn my face, my affections, away from all created things. I am now, like the Israelites, arrived on the very banks of Jordan, and just waiting for the command to cross over. Until that day comes, I wish by the ’eye of faith’ to take pleasant and repeated views of the unseen world. This will wean me from this present wilderness—endear heaven to me—and encourage me in view of passing over the river. Israel dwelt forty years in the desert—but when they left it, they left it for good and never pitched a tent there again, or expressed the least desire of returning there. Just so, though I should dwell seventy years in this weary world, yet when called away, O with what cheerfulness will I leave the land of my pilgrimage, the place of my exile! When gone, I shall be gone forever, and raise a triumphant song at having entered my everlasting rest; and being set forever free from sin and earth, from infirmity and death! 33. AFFLICTIONS WILL ATTEND US TO OUR LAST. At times, I may be ready to say—"Is there any trouble like my trouble with which the Lord has afflicted me?" Yet I know that I should never complain of my difficulties. However numerous or uncommon some of my afflictions may be, I thereby am conformed to the happy souls before the throne, who came out of great tribulation and fiery trials. I am to acquit Sovereignty in the kind and in the duration of my afflictions. Nothing should grieve me, but my sinfulness. Divine Love, Infinite Wisdom, and Sovereign Grace, can turn this shadow of death into the morning, and out of this roaring lion bring forth food to my soul! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (In the following short meditations, Meikle writes as though he were in heaven—and was looking back on his conduct on earth.) While I find myself in the arms of bliss, with what language shall I condemn my conduct in time! Why was I content to have dwelt on the other side of Jordan forever—to put up with a fool’s paradise for eternity! O! why did my soul not go out more after God? Why did not my love center on him alone? How could I treat my best, my heavenly friend—worse than a common traveler! My house received the one, but my heart bolted out the other! How low was my esteem of the fairest One whom ever angels saw, or seraphs sung! O that ever worldly trifles should have called my meditations off that work that would have kindled my love and heightened my joy! Why did I look always through a false medium, on everything that concerned me? Is it possible that this vast inheritance of glory could appear in my eyes, as a little despicable island which lay beyond an unknown ocean? O! have you bestowed this boundless inheritance of bliss on me—who once gave my affections so much to passing vanities! Was my love ardent to every other object but the God of love? Oh! was not my esteem for earthly trifles beyond what all their excellencies put together deserved? Why did not the fire of my love burn continually with a most vehement flame—a flame that many waters could not quench? Why did I not consider that you are consummate love, and that eternity, where I have now arrived, was a land of love, and that the song of the redeemed is just the warmest breathings of divinest love, "To him who loved us!" O what a hard, adamantine heart was mine, that in the midst of your flames of love—was not melted into love! But now the furnace is heated seven times hotter—and the cloudless emanations of eternal love make every grateful power of my mind rise to the throne of God, like savory incense from the smoking altar! ~~~~~~~~ Can I ever forget, in this exalted state, my folly when in time? How unfitting for an heir of heaven to take so much thought about the earth! Did I believe that such immense treasures were reserved for me in the land of promise—yet my unbelief distracted me about the trifles of a day! Where now is the advantage of all my corroding cares, and disquieting concerns? How unfitting for one whose strength was the joy of the Lord, to feel grief for the perishing things of time! Why did I think it so bad to be poor in the world, where my dearest Savior, whose hands created the golden mines—beautified the sparkling diamond—and enriched the precious stones with brilliant glow—lived and died in extreme indigence? Why did any sorrow that was bounded by time, and ended in death—disquiet my soul? Whatever I lost in time being of a perishing nature, could not enrich me now in heaven. It matters not what I lost while on earth—for all is reserved for fire. ~~~~~~~~~ Another error I was guilty of in the days of my pilgrimage below, was joy in the perishing things of the world. And yet all that I possessed, when I came to the hour of death, could neither avert the stroke, nor mitigate the pangs of dissolution. How like the ungodly, was I to rejoice in that which is bestowed on the basest of men, and often tends to the basest of ends! Yet was I bewitched with ’shining dust’! How lonely would my passage have been, O best Beloved, through the valley of death—with all the treasures of the world—without your presence! With triumph I walk along the golden street, and with endless joy trample the shining gold, that dared once invade my heart, and decoy my affections from divine things! Ah! was I ever so stupid, so brutish, as to make any comparison between riches and righteousness; gold and glory; earth and heaven; the creature and God? Now I would not stop my worship one moment—to possess the whole world; nor stir one foot from the throne of God—to sway the scepter over the nations. Now I am happier than the nobles, higher than the kings of any land! ~~~~~~~~~~ O King Eternal, how am I changed since I came into your presence! the emanations of your cloudless glory have made me exceeding pure; and you have bestowed upon me excellent majesty. How is this—for a vile worm, to rise into a pure spirit before your throne, and grow fairer and fairer in your assimilating beams? Sin would not know me now—though it often blackened my conscience, and saddened my countenance; for now my conscience sings, and countenance shines, having full redemption in Jesus’ blood. Who would ever think that my heart, which is now a garden of delights for my well-beloved—was once a field of daily battle? Fellow-sufferers would not know me now—but take me for an ancient inhabitant of the land of bliss, and not for one that lately sojourned in dreary Mesech, and dwelt in the dark tents of Kedar. O what a heavenly change, what a divine metamorphosis is this! in which all my powers of mind so deeply share. In the day of grace it was much to be like David the man of God; but now in the eternity of glory, I am like the angel of God! Ah! deeper wonder still! like the God of angels! Hosanna, Hallelujah! ~~~~~~~~~~ No wonder that in the world I did not think more of salvation, and the work of redemption—for I dwelt in darkness, and tabernacled in clay. But since I have entered within the veil, and come into the presence of God himself, the mystery is revealed, and my enlarged powers of mind are filled with wonder and amazement! I once thought that I was something—but since arrived into the more immediate presence of the Being of beings, I see I was absolutely nothing—a mere non-entity! Had the shining seraphim left their sparkling seats, and rapturous songs, to lead such emmets through the howling wilderness, it would have been a wonder. But for him—at whose throne the prostrate angels fall, and on whose glory Gabriel cannot look—the Father’s fellow, the God of angels, the fountain of happiness, and the king of heaven—to descend to time, to clothe himself with flesh, to humble himself to death, and to encounter all the storms of his Father’s tremendous wrath! and that for the very wretches that rebelled against him—is, and will be the wonder of eternity! ~~~~~~~~~~ Here in the highest heavens I see the extravagance of my folly, when on the footstool of earth. How did I mourn for my expiring friend, as if I had never heard of immortality; and sorrow for the dead as one who had no hope! To what purpose were my tears, my anguish and my wounded heart? Did I dispute the will of God, or envy them their bliss? Did such sadness in my countenance make my heart better? Why did not faith behold afar off this happy day, when so few moments intervened between their decease and mine? Now earthly relations are lost—but not forgotten; lost in the dearer tie and diviner unity of the heavenly family. Not a godly relative is lost—the dear loved one retains not the putrid disease—but appears beauteous as the smiling morning, and lovely as a holy angel. In some, imperfect grace and perverse nature might raise domestic storms, and impede their prayers at the throne of grace; while in others, too high esteem and fond delight might prove as fatal to their soul’s concerns. But now all sinful defects and lawless excess are removed—and we share in others’ bliss, and join in others’ songs, triumphing over death and weakness through eternal day! ~~~~~~~~~~ While walking through the valley of tears, how many have my mournful melancholy Sabbaths been! While sin and Satan, objects without, and distractions within, have harassed and perplexed my mind—while sadness seized on my soul! Now that I have arrived this eternal day of rest, what streaming joys dilate my ravished soul, to find myself possessed of everlasting Sabbath! Nothing from without, and nothing from within—can defile my soul, or distract my devotions. This is the day that I have longed for! In your presence, O adorable Redeemer, O majesty of heaven—shall eternity be one Sabbath-day! And all the everlasting day, I shall worship at your throne; and the length of the day shall be the delight of my soul! Nor shall my sanctified heart need a constant watch, as once against her ravings, seeing it is essential to the perfect state, and heavenly frame—to pour out all my affections on God. ~~~~~~~~~~ The heirs of heaven need not take it amiss that they are mourners while traveling through the fields of Bochim, the valley of Achor. So short is the duration of their sorrow—compared to the eternity of their song—that they have hardly time to heave the deep fetched sigh, until their heart-strings snap, and their joyful soul flies into their heavenly Father’s arms, and enters eternally into the joy of their Lord! Such is now my happy state above! And though in the ’dark night of time’ I mistook every ’mole-hill of trial’ for ’mountains of distress’; yet it was only the ’shadow of trouble’ which attended me—the ’shadow of grief’ which waylaid me, and the ’shadow of death’ that I walked through. In reality—that trouble could not devastate me; nor grief destroy me; nor death devour me! But now even the shadow of evil is past—and solid, sure, substantial good is mine! I enjoy the essence of joy, the quintessence of bliss—even God in his own heaven, God in his own Son! Richness of glory—rivers of pleasures—fullness of joy—oceans of ecstasy—ages of communion with God—entrance my every ravished power! ~~~~~~~~~~ How happy are all the multitudes around the throne! How content those who have been often disappointed! How cheerful the mourners, and how happy all the sons of sorrow! Glory is such a weight, and God is such a portion—that every power of soul is ravished and blessed above conception! In the fullness of the heavenly bliss there is neither want nor woe, vanity nor vexation—preying on any soul! But God, in his divine perfections—fills and overflows all! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 170: S. PASTORAL COUNSELS ======================================================================== PASTORAL COUNSELS (The nature, importance, duties and qualifications of the pastor. By James Meikle, 1730-1799) Do not contract many worldly acquaintances. Learn to be abused without becoming angry. Do not meddle much with the affairs of this life. Argue coolly, and from conscience—not for victory. Do not pretend a ’show of sanctimony’ before men. Do not be ashamed of piety in any company. Whatever else you read, read a double portion in the scriptures of truth. Shun familiarity with the men of the world—else celestial truths, as uttered by you, will be despised. Do not be much concerned about your own reputation—as long as the truth and the gospel do not suffer. Learn daily more of Christ and more of yourself—else your other studies will profit little. Seek not great things for yourself. Seek not great fame, great applause, great comforts, or a great income. But seek great things for Christ. Seek for him great glory, many converts, and much fruits of righteousness. Consider the preciousness of souls, the value of salvation, the weight of the sacred charge, the terrors of the Almighty, the solemn day of judgment, and your own utter inability. Then shall you have no vain confidence, but depend on God alone. Please all men so long as you are consistent with the truth—but do not wound the truth to please any. Set your affections on things above—so shall spiritual things be your delight, and not your burden. In company, always study to say something for edification. In this way, you preach every day—as well as on Sundays. Be much with God in secret—so shall God be with you in public. See that the behavior of every person in your family is a pattern to all observers; and not matter of reproach—to the joy of God’s enemies. Let your flock be continually on your mind. And not only pray with them in public, and from house to house—but carry them to your closet, and pray for them in private. Do not neglect to visit them at all proper times, but especially embrace those golden opportunities—sickness and affliction. Have sympathetic feelings with the sufferings of all your flock. Let your life be consistent with your message. What you preach on Sunday—practice through the week. Do not only press charity on the wealthy; but let your example, according to your ability, show the way. Lend your ear to reproaches--rather than applauses. Reproaches may let us see some of our foibles or failings. But commendation is very apt to kindle self-conceit—of which everyone has enough. Be temperate in eating and drinking. Do not, when at a feast, though temperate at other times—be a glutton or a wine-bibber. With respect to your flock, consider that you are made the steward of a family, and therefore must, seeing the great Master allows it—provide food for all—meat for the strong, and milk for the weak. Keep an exact list or catalogue of your flock—who is pious or profligate; who is in affluence or poverty; who is in health or sick—and read it often. Give a pleasant ear when others are commended. But always frown away the friend that would commend you to your face. Be scant in exhibiting ’specimens of your learning’, or comments on the Scriptures in their original languages. For a fine grammarian may be but a novice in piety and the gospel. In preaching, aim at God’s glory and the good of souls. And then, without deviating from that rule—please all men as much as possible. Let your sermons be always the fruit of much study and application. And never dare to serve God or his people with that which cost you nothing. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 171: S. THE TOMB ======================================================================== THE TOMB by James Meikle My thoughts, recalled from every flattering scene, Survey the tomb with pleasure—or with pain; The tomb my bed—or my dark jail at last, Where I imprisoned rot—or softly rest. How sad the thought! (sadder so few are sad!) That for mere trifles the whole world runs mad! And crowns are trifles, when we cast our eye On crowns of glory and the seats on high. Life’s but a journey, and the silent tomb To every traveler is the destined home. Methuselah, a human phoenix, rears His head through near a thousand years; But now all mankind seem as made in vain, Scarce entered on the stage, God shuts the scene. Thousands appear, and take a peep at light, And then retire to rest in death’s long night. But, O! how mourn we when our friends called hence! Yes, dare arraign the plan of Providence, As if injustice to our house were done, When death deprives us of an only son. But what must travelers mean, who can complain Of a short journey, and respite from pain? Why should the mariner calm seas deplore, Or mourn, ’cause wafted quick from shore to shore? So we, the sooner we arrive at rest, While others toil, should own that we are blest. This we would own, were that blessed rest but known; But we’ll avow it, when that rest’s our own. Why, reader, stare and tremble at the tomb, Where you, and I, and all must shortly come! Ten thousand, who can boast a later birth, Are there before us, while we tread the earth. Surely, worldly men are backward to believe That their last lodging is the silent grave, Where all is changed ah! what a midnight gloom Hangs on the gay who glance the gaping tomb! It spoils their mirth, and mars their sensual joys, Kills their false hopes, their airy dreams destroys, And raises a fierce tempest in the soul, Akin to that where damned wretches howl! None but the saint with an unshaken faith, Can storm the tomb, and thrust his head through death, To the bright regions of eternal day, Where endless glories seize the soul away Through the dear regions of dread Deity, Whose opening stores their every power supply. Strange! what a crowd assembles in the grave, From mighty Caesar to the lowest slave! The cunning statesman, and the simple swain, The varied knave that’s everything for gain; The wretch that conscience and his country sold, The rich, the poor, the timorous and the bold; The wise, the fool, the feeble and the strong; The good, the bad—all nations, old and young. And I must amongst them shortly hide my head, And go be numbered with the silent dead. Farewell, false world, ’tis time to part with you, And even bid darling relatives adieu. How comes it that funerals are a kind of show? Or we find pleasure in another’s woe? See boys and girls, and even gray hairs convene, To see, (but, Sirs, pray what is to be seen?) A hearse or casket a lifeless corpse convey To its long home, beyond the verge of day. But when the sad procession comes along, Instead of mingling with a thoughtless throng, Retire to meditate on your last end, And some few moments in your closet spend. Since the same scene you in another view, Shall soon be acted over again on you. Come, now, attend, and see a sinner lie Stretched on a sick bed; see a sinner die. Ah! ’tis a sad and melancholy scene! Lo! every limb is racked with gnawing pain. The purple drops (I feel, O fellow-worm!) Rush down your veins like waves before a storm! The tendons stretch, and every pulse beats high, And gnawing anguish shoots from every eye! Cold sweats bedew the pale disfigured face, That lately shone with every manly grace. His eyes grow dimmer, till they set in death; He breathes, and breathes, till he can’t draw a breath; With quivering lips he gives the fatal groan, And now the soul is gone, for ever gone! But what’s the inward anguish of his soul, While hell and flames before his eyes roll? When all his sins, like marshaled legions rise, And pour upon him terror and surprise; When dark despair hangs gloomy on his brow And endless ages open to his view; When every sense is agonized with pain, And wrath begins to kindle hell within; When conscience seared, or, silent before, Awakes, roars loud, and shall for ever roar. Now there’s no comfort for his drooping mind, ’Mongst all his friends not one that can be kind. He calls for mercy;—mercy is no more! —On God, but lo! his day of grace is o’er! ’Tis fear that cries, he cannot breathe a prayer, Wrapt up in darkness, terror, and despair! Now, who can paint this skeleton of woe? What heart conceive how fast his sorrows grow? And what a hell gapes for the wretch below? Attending fiends his parting spirit tear, And plunge it deep; where, we dare not inquire! Thus dies the wicked!—turn away your eye, And see a saint upon a death-bed lie, Celestial joys and angels standing by! His conflict’s sharp, his comforts are divine; The warfare’s hot, but there is peace within. He pants, he prays, he longs, and he believes, Struggles, triumphs, and over his weakness grieves! The peace of God is spread through every power, And conscience smiles, whatever tempests roar. Now he of every providence approves; Even where the works fix pain, the Worker loves, If he can speak, he speaks for God alone; Commends true religion and the life unknown; Commands, exhorts, persuades, implores, requests, Friends and spectators, to make sure of Christ; To seek their treasure not in things that fly, "But lay your treasure up in heaven on high; "For what," says he, "can the whole world avail, "When you, like me, to other shores must sail?" The Savior’s righteousness, through life his prop, In his last moments is his only hope. And when his sins, marshaled by Satan, rise, To daunt his faith, he hither casts his eyes, And sin, and hell, and every foe defies. ’Midst sharp disease, and unremitting pain, His mind’s composed, his countenance serene. No tongue can tell his joys which inward rise; Celestial transport sparkles in his eyes, And day eternal brightens all his skies. Now heaven expands, and glories teem from high, Through every sense, and wafts his soul away From time, to worship at the highest throne, And feast on joys and ecstasies unknown! As fitting tenants look through every room Of their new house—so would I view the tomb, Which I must tenant soon; the solemn day Approaches, when I must put off my clay. It well becomes the old to write of death, To speak of heaven with their expiring breath. And death unstinged, and heaven in faith’s bright view, Will pour pure joys, and every pang subdue. Why are sepulchers thought a place of dread; Though our dear friends lie mingling with the dead? Of old the man who carried half a hell Of fiends within, loud among the tombs did yell; Lo! from the tombs he to the mountains flies, And makes the hills to echo with his cries: So, as we know that all the dead are gone, Not into nothing, but to worlds unknown, Weak minds may think their spirits visits pay To their cold dust, and hover round their clay, The place may, too, recall the mournful scene Of parting friends, and fill the mind with pain: But if to see one spirit so affright, How shall we stand when thousands crowd our sight? When legions without number, circling, rise Around, and far beyond our wondering eyes— The eye of our minds! But may my soul Fly through the throng, regardless of the whole, And fix on God, who all his hosts excels, On God in whom infinite fullness dwells. Affliction’s children often wish to lie Within the tomb, till the sharp storms blow by: "O hide me in the grave, (cries sorrow’s son,) "And keep me secret till my wrath be gone." For there the mourner sheds no briny tears; The oppressed no more the fierce oppressors fears; The wicked cease to vex, the weary rest, And even the slave’s of liberty possessed. Base sin no more the sleeping dust defiles, Nor Satan vexes with infernal wiles. Mingled in death, no human ties remain, And kindred sinners give no farther pain; The pious parent and abandoned boy Together sleep, nor mutually annoy. But those who sleep in Christ at last shall rise, And, crowned with glory, mount to higher skies; While the poor sinner, shrouded with despair, Awakes to torments, and descends to fire! When I reflect on friends and neighbors gone, Their lifeless dust reposed beneath the stone, Their souls removed far, far to worlds unknown, Somehow I dream their souls are fast asleep, Or in a state of strange inaction keep; Ah! but their souls are actively employed. Sharp pangs endured—or boundless bliss enjoyed. Yes, since the hour they were disrobed of clay, No moment ever idly passed away; Nor ever shall through everlasting day. Now I am writing, but I soon must go To dwell with dust in the dark tomb below. ’Tis serious, weighty, awful work to die, And plunge at once into eternity! Ah! who can tell me what ’tis to be there, Ravished with joys—or tortured with despair! Let others toil to rise, and to be great, Be this my labor—to secure my state. My state secured, what peace shall rule within, In spite of sorrows, yes, in spite of sin! But sad to live in an uncertainty! And sadder still in dark suspense to die! Why so much thought, since I’m so near my tomb, About a life that has not much to come? Is it prudent to employ life’s latter end In anxious cares that can’t the matter mend? When I reflect upon my periods past, Whatever is future on your care I cast With confidence, and claim your conduct still, Through life’s rough ways, and even in death’s dark vale. See the young babe from the pregnant womb Just peeps on time—and tumbles in the tomb! How vain the world to it! how vain to all! The life of any—is so very small. For one short day—compared to eighty years, Whatever we think, still some proportion bears; But ages, numerous as the starry sky, Bear no proportion to eternity. Why, then, should parents bitterly deplore? For hark you, Sirs, the child’s but gone before, Where you, and I, and all, must shortly come, To our last state, to our eternal home! Here the sad widow, drowned in briny tears, Bewails the husband of her youthful years Torn from her arms; she casts her eyes around On the young babes, and each renews the wound; While every feature fixes on her mind, Their father’s image, now to dust consigned But while she mourns her honored husband gone, She finds another in her oldest son; The pious youth supplies his father’s place, Supports his mother and her tender race. This somewhat comfortable makes her lot, ’Till by degrees, her loss and griefs forgot. But ah! when some few moons have waxed and waned, (Even to repeat it, how my breast is pained!) The widow-mother loses her dear son; He sickens, dies, and is for ever gone! A widow twice; her husband’s death returns, And grief rekindled in her bosom burns! She hangs her head amidst her weeping train! Looks piteous round, and hangs her head again! See too sad parents to the stream repair; The rumor spread, their son has perished there; The pretty boy that played about the door With his young brothers scarce an hour before! How swift they fly to the unhappy place, While various passions flush their anxious face! Hope fain would think, perhaps he’s yet alive, While fear infers he never can revive. But now the boy’s laid lifeless on the shore, And the sad parents their dear son deplore! They gaze, and grieve, and groan with growing pain Reflect, regret, and wish—but all in vain! Their joints are loosed, and some kind neighbor’s hand Supports them, trembling, else they could not stand. The sad procession slowly moves along, Home with the corpse; the parents close the throng, Who call for skill; in vain for skill they call, The soul is fled, ’tis this that baffles all. A sadder scene presents itself to view, (May scenes so sad, kind Lord, be always few!) The lovely dear, beloved bosom-wife, Grows discontent, and puts an end to her life; Displays vast cunning in the wicked scene, Lest friends break in, and make the attempt prove vain. The husband first does the fair culprit find, But words are lacking to describe his mind; He cuts the cord! she drops, extreme distress! He staggers, shakes, and groans, through an excess Of grief and anguish; O how deep the wound! And fierce reflections every thought confound! He fears her state, nor dares give fancy flight, But checks it, and in black oblivion’s night Wraps up the scene, which still returns again, Like restless waves, and every wave strikes pain! A few kind friends convey the corpse away; No funeral-pomp must mark this funeral-day; Concealed in night, or lighted by the moon, To some wild spot where lands or counties join, And there conceal her—Let us leave her there; No common death can strike us so severe; Where all the grief must gnaw on his own soul, Because when met, ’twere cruel to condole, Or call the deed to mind—then be forgot Such death, though death be every mortal’s lot. How many entering-places of the tomb Are filled round with sorrow’s sable gloom! One pants, and groans, and daily pines away, Who for whole years has never seen a day. The anguish of the mind makes light offend, And clouds of sorrow on his day descend. The gout, the gravel, or the torturing stone, Compels him to complain, and loud bemoan His lingering death! O how his throbbing breast Would welcome death, and sink in downy rest! There lies a young man brought down by slow degrees, While flattering symptoms the poor patient please. He ails—and yet he knows not what ails, But every day his constitution fails; Meanwhile he dreams he daily grows some better, Which fond delusion oft his thoughts doth fetter, And distant sets his end: Alas! that man Should build upon a bubble or a span! How cruel oft the parent’s conduct here! No serious themes must grate the patient’s ear! The youth, though dying, must not hear of death, As if the very word might stop his breath! Strange charm! by banishing a world to come, To break death’s scythe, and bribe the gaping tomb! O fools be wise, at length religion try, No comforts like the comforts of the sky, No death like theirs, who are prepared to die But the disease upon him gains at last, Attacks his lungs, and holds him prisoner fast. Now remedies and medicines in vain are tried; Riding, new climates, and voyages defied; As that disease will every art defy, Which comes enjoined—Go make yon mortal die! A young woman there complains of every pain To call it imagination—is all in vain. A troop of strange disorders through her rise, Which gather strength, if you their strength despise, Yes, what is imagined first, grows real at last, The vaporish woman dies, while friends, aghast, Stand gazing round, and shed a sudden tear, Who never thought that death could be so near. In funeral-state see there a silent throng, In whose sad train the husband walks along Close by the casket where his Sophia lies, A manly sorrow fixes in his eyes. But who can tell the tumult of his breast, While his loved spouse is entered on her rest. The kind endearments of their married life (To exceed in kindness was their mutual strife) Roll through his mind, his mind can do no more, But think the sad disaster o’er and o’er: "Alas! my dear Sophia is no more! "What tongue or pen can such a death deplore! "How terrible the tumult of my breast! "What power can bid my struggling passions rest "This thought alone can the fierce tumult still, "The hand that strikes will never do me ill! "And Sophia’s soul, set free from all annoy, "Now swims in oceans of eternal joy." There comes a corpse round which sad friends attend, But amongst them all I miss the nearest friend; The aged father lies confined at home, Nor can attend his daughter to the tomb; But lies and views a once far distant land, The world of spirits, that now seems near at hand, How few attend us when we are undressed, No matter, or by whom we’re laid to rest; The pious soul, whenever loosed from clay, Is well attended on the fields of day. What fond delusion holds us one and all! While ’midst our flowery schemes we mortals fall, And rise no more! and yet our rising sun, Proof against reproof; in the same course runs on, How strange that we, though dying every day, Are not prepared for putting off our clay! The men that seventy annual suns have told, Not many are, and always counted old; And but a few can boast ten seasons more, While thousands, millions, myriads die before! What noble would walk before the palace-gate For weeks, when he might enter in, in state, To converse with the royal persons there, And largely in the royal favor share! So, saints, for shame! is earth to you so dear, And heaven not worth a wish, a prayer, a tear? Thrice happy souls, whose faith grim death can brave. Because unstinged, and smile at the cold grave! What scenes of sorrow every day I see, Of grief and anguish in variety! No man’s exempt, (not he who lives alone,) From the poor cottage to the prince’s throne. The sovereign dies! the sovereign is no more! And what avails it, that all lands deplore His death? perhaps it was a hopeless death, Beset with anguish and pursued with wrath. The brightest grandeur of his transient reign Affords no comfort to an age of pain; An age? O no, a vast eternity! And every thought is swallowed up of thee, O dark abyss think deep, it waits for me! To look around, and see the eager chase For fleeting trifles, amongst the human race, Would man believe it, proves mankind gone quite mad! A truth, alas! as certain as ’tis sad! The human soul can act herself no more, For sin has poisoned every mental power; Paints this world fair, conceals the world to come, And among roses hides the gloomy tomb. But O the anguish of that awful day, When life declines, and roses fade away, The tomb disclosed, a future world in view, And all his pleasures bid a long adieu! And now his soul encounters such a storm, As none can picture but the suffering worm, Who feels the vengeance of an angry God Through ages all, in burning wrath’s abode. Yet among the frantic multitude I spy A few wise people, in whose enlightened eye Heaven glorious shines, and darkens all below, Sweetens their comforts, mitigates their woe, Supports their spirits, makes them long to fly, Through death’s dark passage to the realms on high. A widow there, who dwells at the next door, Had buried all her family before, But one; that one the object of her cares, Companion of her life, and partner of her prayers. For many a year, the mother and the maid, On the same pittance with contentment fed, Sat at one fire, and slept in the same bed. Their lives entwined until they seemed but one, At length the mother could not sleep alone. Her daughter’s welfare all her thoughts employs; Her cares, her fears, her comforts, and her joys; But cruel death lays siege, for many a day, To her frail castle, to her house of clay, And batters to the ground; the damsel dies! The mother feels severest tempests rise Through all her throbbing breast—a mournful scene! No painting can do justice to her pain; Her melted heart comes streaming through her eyes, And her sad soul dissolves in groans and sighs! May my best comforts be in heaven above, And my Comforter be—whose name is Love! Blessed with his presence, I’ll not dwell alone, Although my dearest friends should all be gone. My couch shall ease me while I sing his grace, And see by faith his reconciled face. Then wait with patience—happy day, When death shall waft my longing soul away, To join the hosts that stand before the throne, Where death and sorrow never more are known. There two young hearts unite in virtuous love, And all the friends the intended match approve; The day is set that shall their wishes crown, Which, though time flies, seems slowly to come on. Bridegroom and bride do both invite their guests, To honor them, and grace their marriage-feast; The guests attend upon that very day— Attend, but ’tis with tears in every eye! The maid had sickened—to her bed he flies; All help proves vain—in his fond arms she dies! Now what he feels no language can convey; But she is buried on their bridal-day! Yet let the mourners still attend to this, That there’s a future world, a state of bliss For pious souls, to balance all annoy, And crown the afflicted with eternal joy, The hapless pair shall meet in fields above In nearer union, and a purer love. There sits a mother drowned in briny tears, Still to her fancy her dead babe appears. The pleasing frolics of her pretty child, Who smiled and sucked, and sucked again and smiled, Dance through her mind, and give her daily pain, And clearly prove the whole creation vain! Caressed and dandled, with a harmless glee, He meets the fondness of his mother’s eye; Draws out his mother’s love, his mother’s heart Is glued to him, she knows not how to part— But part they must, and day and night returns The rueful scene, and day and night she mourns. There the laborer has obeyed death’s call, Left a poor widow, and some children small; A pregnant widow! O! the wound is sore, To bear a child whose father is no more! But there is comfort even in such a case "Upon me leave your children fatherless, "I’ll them preserve alive, they safe shall be; "And let your widows put their trust in me." There at his table one reclines his head— To sleep? O no! to mingle with the dead! The friendly meal just finished, and no more, When all the guests the sudden stroke deplore! He leaves this world in twinkling of an eye, And to the land of spirits swift does fly. Thrice happy he whose treasure is above, And always ready for the last remove! At death set free from every enemy, He’ll change his place, but not his company. There the adulteress flies her native place, To shun her friends, and hide her foul disgrace. A child is born! and death anon attends, And on the parent lays his leaden hands! She’s daily worse, and feels she must die away, But knows not how to meet her dying-day; Her sins are ranged tremendous in her sight, And Sinai’s thunders make a dismal night; Eternal ages fearful swell before— Ages, and anguish ever growing more! But O the riches of forgiving grace! She sees a Savior only suits her case; And by true faith she to the Savior flies, And on him for her every need relies. She dies, repentant of her foul offence, Indignant at her ill-spent life; then hence She wings, triumphing in redeeming love, To join the heavenly multitudes above! Now to conclude, for ’tis, as mourners know, An endless task to tell the tales of woe That darken every day; and who can claim Exemption from some sad disastrous theme? How humbling and distressing to look round, And glance the lifeless nations under ground! Bankrupts and beggars, their’s could nothing call, Now they possess for ever all in all! O how they feast before the throne above, On all the wonders of redeeming love! O how their breasts with sacred ardors glow, While they the sweets of full communion know! And neither sin nor sorrow, death nor pain, Shall interrupt their heavenly bliss again! Yes, all mankind! why should I stay to name Of every faith, of every age and frame. For sea and land, and every mount and plain, As true as strange, do lifeless crowds contain. Thus earth’s a burying-ground, each spot a grave, And millions rot beneath the swelling wave. This is death’s reign; but there’s a glorious day, When death, as vanquished, quite shall flee away. At your dread call, incarnate God and King, The numerous nations into life shall spring. ’Tis true, the wicked shall with horror rise, And wish to hide for ever from their eyes; But all your saints triumphing shall attend On your blessed throne; and, placed on your right-hand, Shall sing defiance to the tyrant death, And bless their Savior with new-kindled breath. The dead, when freed from their dreary home, Like large swarms come teeming from the tomb. Not one is lost, not one forgot behind, Not one is left that sprung of human kind. First the blessed saints to boundless glory rise, Heaven in their face, and rapture in their eyes; Their mind serene, and every transport strong, Love flaming high, and Jesus all their song. But, wretched sinners! how the wicked rise! Hell in their looks, and horror in their eyes! And cruel furies all their steps attend, Tormenting must be their miserable end! Without a friend! the Friend they scorned before, Is now their judge, and will befriend no more. Loud in their ears he cries—You cursed depart To flames—a word must pierce the stoutest heart. In death and darkness, fire and flame, (I shiver!) The wicked plunged, and bolted in for ever! The saints, who witness all this while the scene, With ravished soul and countenance serene, Ascend to bliss, and shout with rapturous breath, Eternal victory over hell and death! Amazing change! late tenants of the tomb, Immortalized, and highest heaven their home Lately harassed with Satan and with sin, Now holy all, and not a stain within! ======================================================================== Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-of-james-meikle/ ========================================================================