AND in the firſt place let me adviſe you to bring your ſelf into as great an acquaintance and familiarity as ever you can, with unſeen and ſpiritual things; and to make your mind ſo ſenſible of them, that they may ſeem the moſt real and ſubſtantial beings. You eaſily diſcern how ſutable this Counſel is to the foregoing diſcourſe; and you can tell your ſelf how much of our liſtleſneſs and want of ſpiritual appetite proceeds from hence, that theſe outward things preſs continually very hard upon us, and make us feel that they have a being and a ſolid ſubſiſtance: but the other rarely touch us with any force, and ſo appear as if they were only in our fancy. Our ſoul ſeems to us, in our careleſs thoughts, as if it were but a breath or a thin vapour: But our Body we perceive to be a maſſy bulk, of whoſe concerns we are therefore very apprehenſive. The Divine being, though the cauſe of all others, ſeems but like a ſhadow; on whom our Soul having no faſt hold, it is no wonder that we rather catch at thoſe things which we can graſp, and feel to have ſome ſubſtance in them. The report of immortal life and bliſs in heaven comes to us like a common ſtory, of which there is ſome probability, but no certainty; and that inclines us to cloſe ſo greedily with the enjoyments of this life, which make more ſtrong impreſſions on our body, than the other on our Spirit. The glaſs through which we look upon this lower world makes every thing we deſire appear exceeding great; nay multiplies and increaſes it to vaſt dimenſions: but when we caſt our eyes upward towards our heavenly countrey, alas! things appear there (as if we had turn'd about the perſpective) ſo little; ſo remote, ſo like nothing, that we can ſcarce diſcern them, or retain any remembrance of them. We have a kind of opinion and half perſwaſion concerning theſe inward and intellectual objects, but we have a ſenſe and full apprehenſion of our outward enjoyments. Now though opinion may govern us, and we may follow it while there are no conſiderable impediments to oppoſe it; yet when any difficulty ariſes, or ſomething croſſes our way to which we ſtand very much affected, it will ſoon ſubmit it ſelf and leave us to our new inclinations, becauſe it is but an opinion. We muſt confirm our ſouls therefore in a full belief of thoſe ſpiritual things: which thus differs from a bare opinion of them. The one is grounded only upon probable reaſons, or on good reaſon but half conſidered and feebly aſſented unto: the other upon clear and manifeſt evidences, well digeſted and fully entertained. So that the one leaves us weak and wavering, becauſe it leaves us half in and half out of the arms of Truth: but the other makes us firm, conſtant and unmoveable, becauſe it puts us compleatly and intirely into its embraces.

All thoſe times then which are ſo favourable, as to let your mind be free and unclog'd, ſpend ſome of your retired thoughts in the company of immaterial beings; and approach ſo near them that you even feel and handle them, and remain perſwaded they are no leſs real than thoſe which you ſee and hear and touch with your outward man. By which means they will infinitely more engage your affections and tie your heart unto them, than any thing elſe can do; becauſe of the vaſt diſproportion which every one acknowledges (ſuppoſing their exiſtence) between them and all that you love in this ſenſible world.

1. Think firſt of all, that your Body is but the clothes and garments of your Soul, and that this indeed is the man. And undreſs your ſelf in your own thoughts, ſtrip your ſelf of theſe robes, and conceive that you are only a naked Spirit. This you can do; and thereby you will both make your Soul think more of it ſelf, and you will likewiſe plainly prove it is quite diſtinct from your body: in whoſe ſociety though it live, yet is not of its lineage, but of another nature and original: For nothing can think it ſelf not to be, ſince by its very thinking ſo, it proves that it hath a being. But we can quite put off all thoughts that we have this body hanging about us, and the Soul can think it ſelf to be what now it is, though it look not through theſe eyes, nor ſpeak with this tongue, nor write with theſe hands, nor have any other thing about it but its own thoughts: And therefore it is not ſuch a thing as this Body, but ſome better and more noble ſubſtance. It is that which tells you that you have a Body. If you believe it, you have reaſon to believe withal that it ſelf is ſome other being, of more force and longer continuance: becauſe you can now think you have caſtoff your body and conceive it lying in the duſt, your ſoul ſtill remaining as it is, full of theſe and other ſuch like thoughts; but you can never think you have no ſoul, becauſe even by that conception you prove that you have, and ſhew your ſelf to be a thoughtful thing.

2. When you have thus therefore diſcourſed your ſelf into ſome feeling of your Soul, think in the next place very ſeriouſly, that whatſoever you clearly apprehend by this, though it be perceived by none of your outward ſenſes, yet is no leſs real and certain than what you uſe with them. Disbelieve your eyes, and think that your ears bring you a falſe report, rather than doubt of any thing which your mind doth plainly and diſtinctly perceive. Though you cannot but yield an aſſent to the relation which any of your ſenſes make you, yet ſince the mind is the more excellent Principle, and it hath a moſt certain exiſtence, give the greateſt credit to what it affirms, when none of them can afford you any evidence.

3. And then you will preſently find that your mind aſſerts nothing ſo ſtrongly, as the being of a God, without whom it could not be. Perſwade your ſelf therefore as confidently of him, as you do of that which your eyes behold. Though your eyes ſee him not as they do the Sun, yet ſay to your ſelf, my Soul doth; which gives as ſound an evidence on his behalf, as my eyes do for the Sun. That great Light, and all the reſt of thoſe Globes of Fire, which I ſee in the Skies, declare him as clearly to my mind, as they do themſelves to my outward Senſe. I cannot think of them, nor of my ſelf, nor of any thing elſe in this great World, but a Divine Being preſents it ſelf before me; by whoſe incomparable wiſdom and Almighty goodneſs they were at once produced, and ſet in this beautiful and uſeful order, in which I behold them. Exhort your ſelf therefore to look about you as often for this end, as you are apt to do for other little purpoſes, that you may ſee God in this goodly Temple, which he hath built himſelf for his own glory. Set your Soul in that Divine Preſence, which fills all things. Open your eares, liſten to the wide World, and hear (as Gregory Nazianzen excellently ſpeaks) that great and admirable Preacher of his Majeſty. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . Orat. 43. Is it poſſible, as Athanaſius well reaſons to come into a great City, conſiſting of a Multitude of Inhabitants of different ſorts, great and ſmall, rich an • poor, old and young, Men, Wome • and Children, Slaves, Souldiers an • Tradeſmen, and to ſee all things ordered ſo handſomely, that every on • of theſe, though oppoſite in their inclinations, agree and conſpire together for the common good, the Rich not grieving the Poor, nor the ſtrong oppreſſing the weak, nor the young riſing up againſt the aged; Can one poſſibly, I ſay, behold all this, and not conclude that there is a wiſe and powerful Governour there, though we ſee him not, by whoſe Authority they enjoy this happy concord? Why then ſhould we not draw the ſame Concluſion from the ſight of this great World, compoſed of divers contrary Beings, moving ſeveral ways, and to diſtant ends; but making as good harmony alltogether, as the various ſtrings of a Lute, whoſe ſweet Muſick coming to our eares, proves there is ſome excellent Artiſt,Orat. contra Gentes. (though hid from our eyes) by whom they are tuned and touched? Confuſion is a ſign of anarchy; but order demonſtrates a Governour.

4. If then there be a God, and you feel your ſelf a Being that can ſubſiſt and enjoy it ſelf, if he pleaſe, without a Body; excite in your Soul a moſt paſſionate deſire to be ſo happy, that when it quits the place of its preſent abode, it may approach nearer to his bleſſed Majeſty, and have a clearer ſight of his ſurpaſſing glory. Put your ſelf in hope alſo that his Divine Goodneſs, which hath planted in you ſuch ſtrong inclinations, and filled you with ſuch deſires, will not let them want the pleaſure of ſatisfaction. Look up above, and think that when your Spirit ſhall take its flight from hence, there is ſome other Company to entertain it in another World: whoſe acquaintance is far more deſirable than the ſociety of the deareſt Friend we have here, who perhaps as ſoon as he hath gained our love, takes his leave of us, and goes his way thither. What comfort have we remaining in this, and other innumerable caſes, but the hope of Immortality? Which is the only thing that can raiſe our Spirit above the pleaſures and the troubles too of this mortal Body. This is our chiefeſt good, on which we ſhould ſet our heart. This is the inheritance to which we are born, (as Lactantius ſpeaks) and for which we are form'd by vertue and piety: the only inheritance, of which we can be ſecure that we ſhall never be defeated. For all this World we muſt leave behind us: we can carry nothing away with us, but an innocent and well-paſſed life, and the hopes which accompany it. He only comes to God rich and plentiful, and abounding in wealth (as his words are) whom continence, mercy, patience, charity and faith, ſhall attend and conveigh into his Preſence.

5. To aſſure your ſelf therefore of this great good, on which our principal ſtrength and comfort relies, conſider in the next place, that your mind plainly tells you (and its teſtimony is indubitable) that God muſt needs be true, and that whatſoever he ſaith, ought immediately, without any heſitation, to be firmly believed. For as he can never be deceived himſelf, ſo we are ſure he cannot deceive us.

6. Now God hath been pleaſed at laſt to ſpeak to us by his own dear Son, as a voice from Heaven, and a World of mighty deeds have teſtified.

7. And ſeeing Jeſus hath not only compriſed in his Doctrine all the holy wiſdome, and all the goodneſs that ever was thought or ſpoken of ſince the beginning of time; but hath likewiſe added a lively diſcovery of that ſtate of good things, which the heart of man naturally wiſhes, and longs for in another World:

8. And ſeeing, in the laſt place, God hath confirmed his exceeding great and precious promiſes of Eternal Life, by his Reſurrection from the Dead, and his Aſcenſion into Heaven, and the ſending of the Holy Ghoſt: You ought to perſwade your ſelf of the truth of theſe inviſible things, and repreſent them ſo often to your mind, till they ſeem no leſs real and certain, than what you ſee with your Eyes, and feel with your Hands: Nay, till all the pleaſures and delights which the bounty of Heaven gives you in Friends, or any other good things here, ſeem but as ſhadowes and faint Images of the better enjoyments which you expect hereafter. Thoſe wiſe Men, who were guided onely by the light of their own mind, made no greater account of them. And yet all the Philoſophers of greateſt fame were but little Children compared with Chriſtian People, in the knowledg of this great Point,L. 1. praepar. Cap. 4. as Euſebius juſtly glories. We are not left to gather this truth (as another of the Ancients ſpeaks) from the weak conjectures and imperfect reaſonings of our own, Lactant. L. 7. Cap. 8. but we know it from a Divine Tradition. It is delivered to us by the Son of God, who hath put an end to all diſputes, by coming from Heaven to us, with the Words of Eternal Life. Lay up his Words therefore moſt carefully in your heart, let them dwell richly and plentifully in you in all wiſdom; and poſſeſs you at once with a mighty ſenſe of God, and of the dignity of your Soul, and of Immortality, and of the Joy of the Inviſible World.

The Benefits of this Exerciſe are ſo evident, that I may leave you to relate them, when you have felt them. It will be ſufficient for me to ſuggeſt to you, that the Heart muſt needs become by this means, very cold and dead to thoſe earthly enjoyments, which were wont to bewitch and inchant it with their deceitful Pleaſures. If the Soul be cloathed (as the Platoniſts fancied) with as many Garments as there are Elements, through which it paſſed as it deſcended into this Body, and if it be ſo mufled in them that it doth but fumble in its thoughts, and hath much ado to feel it ſelf; hereby it will be able in ſome meaſure to deveſt it ſelf of thoſe thick Blankets, wherein it is wrapped, and throw off thoſe heavy coats that dangle about its heeles, and incumber its motions, as it ſets its Feet forward to walk toward the Father of its Being. It is no contemptible diſcourſe which their Maſter makes concerning Felicity;Plato in Phaedone. which he rightly places in the contemplation and love of the Soveraign Good. How that no Man can attain unto it in this Life, by reaſon of the lumpiſh matter to which the Soul is faſt tyed, and by reaſon of the multitude of Worldly affairs which require our attendance; yea, and of the fancies and toyes that will fill our thoughts, do what we can. Whence he concludes, that either no Man ſhall be happy, (which he thinks is very abſurdly affirmed) or he muſt arrive at his Happineſs after he is dead. And if when we are dead (ſaith he) the Bleſſed Time is come, wherein we may enjoy, as we would, that greateſt good; then the nearer any Man approaches unto Death, the nearer he comes within the reach of his Felicity. If a Man therefore will with-draw Himſelf from the World, if he will abſtract his mind from ſenſible things, and take his heart from bodily pleaſures, and turn himſelf into himſelf (which they judged, as the Holy Writers do, a kind of Death) he ſhall be in the beginnings of his Happineſs. There I know, my Friend, you deſire to find your ſelf; and for that cauſe, I pray you learn thus to ſteal out of the company of Worldly things, which by hindring us from beginning our Happineſs, would keep us in perpetual miſery. Converſe, as often as you can, with your nobler ſelf; and contract an intimate acquaintance with thoſe divine Inhabitants which are lodged there. Grow into an high eſteem of that unſeen Power, which knows God and the Life to come; which thinks, and guides, and gives orders, deſires, and loves, and doth all things elſe belonging to this Life. And calling to mind continually its worth and dignity, and conſidering for what heavenly enjoyments it was deſigned; diſdain to let it be condemned to ſo baſe a ſlavery, as to ſerve the Body only, and make proviſion for its Luſts and Pleaſures. Reſcue it from that thraldome, and aſſert its liberty: which is no ſuch difficult undertaking; ſince rightly to underſtand it ſelf, is ſufficient for its ſafety and preſervation.

And, to ſay the truth, the neceſſity of this Exerciſe is no leſs apparent than the benefit. We had need acquaint our ſelves thoroughly with thoſe Spiritual and Heavenly Beings, and make them very familiar to us; becauſe theſe outward Objects are ſo near us, and have gained ſuch an intereſt in us, that, even when we are thinking of the other, they will buſily interpoſe themſelves, and are able in an inſtant to obtrude their Company, though then very troubleſome, upon us. How oft do our minds turn aſide to ſpeak with them, in the midſt of our Prayers? How will our thoughts be diſcompoſed at the ſound of a Bell, the creaking of a Door, the buzzing of a Fly, or ſome ſuch weak and contemptible thing, that affects our Senſes? When we are bowed down before God, when our Hands and Eyes are lifted up to Heaven, how doth the Memory of Yeſterdays enjoyments, or the fear of to Morrows troubles, (beſides the thoughts of the preſent Days buſineſs) ſtart up and interrupt us, we know not how, or on what occaſion? The uneaſineſs of our bended Joynts, the biting of a Flea, the prick of a Pin, ſome Word which we then ſpeak, any fancy that riſes up by the natural motion of our Spirits, will trouble our minds in our Devotion, and carry us away from God. It concerns us therefore very highly to work our minds into a ſtronger, and more delightful Senſe of Him, and of all Spiritual enjoyments, ſince our familiarity with the other is ſo intimate; that the very leaſt of them is in favour enough with us, to give us an avocation from this better Company, even when we are ingaged in it.

In order to this, and all things elſe, you know very well how neceſſary it is to implore the aſſiſtance of Gods grace, and to beſeech his Infinite Goodneſs, that he will be pleaſed to repreſent himſelf, more clearly than you can do, unto your mind; and lift it up above toward the Happineſs of the other World: Which you may do in ſome ſuch words as theſe.

NOW that you may the better preſerve in your Soul theſe ardent deſires, and that they may not dye for want of continual fewel to feed and nouriſh them, let me adviſe you, My Friend, in the next place, to repreſent to your ſelf, as often, and as ſenſibly as you can, the incomparable greatneſs of that inviſible happineſs in the World to come. In which that I may aſſiſt you, as much as I am able, I will direct you to ſuch an eaſy way of managing your thoughts that you may purſue this counſel with no great pains and labour. Justin Martyr obſerves in his Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, that therefore God laid ſuch reſtraints upon that Nation, and forbad them, for inſtance, the uſe of certain Meats, the oftner to put them in mind of himſelf, even in the moſt common actions of humane life; and to make them remember they were under his Government, and ſubject to his Supreme Authority, which they were too prone to forget. And will it not be a great ſhame, if in theſe riper Ages of the World, the free uſe that God hath given us of all things, ſhould not teach us as much as thoſe reſtraints and abridgments of their liberty did them, in the infancy of Divine knowledge? Ill natures are taught moſt by their wants, but the good are beſt inſtructed by their enjoyments. Ingrateful People think of God, when he takes away his bleſſings from them; but ingenuous and thankful minds have a great regard to him, when his favours are in their hands. Nor do they only think it a duty, but feel it a pleaſure to reflect on the bounty of their great Benefactor: which endeares the practiſe of it, and makes it ſtill both more facile and more frequent. In ſo much that in the uſe of all theſe outward and carnal things, a pious heart may ſoon learn to turn its thoughts, and raiſe up its affections, to a more ſpiritual good, and nobler fruitions. Do you not obſerve how the Holy Ghoſt is wont to expreſs the joyes of the World to come, by ſuch pleaſures as are moſt acceptable to us here? What is the reaſon of it, if it be not in compaſſion to the weakneſs of our apprehenſions; and to let us ſee that all bodily delights adminiſter occaſion for pious thoughts, and holy deſires after diviner enjoyments? God would preſerve us from ſinking into a fleſhly ſenſe, by our daily converſation with, and uſe of fleſhly things. He ſhows us how we may lift up our minds, even by thoſe things which are apt to depreſs them; and take an advantage from theſe inferiour comforts, to climb up towards thoſe higher ſatisfactions. Hence it is that the happy enjoyments of the other World are compared ſo often to the pleaſures of eating and drinking, whereby our hunger and thirſt is aſſwaged, and our bodily life ſupported. Yea, to a Feaſt; which is a more liberal entertainment of that kind, and is the meaning of that phraſe in the Goſpel, which repreſents Lazarus carried by Angels into Abrahams boſome; placed, that is, in the uppermoſt Room at that Heavenly Feaſt, and treated as the nobleſt and moſt beloved gueſt. Yea, to a Marriage-Feaſt; which being a time of the greateſt joy, Men are wont to make the largeſt proviſion of good chear, that their friends may rejoyce together with them. And laſtly to a Marriage-Feaſt made by a King; a Royal entertainment, ſuch as a Monarch would make at the Wedding of his Son. All which may ſerve to provoke good minds to look up above ſuch things as theſe, which are moſt enticing in this World, and to be ſo far from being ſwallowed up in ſenſual pleaſures, as to give themſelves thereby a more lively taſte of that exceſſive joy which God will impart unto them, when they ſhall live with him, and be feaſted by him in his Heavenly Kingdom. The like benefit you may reap from all other things which you converſe withall; and though the World will attract your thoughts to it, and imploy a great many of your hours; yet you may draw at laſt ſomething from thence, which will pay you well for the time which you have ſpent upon it. As for Example, when you look about you, and behold the delightful Objects wherewith you are inviron'd on every ſide, which preſent themſelves continually to your Eyes, or your Eares, or your Taſt, or other of your Senſes, you may think with your ſelf,

1. If God have provided ſuch a multitude of pleaſant things for the entertainment of this poor body in this preſent life; What are the joys and delights, which he hath prepared for my better part in the life which is to come? This is the World of Bodies, the other of Souls and Spirits. Therefore if this little Carkaſe, which is but as the Graſs of the Field, be ſo well accomodated, if there be ſo many rare things in the Earth, and the Sea, and the Air for its refreſhment and pleaſure; What may I not expect hereafter for my mind in thoſe Celeſtial, thoſe ſpacious Regions which I ſee above? O the inconceivable felicity which is provided in the Paradiſe of God, for this more wide and capacious Spirit, which beares his own Image, and like himſelf, is to live for ever!

2. Again, you may think with your ſelf, if there be ſuch pleaſure to be found in a Creature, O what is there then in the Creator of all? If the ſight of the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, and all the reſt of the beauties of this World be ſo glorious; What will it be to ſee my God? to be filled with that wiſdom which contrived, and with that goodneſs which produced this vaſt, this goodly and comely Fabrick? If the melodies of Muſick be ſo charming; O what an ecſtaſie of joy will it caſt me into, to hear God himſelf ſay, I love thee, I delight in thee for ever? If the love of a true Friend do ſo much raviſh and tranſport my Spirit; what pleaſure is it that I ſhall feel, when my Soul ſhall love him as much as its moſt enlarged Powers will enable it; and know how much I am beloved by him? There is a delicious Meditation in St. Auſtin, to this effect; who thus ſpeaks to God in one of his Confeſſions. Lib. 10. Cap. 6. I love thee, O my God; thou haſt ſmitten my heart with thy Word and I have loved thee. Nay, the Heavens and the Earth, and all things contained therein, admoniſh me on every ſide, that I ſhould love thee; and they ceaſe not to ſay the ſame to all Men elſe, ſo that they are inexcuſable, if they do not love thee. But what do I love, when I love thee? Not the beauty of a Body; not the grace and comelineſs of time; not the brightneſs of light (and yet, O how friendly and agreeable is that to theſe eys!) not the ſweet melodies of well-compoſed Songs; not the fragrant odors of Flowers, or unguents, or coſtly Spices; not Manna; not Honey; not the embraces of the deareſt, and moſt lovely Perſon: theſe are not the things that I love, when I love my God. And yet I love a certain light, and a certain voice, and a certain grateful odor, and a certain food, and a kind of embracement when I love my God; the true light, the melody, the food, the ſatisfaction and the embracement of my inward man. Where that ſhines to my Soul, which no place can contain; where that ſounds, which no time can ſnatch away; where that ſcents, which no Wind can diſperſe and ſcatter abroad; where I taſte that which eating cannot diminiſh; where I cleave to that, which no fulneſs, no ſatiety can force away. This is that which I love, when I love my God. And what is this? I askt the Earth, and it ſaid, I am not. I askt the Sea, and the Deeps and all living Creatures, and they anſwered, We are not thy God; look above us, and enquire after him, for here he is not. I askt the Air, and all its Inhabitants, yea, the Heavens, the Sun, Moon, and Stars, and they confeſſed, We are not him whom thy Soul ſeeketh. And I ſpake to all things whatſoever, that ſtand round about the Gates of my Fleſh, ſaying; Ye tell me that ye are not my God, but tell me ſomething of him. And they all cried out with a loud voice, He made us. Look therefore how great, how goodly, how glorious, how beautiful and pleaſant we are; and he is incomparably more bright, more ſweet, more harmonious, more filling and contenting than the whole World, which is but his Creature.

And having thus a little raiſed up your mind above all things viſible, you may proceed to a new Meditation in this manner.

3. If a Soul incloſed in this Body can ſee and apprehend ſo much of God; O what a ſight of him ſhall it have, when it is freed from theſe Chaines? If whilſt we look out of theſe Windowes of Senſe, ſuch a glorious Majeſty preſents it ſelf before us; in what an amazing ſplendor will the Divinity appear, when there is nothing to interpoſe between us, and its incomparable beauty? If whilſt there are ſo many other things to imploy our thoughts, he diſcover ſo much of himſelf to us, What will he do when we ſhall be alone with Him, and ſeeing face to face, ſhall know as we are known? Is it not a Miracle to ſee ſo much light conveyed to us, through ſo little a hole as that of the eye? to behold ſo much of the Heaven and the Earth at once, and ſuch a company of beautiful objects crowding in together at ſo narrow a paſſage without any diſturbance or diſcompoſure? O what an admirable pleaſure then (as Seneca diſcourſes with himſelf) will the Soul be ſurpriſed withall, when it ſhall come into the Region of light? when it ſhall be all ſurrounded with this glorious Body? when on every ſide, as we may conceive, it ſhall take in light, and be adorned and clothed with it, as with a Garment? And may we not with greater reaſon meditate on this manner, when we think of God the Creator of light, and of all thoſe goodly things which it diſcovers to us? Ought we not to ſay to our ſelves; O what wiſdom, what greatneſs, what riches of goodneſs is this, which ſhowes it ſelf in all his works of wonder? What a World of things hath he compriſed in this one little Being, which calls it ſelf Man? whoſe mind is circumſcribed, and yet extends it ſelf beyond the limits of this ſenſible World? which remaining in this body, ſwiftly runs and takes its circuit, and views all Creatures in Heaven and Earth? and united to theſe Senſes, abſtracts it ſelf from them, and goes to the Father of Spirits; whom it meets with every where? Is it thus active, thus buſie, thus capacious & diſcerning, whilſt it is thruſt up in ſuch a cloſe and little Room, as this poor Body, and ſhall it not be more vigorous, more piercing, more inlarged, when it is ſet at liberty from this impriſonment? It will then ſure ſtretch it ſelf to receive more of him; it will ſee him more clearly, and comprehend him more fully, & admire him with more improved and extended thoughts, and love him with a more ardent flame, and feel more of his wiſdome, more of his goodneſs preſſing in upon it, and filling of it with infinite joy and ſatisfaction.

4. Again, you may think with your ſelf, if God beſtow ſo many goodly things even upon the wicked, then what ſhall be the portion of the juſt? Do not the worſt of men poſſeſs great plenty of his bleſſings? Doth he not entertain them here with ſtrange variety of delicious enjoyments? Are they not ſo liberally and abundantly provided for, that Silver and Gold and Jewels are theirs? and all Creatures in the Earth, and the Air, and the Water are preſſed for their Service? O what Treaſures, what Riches of Glory, what exceſs of Joy then will God confer on thoſe who are moſt dear unto Him? If he treat his Enemies in this manner, how ſumptuouſly will he entertain his Friends? If he let ſuch Rebels live in a Palace ſo ſtately, ſo richly furniſht, as this great World is, which he hath built for good and bad; what Manſions may we think are thoſe, which are peculiarly prepared for them, who live in faithful obedience to him?

5. And think again, if God hath made this Building wherein we dwell ſo ſumptuous, though it be to continue but for a time; O how glorious are thoſe Manſions which are Eternal in the Heavens? If he hath beſtowed ſo much coſt on that which waxeth old, and ſhall vaniſh away, what are the Ornaments of that which ſhall never decay? Is not this very mortal Body which we inhabit very fearfully and wonderfully made? Is it not contrived with admirable art, and curiouſly wrought in the lowermoſt parts of this little World? O how beautiful then will that Body be which is from Heaven, and ſhall never be diſſolved, but remain Immortal there? With what luſtre ſhall we ſhine when this vile Body ſhall be changed, and made like to the glorious Body of Chriſt our Lord?

6. And cannot you eaſily make your ſelf believe the inconceivable ſplendor of that place where God himſelf more particularly dwells, ſince he hath made for us ſo fair and goodly an Habitation? Heaven you know, is called his dwelling-place; and our bleſſed Lord calls it his Fathers Houſe, where there are many Manſions for all his beloved Ones. O how beautiful, how glorious, how full of Majeſty muſt this needs be; ſeeing we, and other of his lower Creatures live in a World which is ſo richly adorned, and ſo fairly beautified both above and beneath? Do you not ſee how the roof of this Palace (if I may ſo ſpeak) wherein we are, is all gilded with innumerable Stars? how the Floor of it is overlaid with wonderful variety of pleaſant Plants and lovely Flowers? O how gliſtering, O how refulgent then is that place, may you think with your ſelf, in which the Lord of Heaven and Earth himſelf is pleaſed, in a ſpecial manner, to reſide? where he keeps his Court; where all the Angels miniſter to Him; where he ſhows the Greatneſs of his Glory, and where our bleſſed Saviour ſits at the Right Hand of the Throne of that Majeſty on High?

7. And when was it that he brought you into this delightful Dwelling; ſo rarely furniſh'd and richly adorn'd? Was it not as ſoon as you were born; before you could know to whom you were beholden, or could give him any proof of your love and fidelity? Think with your ſelf then, and ſay, If God hath granted us ſuch a World of good things by way of gift, O what is that which he will beſtow, when he ſhall come to reward? If before we do our duty to him, I mean, he is ſo bountiful, nay, opens his Hand ſo wide, and fills every living thing with good, though they cannot acknowledg him; what bleſſings will he pour forth, what liberality will he expreſs, when he comes to recompence our faithful ſervices, and give us according to our works? For we ſee that gracious Princes, who grant many immunities, and priviledges to their ſubjects, only becauſe they are their ſubjects, do not fail to raiſe and advance their good and valiant ſubjects, who have performed ſome noble acts in their ſervice, to eminent Honours and High Places. Now ſince that which God will beſtow in the Life to come, though it be a free gift, yet, is called a Reward and Recompence, praiſe and commendation, you may well think it will be very illuſtrious; when you conſider how rich in mercy he hath been to us, before we could do any thing praiſe-worthy.

8. And you may conſider again, how that excellent Princes, when they give rewards, are not wont to have reſpect ſo much to the Perſons on whom they are conferred (who may be but mean, and of low condition) as to the greatneſs of their own Perſons, by whom they are beſtowed, whom it doth not befit to give any thing mean and below the name and the Authority which they bear. From whence you may conclude, how inconceivably great that reward will be, which the Majeſty of Heaven and Earth will honour us withall. If a Prince do but ſend his Charity to the Poor, it is not like one of us, but like himſelf; and therefore ſuch will the favours of God be, which he intends to deal to all his Servants. Though they are but ſervants, though they are but unprofitable ſervants, and have done no more than was their duty to do; yet he will reward them like a King, like the King of all the World, like the bleſſed and only Potentate, the King of Kings, and the Lord of Lords, who only hath immortality. He will feaſt and entertain them ſutably to the excellence of his own Infinite Majeſty, and not proportionably to the poverty of their Perſons, or of their deſerts.

9. For you may conſider again, that it is the reward which the Lord Jeſus hath received, to give us, for all his pains, and tears, and ſweat, and blood. It is the purchaſe of the blood of the Son of God, the recompence of his obedience to the death; and therefore muſt needs be of great and ineſtimable price.

10. Nay, it is the glory of Chriſt himſelf, the ſame happineſs which he enjoys; according to his own words, The glory which thou gaveſt me, I have given them, and enter thou into the joy of thy Lord: and according to that of St. Paul, We are Heirs of God, Co-heirs with Chriſt Jeſus; who is gone into the Heavens, as he told his Apoſtles, to prepare a place for us. To prepare a place for us, you may ſay? How long will it be a fiting? When ſhall we come to it?

11. Truly, from thence you may take ſome eſtimate of it; by conſidering the time you muſt ſtay and wait till your happineſs be compleated, and that is till the Day of his appearing again unto Salvation. They are great things, which are long in preparing. And therefore the longer your Life is hid with God in Chriſt, (as St. Paul ſpeaks) the more glorious will it appear, when it ſhall be manifeſted. The longer your body ſleeps in the duſt, to the greater dignity ſhall it be raiſed. God will pay us (if I may ſo ſpeak) principal and uſe, and all. The Treaſure multiplies, the longer it lies in his hands. If he ſhould give us our reward now it could be but little: but it increaſes infinitely, beyond all our thoughts by being depoſited with him, till the Lord Jeſus ſhall come from Heaven, with all his mighty Angels, to be admired in his Saints, and glorified in all them that believe.

12. And now in Concluſion, think with your ſelf, what a pleaſure theſe ſhort and little thoughts have given you; how delightful that minute is, in which you have had a glance of your future happineſs; and ſay to your ſelf, if a ſmall taſt be ſo ſweet, O what will the full draughts be, when he makes me drink of the Rivers of his Pleaſure? Are not Men of contemplation wonderouſly tranſported with ſome few diſcoveries, which they have made, of the ſecrets of nature? Are they not perpetually thirſting and ſeeking after more? Do they not ſpend their time and their eſtates in ſuch enquiries, though they never hope to find out all? What would not theſe Men give, (were it in their power) if the earth, or any other part of this world, would reveal all the Treaſures that are hid in it? What a ſatisfaction would they eſteem ſuch a vaſt diſcovery, when ſome little ſcraps of knowledge are ſo ſurprizing? The ſame you may think of the other World; and raiſe your ſpirit by ſuch Meditations as theſe, to expect an inconceivable joy, when all the glory of that ſhall be opened, which now darts ſuch chearful Rayes of Light into your mind. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath beſtowed upon us, ſaith St. John, that we ſhould be called the Sons of God. Beloved, we are now the Sons of God, but it doth 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. What that will be we cannot tell: but we feel now how delicious it is to reſemble him, though but a little, in his Wiſdome, in his Goodneſs, in his Love and Charity, in his Meekneſs and Patience, and ſuch like Heavenly qualities: And if in a drop of Honey, that diſtills from above, there be ſuch ſweetneſs, what ſatisfaction, what fulneſs of joy ſhall we find, in an Ocean of pleaſure? If the morning ſtar be ſo bright, then what is the Sun it ſelf, in its greateſt luſtre? It is one of the Meditations of St. Auſtin; O God, if thou doſt ſuch great things for us in the Priſon, what wilt thou do for us in the Palace? If thou granteſt ſuch ſolace in the day of our tears, what wilt thou give us on the day of our marriage? When we ſhall not only behold Jeſus in all his glory; but live with him, and live with him for ever, and receive the utmoſt effects of his mighty love, and be preferred to ſit with him in Heavenly places, and have a Crown of Righteouſneſs ſet on our Heads, which he the righteous Judg will give to all thoſe, who love his appearing.

And is there not great reaſon, My Friend, that we ſhould love it, and ſet our hearts on this, as the moſt deſirable good; which ſo far ſurpaſſes all others, that they have no power at all to tempt us from it, while we keep in mind its incomparable greatneſs? Perſwade your ſelf therefore as ſtrongly as you can, that Jeſus lives; and that becauſe he lives you ſhall live alſo; and that you ſhall live with him in inconceivable bliſs, according to his gracious promiſes. Believe them heartily, fix them deeply in your mind, and by ſuch arts as theſe repreſent to your ſelf, as ſenſibly as you can, how exceeding precious they are: for it is neither the certainty, nor the goodneſs, nor the greatneſs of any thing, but the lively faith which we have of it implanted in our Souls, that will make us ſeek and labour for it. If our faith be ſuperficial, we ſhall be no more moved by it, than if it were a thing of little moment, or but a deviſed tale, and ſome idle fancy. You muſt ſettle in your Soul therefore, I ſay again, an unmoveable belief of Chriſts great and precious promiſes, and preſent them to your heart, that it may be affected with them, and value them, according to their worth. Then you will not be unwilling to do, nor backward to ſuffer any thing, that he would have you. This will give you a great ſpirit and courage and joy in both. You will take a great pleaſure in godlineſs, which hath ſuch a recompenſe of reward. Nay, all the afflictions of this preſent time will ſeem inconſiderable, in compare with the glory that ſhall be revealed. Can any heart think much to abſtain a while from ſinful pleaſures, when he believes, nay taſtes the pleaſures he ſhall ſhortly enjoy at Gods right hand? Will not any covetous deſires be content to be denied, when you ſee it is for a Kingdom, and a Crown of Life? Of what ſhould a Soul be ambitious beſide whoſe deſires are pitcht upon ſo noble a good, as honour, glory, and immortality with Chriſt? Who would not watch and pray unweariedly, that he may come to this Celeſtial Reſt with the People of God? Can there be any higher pleaſure, than to lift up our mind to our heavenly Country, and to think of the happineſs which there expects us? In what can we better ſpend our time, than in meditating of the great love of God, which hath prepared ſuch excellent things for thoſe that love him? It is a good thing ſure to give thanks unto the Lord, and to ſing praiſes unto his high and holy Name. There can be no more delicious life than this, which will conclude in his everlaſting praiſes. And ſuppoſe we muſt ſometime take up a croſs, where is the miſchief of it, what ſhould render it intolerable, if we look at Jeſus, who for the joy that was ſet before him endured the Croſs, and deſpiſing the ſhame, is ſet down at the right hand of the Throne of God? From thence he ſtretches forth his hands to call us; there his Armes are open to embrace us; and there he would gladly ſee us. Out of that glorious place he holds forth a crown of life to us, ſaying; Follow me, and let none of theſe things diſmay you. Behold the Majeſty, wherein I am enthroned; ſee the glory to which I am promoted; Do not faint in your mind, nor be weary of well-doing; but preſs on towards the mark, for the prize of the high-calling of God, in me your Saviour.

There is nothing ſure can hinder us, or pull us back, unleſs we ceaſe to look at Jeſus, and turn away our Eares from hearkning to his gracious voice. For do you not ſee what power a worldly faith hath over Mens hearts? How faſt one rides to take poſſeſſion of an Eſtate, of which he hears he is left the Heir? How another ſailes through dreadful dangers, becauſe he believes he ſhall arrive at a rich Country; which will ſend him home laden with precious Commodities at the laſt? Why ſhould we think then the Chriſtian Faith is leſs powerful, or fancy that we are in truth indued with it, unleſs our belief of the other World have the ſame effects? Let it lay its commands upon all the powers of our Soul, and engage them to do their ſeveral works. Let it excite our minds, and our wills, and our affections, and our endeavours, to a conſtant purſuit of theſe Heavenly enjoyments; that we may know indeed, that we believe to the ſaveing of the Soul. Look upon that faith which was built on weaker grounds and leſſer evidences, and darker promiſes. See how it wrought in Abraham, Iſaac, and Jacob, and in the reſt of the ancient Patriarchs; whoſe belief of the Word of God made them forſake their own Countries, quit all their Poſſeſſions, when he required it, live as Pilgrims and ſtrangers in the Earth, and depend meerly on the love and care of his never failing providence. By faith they ſlighted the pleaſures of Kings Courts, the Honour of a Throne, and the Riches of Egypt. By Faith they wrought Righteouſneſs, ſubdued Kingdomes, ſtopped the mouths of Lyons, indured all reproaches and afflictions, would not accept of deliverance, and life it ſelf, that they might obtain a better Reſurrection. Now ſince the Chriſtian Belief relies upon better Promiſes, a clearer Revelation, and ſtronger grounds of hope, by the Reſurrection of Jeſus from the dead; what a ſhame will it be, if we do nothing worthy the name of Men, much leſs of the Diſciples of Chriſt, and of the Sons of God? To what cauſe can it be imputed, but becauſe there is no Faith in the Earth, or it reſts only in the brain, and floats in the imagination, but never deſcends to touch the heart and affections. Bring it down then, My Friend, and ſtir up your ſelf to a ſerious and affectionate belief of the life to come. Spare no pains to conſider, and lay to heart (that which is the greateſt comfort of your life) all the glorious things which you read of in the Goſpel of Gods grace; which Chriſt hath ſealed by his blood, and God confirmed by his Reſurrection, and hath been atteſted by ſigns and wonders of the Holy Ghoſt, and by the Life and Death of a number of great Souls; who have followed Jeſus even to his Croſs, and declared their belief of thoſe things by ſacrificing all that was dear unto them here, to win his favour in another World. Look often upon their conſtancy, upon their zeal, upon their contempt of Riches and Pleaſures, and Life it ſelf, when it came in competition with the will of Chriſt; for whoſe ſake they rejoyced that they were accounted worthy to ſuffer, eſpecially ſince he had aſſured them, their preſent troubles ſhould work for them a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. And then in imitation of them, you will put on their reſolution; and lifting up your Eyes to Heaven, will be moved to ſpeak to this effect. O bleſſed God, how much am I beholden to thee, that thou haſt ſhewed me ſuch things as theſe! How much am I beholden to thee, that thou haſt inclined my heart to make them my choice! I would not be as I was before, for all the World. Away you frivolous temptations; you vain delights, you unprofitable labours: Never renew your importunities, for I will not hearken; I tell you, I will not liſten to you any more. I am reſolved to proceed in this holy courſe to the end of my days. You will but make me meditate the more; and pray the more; and lay to heart the more the love of my God: I ſhall but fix my Eyes the more ſtedfaſtly on that bleſſed place where Jeſus my Saviour is at Gods right hand. At his will I hold my riches, my honours, yea, and my life alſo. Let him diſpoſe of them as he pleaſes. And let it pleaſe the Lord of life and glory to accept of this moſt hearty oblation which I make of all I have unto him. Let it pleaſe him to ſtrengthen me in my holy reſolutions, to open my eyes, that I may ſtill ſee more of that wonderful love which he hath diſcovered in his Goſpel, and to accompany me with his grace, till I arrive at his heavenly Court. O let his good Spirit breath upon me, and carry away my Soul in holy deſires towards him. Let it guide my courſe through this troubleſome Sea wherein I am toſſed: Let it ſhine upon me, and proſper my endeavours: Let it bring me ſafely to a quiet haven in Eternal Reſt and Peace.

Theſe pious aſpirations you may ſtill purſue at the end of theſe Meditations, in ſome ſuch Prayer as this.

I Need ſay no more to excite one of your vertue, to the frequent exerciſe of ſuch Meditations as theſe, which are no leſs delightful than they are uſeful. Let me next unto this adviſe you to study the trueſt notions of God and of Religion, the love of which is the way to that tranſcendent bliſs and happineſs, of which I have ſpoken. As you muſt believe things unſeen, and perſwade your ſelf thoroughly, that they are; ſo it is neceſſary you ſhould inform your mind aright, what they are. And in particular look upon Religion as a moſt pleaſant thing, and repreſent it to your ſelf with a face as fair and beautiful as you can. If it ſeem cloudy, dark and melancholy, it will make you to be of the ſame complexion: But if it have a lovely and chearful aſpect, it will encline you always to ſmile upon it. The poor Norwegian, whom ſtories tell of, was afraid to touch Roſes, when he firſt ſaw them, for fear they ſhould burn his Fingers. He much wondered to ſee that Trees (as he thought) ſhould put forth flames and bloſſomes of Fire: before which he held up his hands to warm himſelf, not daring to approach any nearer. But as he you may be ſure was happily undeceived, when he came not only to touch, but likewiſe to ſmell thoſe innocent Flowers, which ſeemed to burn in his eyes: ſo will it be with us, when we come rightly to underſtand and feel the pleaſure that Religion gives us; which at firſt ſight, before we come acquainted with it, looks as if it intended to make us Martyrs, but not to crown us with any joys or contentments. As the Martyr ſaid of the real, fire, wherein he was covered, that it ſeemed to him, as if it were a Bed of Roſes; ſo ſhall we ſay of true Religion, which we are afraid will ſcorch us, and prove too hot for us: Its flames are but the flames of love; and it makes us not lye down in ſorrow, but in the moſt comfortable ſenſe of the tender love of our deareſt Lord.

Think with your ſelf therefore, when you go into your Cloſet, and betake your ſelf to your private retirements, I am going to God, my exceeding joy, to my happineſs, to my hearts delight. Welcome beloved hour, which haſt more of eternal life in Thee, than of Time! Rejoyce my Soul, that thou art among Angels now, and not among men! Yea let my fleſh be glad to become of a poor Souls Cottage, the Temple of the moſt High God! Look upon Prayer as that which brings down Heaven to you; and upon Praiſe and Thankſgiving as that which lifts you up to Heaven; and upon Meditation as that which is the bond of the two Worlds, and ties Heaven and Earth together. Yea, let every other good action ſeem a favour, rather than a charge; a recreation, rather than a work.

And then, for your notions of God, do not look upon him as a rigid and unmerciful exactor of your labours; but as a loving Father, who is eaſily pleaſed, and makes a moſt gracious allowance for your weakneſſes and unavoidable impediments; and is ready to forgive your many overſights and frequent neglects. When we repreſent him to our ſelves, as exceeding angry at every little indiſpoſition and dulneſs that ſeiſes on us, that very thought makes us more dull and indiſpoſed; becauſe we imagine that we ſhall never be able to pleaſe him. Or if we deem him, though not implacable yet, much in love with revenge, and ready to ſtrike upon every offence that we give him, I know no readier way to render his ſervice a moſt tedious task unto us; becauſe we ſhall go in perpetual fear of thunderbolts hanging over our heads, and ready to fall down to do ſome miſchief or other to us. As we ought to have a great and ſcrupulous care to avoid all that is evil, ſo we muſt believe, when we commit a fault againſt our will and deſign, that there is an Advocate with our Father, who is a propitiation for our ſins. And when we look upon him thus, as one ready to forgive, that had rather do us all good than any harm, and deſires rather to ſee his commands better obſerved, than the penalties, for the breach of them, inflicted; this will incourage us to addreſs our ſelves with a freſh chearfulneſs to his ſervice; and breed in our hearts a great love to him, which above all other things hath a moſt powerful hand upon our obedience.

The more you heighten your love to God, the more motion and activity will the heat of it give you: and the more you heighten his love to you, the greater flames will there ariſe in your heart to him. Juſt as you ſee the Sun in its neareſt approaches to us, when its beames are directly over our heads, produces a vigorous heat and life in all Creatures; but when it is in the Southern Countries, and looks upon us with an oblique aſpect, is not able to make us warm by its rayes: So it is with the Divine Goodneſs, which is the life and comfort of our hearts. If we think that he looks aſquint upon us, and cares very little for us, we ſhall be cold and frozen, like ſo many dead Creatures, in our affections to him; but if we think his face is towards us, and that his eye, and the light of his countenance (as the Scripture ſpeaks) is full upon us, that he highly favours us, and his heart is very deſirous to pour down a world of bleſſings into us; it will make our Souls leap for joy, our love will ſpring up apace, and the odors of it will be like the ſmell of Spices, ſweet both to God and to our ſelves. We love God commonly (if not always) in the beginning of our friendſhip with him, becauſe of the good that he doth, or that we think he will do to us: and though afterward this breeds a ſtrong inclination in us to love that moſt excellent Nature from which all good comes, yet that inclination will ſtill grow ſtronger, by the continued thoughts of his kindneſs to us. And therefore this belief is, by all means, to be nouriſhed and preſerved in our hearts; eſpecially conſidering that the ſtronger our love and inclination towards him grows, by frequent reflecting upon his love and good will to us, the more chearful and conſtant obedience ſhall we pay to him.

I have repreſented this ſo largely in another Diſcourſe, (which you know very well) that it may ſeem unneceſſary to add any thing to it it here: But it will not be unprofitable I am ſure, to recommend to you this one conſideration more. That the hearty love of God (which naturally ſprings out of a ſtedfaſt and unmovable belief of his love to us) is a thing ſo comprehenſive and ſo powerful, that it includes in it all the means which are neceſſary for the accompliſhment of our end; and contains the force of all thoſe rules, helps and furtherances, which are commonly preſcribed for the better obſerving of Gods commands. Let me inſtance in theſe Five great Exerciſes, to which you are often exhorted, both in Sermons and good Books, for the preſerving you in his Obedience: Firſt, To live, as in Gods ſight. Secondly, To pray continually. Thirdly, To watch. Fourthly, To depend on God for his aſſistance. And, Fifthly, To look for his mercy to Eternal Life: and plainly ſhow you that they are all comprehended in Divine Love, and cannot be ſeparated from it.

For the first, it is well known that this paſſion is not wont to let the Object on which it is fixed be abſent from it; but at whatſoever diſtance it be removed, love brings it near, and ſets it ever before the eyes of him, to whom it is dear. And therefore if our hearts be full of love to God, we cannot be without his Preſence, but ſhall live as in his ſight: Or, to ſpeak in the language of David, Pſal. 16.8. We ſhall ſet the Lord always before us. Whatſoever we do, we ſhall think of him; and conſequently do it well and exactly: we ſhall ſtudy purity of heart, and the greateſt clearneſs in our intentions; becauſe he ſees us, and penetrates into our ſecret thoughts. There is no more eaſie obſervation than this, that nothing makes a Man ſo diligent, ſo curious, ſo circumſpect, ſo decent and comely in all his behaviour, as to be continually under the eye of one whom he loves; to whom he deſires, every way, to approve himſelf. And it is as certain, that ardent love makes a Perſon ever preſent to us, and will not let us be divided from him.

When Phidias, the famous ſtatuary, made the Image of Jupiter Olympius, one of the goodlieſt that ever was, he could not forbear, but he muſt privately ingrave upon his little Finger, the Name of one whom he dearly loved, in theſe words; PANTARCES IS FAIR. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . For it was not Jupiter (ſaith Clemens Alexandrinus, from whom I have this ſtory) who was fair in Phidias his eyes, but the youth whom he loved. The thoughts of his God could not put out of his mind, the thoughts of him, whom he loved better. If therefore we had ſuch a love to God, as others have to the things of this World; the thoughts of them could not quite thruſt out the thoughts of him. But ſtill we ſhould be apt to write (if I may ſo ſpeak) upon the very forehead of every earthly good, God is most lovely: or, God is my exceeding joy; the Lord is my portion; O how amiable are his Courts! or as an holy man (who it is ſaid could never get theſe words out of his mouth) My God and all things. Where he is, there, in effect, are all things: and where his love dwells, there he will be ſure to be. We ſhall meet him every where, ſee him in every beautiful thing, and taſte him, before we have done, in all the delightful enjoyments of this life.

2. And as it comprehends in it the practice of making God preſent (which ſome Maſters in Divinity have ſaid may ſerve inſtead of all other Rules, for the ordering of our life aright:) ſo it contains in it likewiſe the very ſpirit of Prayer to God; which all acknowledg to be not only a great part of a godly life, but a great help and furtherance to us, in all the reſt of our Chriſtian duty. If by Prayer we underſtand, as ſome have explained it, the aſcent, or raiſing up of the Soul to God, it is love only which continually aſpires towards him, and carries the heart aloft, from other things, to be joyned to him. Or if we call it the converſe of the Soul with God, (which are the words of Gregory Nyſſen) or a holy conference and diſcourſe with the Divine Majeſty, (as it is termed by S. Chryſoſtome) it is manifeſt the love of God includes this in it: for it is the nature of this paſſion, to make us frequent the company of thoſe whom we love. Their converſation is moſt welcome; their diſcourſe delightful; we are exceedingly deſirous to impart our mind to them; and eſpecially to let them know how much we love them. For which purpoſe it needs not alwayes the help of the tongue, but can frame a language of its own; and ſpeak by the very countenance and the eyes, and make uſe of ſilence inſtead of words to declare its inclinations. According to the admirable expreſſion of the Pſalmiſt, who, ſetting forth the pious affections of the People to God their Deliverer, ſaith, Praiſe is ſilent for thee, O God, in Sion (ſo the Hebrew hath it, as your Margin tells you) to Thee ſhall the vow be performed. But let us take it ſimply for the deſiring and requeſting good things of God, and then we muſt needs acknowledg, that love being a paſſion full of deſires, cannot but comprehend in it (as I ſaid at firſt) the very ſpirit of Prayer and Supplication. You know how much we long for that, to which we have given our hearts. And therefore if they be devoted in love to God, we cannot chuſe but be ever breathing after more ſenſible apprehenſions and taſtes of him. So much as we love him, ſo much we ſhall thirſt after a larger communication of his Divine Grace to us. It will make us ſigh for more tokens of his favour; and wait for a greater power of his Holy Spirit; and vehemently long to be more transformed and changed into his Image. What was it but this, that made David ſay, Pſal. 42.1. As the Hart panteth after the Water-brooks, ſo panteth my Soul after thee, O God? The chaſed Deer in a great Forreſt, and in the midſt of Summer did not more long after the ſtreames of Water, than this good Man (being it is likely in the Wilderneſs of Judah, and ſo denyed the favour of going to the Tabernacle of God) did ardently deſire the happineſs which there he had ſometime taſted in the Divine Preſence. He opens his mouth, and pants after this with a thirſt ſo vehement, that it makes him cry out in the following words, O when ſhall I come and appear before God? It is the heat of that Creature (to whoſe pantings David compares the longings of his Soul) which is the cauſe of its thirſt; and that being a conſtant deſire, which goes not off by continuance, as many inconveniences do, but rather more encreaſes, it beares the greater reſemblance to this Divine paſſion of love; whoſe fervours and ardent longings are perpetual, and do not abate by length of time, but grow ſtill greater and greater. There is nothing ſo likely as this, to enable us to fulfil that exhortation of the Apoſtle, Pray without ceaſing, and to make us importunate and unwearied in it; which are the two qualifications our Saviour requires in our devout addreſſes to God, Luk. 18.1. Where you read a Parable of his to this end, that Men ought alwayes to pray, and not faint. It marvelouſly diſpoſes us alſo for the Divine favour, by moving us to quit all that is inconſiſtent with our deſires, in hope of that which we pray God to beſtow upon us. There was a Monarch, you have heard perhaps, who offered his Kingdome for a Cup of cold Water, in a time of extreme thirſt. And therefore what is it which the heat of this heavenly affection will not make us reſign to God and abſolutely part withall, that it may obtain its Petitions, and have its deſires ſatisfied? Beſides it hath one wonderful power in it (which nothing elſe can furniſh us withall) to make our Prayers prevalent; and that is by fixing our thoughts, and faſtning our minds to the buſineſs which we are about. For love, you know, doth not willingly ſtir from the Object to which it is devoted. It is this flame which keeps our heart cloſe to the Holy Sacrifice, and will not eaſily ſuffer us to wander from the Gate of Heaven. It ſets us in the Preſence of God; it keeps our eye upon him; it makes us converſe attentively with him; and while the power of it laſts, our very hearts are tyed to him, and cannot go aſide from him. But as ſoon as ever it begins to dye or decay, then it is that the mind ſteales away, and gads about the World; till this flame revive again, and make us fly back to the Altar of God. The beſt Soul that is, I confeſs, may feel ſome looſneſs and diſtraction of ſpirit; (eſpecially at ſome untoward ſeaſon) ſome aſhes may dim and dull the Fire: but yet this love and ardent deſire will keep the greater part of our thoughts together, and knit our heart ſo to our duty, that there ſhall be no long nor wide breaches in it; but it ſhall ſtill be ſtrong, and fervent, and effectual with our Heavenly Father.

Thus you ſee how wiſely theſe two are joyned together by St. Jude, v. 20. Who after he had exhorted the Faithful to Pray in the Holy Ghoſt, immediately bids them, keep themſelves in the love of God. There is nothing comparable to this, to inſpire us with devout and earneſt deſires. And it hath an equal force alſo to excite us to Praiſe and Acknowledg our great Benefactor, who gives us ſo many good things, even before we deſire them. Do you not ſee how Men delight to commend, extol and magnify that they love? And how laviſhly they are wont ſometime to beſtow thoſe praiſes? There is not any thing in this World ſo excellent, but they will borrow a Metaphor from it, wherewith to adorn their beloved. They go to the precious ſtones and to the ſtars nay to the Sun it ſelf to fetch ſome luſtre from them for their expreſſions. And more than this, it's uſual with love (as every one may obſerve) to go beyond the nature and value of things, and to make thoſe hyperboles not uncomely, which in other caſes are ridiculous. And as for gratitude, we are all ſenſible that nothing is ſo acknowledging as love: Every favour it eſteems a Treaſure; and ſtudies all means to expreſs its reſentments. So that if it become a divine paſſion, you may learn from King David, how much it will diſpoſe our hearts to admire and extol the perfections of God, and excite us to give him thanks, becauſe he is good, and his mercy endureth for ever. Do but read the beginning of the 103. Pſal. and obſerve how he calls up all the faculties of his Soul to aſſiſt in this Holy Duty of praiſing and bleſſing the Name of God. And then being conſcious to himſelf of his own diſability to offer him the praiſes that are due unto his Great and Glorious Name, you may take notice how in other places, he goes to all his Friends, and begs of them that they would joyn in conſort with him, ſaying, Pſal. 33.23. O love the Lord all ye his Saints; and 34.3. O magnifie the Lord with me, and let us exalt his Name together. Let Iſrael now ſay (Pſal. 118.) that his Mercy endureth for ever. Let the houſe of Aaron now ſay, that his Mercy endureth for ever. Let them now that fear the Lord ſay, that his Mercy endureth for ever. O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good: for his Mercy endureth for ever. And leſt all theſe ſhould not be able to make this joyful ſound loud enough, he invites all ſtrangers to come, and help them to the diſcharge of this debt, ſaying, Pſal. 100. and 117. O make a joyful noiſe unto the Lord all ye Lands. Serve the Lord with gladneſs; and come before his Preſence with ſinging. O praiſe the Lord all ye Nations: praiſe him all ye People. For his merciful kindneſs is great towards us: and the truth of the Lord endureth for ever. Praiſe the Lord. Yea, it is frequent with him to extend his entreaties to the Angels, that they would lend him their help to acquit himſelf, 103.20. and he calls (Pſal. 148.) upon all the lower Hoſts of God, who are in the Heavens nearer us, and in the Earth alſo, that if they can do any thing, they would bear a part in his Song of Praiſe, which he compoſed in honour of him. And in the very concluſion of his Heavenly Book, that he might ſay all he could, he thus beſpeaks the voice of all things, which either by Nature or Art are framed for delight and pleaſure; Let every thing that hath breath, praiſe the Lord. All which Obſervations I thought good to annex to this Diſcourſe of the Power of Love in Prayer, becauſe, when we have ſaid all we can, there is nothing ſo prevalent for a new favour, as praiſing God, and being heartily thankful for the benefits we have already received. To which the love of God diſpoſing us ſo effectually, that it never thinks it can praiſe or acknowledg him enough, it muſt needs obtain much of the Divine Grace for us; and conſequently ſecure our obedience to him, above all other things. Eſpecially ſince,

3. Love is ever Watchful: which is another means, to be joyned with Prayer, to keep us from entering into temptation. It always hath its light burning, and its loynes girded. It is ready and forward to apprehend and imbrace any occaſion of ſerving him, to whom it is engaged. It is jealous of every thing, which would rob it of that good, which it ardently deſires. And therefore hath its eyes always open, and by reaſon of its heat will not eaſily fall aſleep; nor ſuffer that dulneſs and wearineſs to infeſt it, wherewith others are uſually ſurpriſed. I need not purſue this Argument any further, it being ſo apparent that fervent love and affection chaſes away all drowſineſs of Spirit, and makes a Man ſlip no opportunity, to do that which is pleaſing in the eyes of God. And I am the more willing to quit it, becauſe I have been ſo long in the former, and have two other Conſiderations ſtill to add.

4. One of them is (which I ſhall but briefly touch) that it will breed in us a pious confidence of the ſuccours of Gods holy Spirit, in the power of which we ſhall be able to undertake any thing that he commands. It is impoſſible to have any heart to do well, if we have not this hope rooted in us; and it is as impoſſible to doubt of it, if we feel the love of God burning in our hearts. Which is both a teſtimony of his Divine Power already working in us, and an argument that he is as willing to do any thing further for us, as we find thereby that we are, to do any thing for him. It doth not only widen the heart to impart, but alſo to receive. And the very ſame motion which carries it out towards God, and towards others in ſincere affection; brings home large aſſurances that he will abundantly communicate himſelf to it on all occaſions, for the encouraging and aſſiſting of its faithful endeavours, to do his will in every thing.

5. The other is this (which ſhall put an end to this part of my diſcourſe) that it hath no leſs power to make us fully aſſured both of the bleſſed rewards, I ſpoke of, in the other World, and of the greatneſs of them; which are the ſtrongeſt Motives to our obedience. There is nothing ſo ſharpens the ſight to diſcern, or enlarges the heart to conceive the things of God, as this doth. For God is love, as St. John tells us, and therefore he that dwells in love dwells in God, and God in him. Among all the goods of this World, we find no where ſuch repoſe and quiet, as in hearty love and true friendſhip. Nothing give us ſuch a taſte of pleaſure, and, if the Object be worthy, ſuch ſatisfaction. Of two it makes one, ſo that they communicate in each others happineſs. And this ſatisfaction is wont to make them forget all other things, at that inſtant: For love is of ſuch a nature, that it endeavours to take up all the room in the heart, and would leave none for any thing elſe; that it may be intirely and wholly poſſeſſed of that which it loves. And therefore when it is turned towards God, and ſettles it ſelf in him, it muſt needs give us a lively ſenſe of future bliſs, by uniteing our hearts, and gathering up our minds (as I may ſpeak) wholly unto it. It participates with that ſupreme good, to which it is united. It carries in it ſelf a great deal of the life of God; it is a part of Heaven, and the buſineſs of the other World. But beſides the ſolace which is inſeparable from it, there is this remarkable property in the paſſion of love; that it ſtrangely diſpoſes us to believe all the kind expreſſions of our friends, and makes us eaſily receive whatever they ſay, for certain truth. Upon which account the love of God will incline us, above all other things to entertain every thing that he ſhall communicate of his mind unto us. And there is nothing ſo great, nothing ſo magnificent declared in the Goſpel of his Grace, but he that loves God will preſently believe it, and lay it up in his heart, as a ſingular expreſſion of his divine favour. For he feels by the power and force of this affection in his own heart, what God is enclined to do for thoſe, whom he loves and takes delight in; though it ſeem incredible to other Men. And therefore, as it doth not poſe his belief who loves God, when he hears that the Word was made Fleſh for the good of men; that the fulneſs of the God-head dwelt bodily in Jeſus; that he dyed for ſinners, and lay'd down his life for the Redemption of Enemies: So the Reſurrection of Chriſt from the dead, his Aſcenſion to Heaven, the exaltation of our Nature, in his Perſon, at Gods right hand, the Glory and Majeſty in which he is ſaid to ſhine there, and in which we are told we ſhall at laſt appear together with him, are no riddles nor incredible things to him. No; Love ſees him there preparing a place for us, making all ready for the joyful Marriage to be celebrated in his glorious Kingdome, coming in the Clouds of Heaven to call us up thither, and to advance all his Subjects to reign, as ſo many Kings, together with him. This makes a man preſently underſtand how God ſhould deſign to reward our poor endeavours (thoſe ſervices to which we ſtand obliged, though but weakly performed) with an everlaſting inheritance. How he ſhould compenſate our preſent ſufferings which are but for a moment, and not worthy to be named, with a far more exceeding Eternal weight of Glory. Hyperbole's go down eaſily with this Mans Faith. He can believe beyond them all, and ſee what is far beyond, that far more exceeding Eternal weight of Glory, as the Apoſtles words import, 2 Cor. 4.17. He is aſſured the love of Heaven will enkindle a new life in our dead aſhes. He beholds it ſublimating this earth, to an Heavenly ſtate. And can well conceive this thick Clay ſhining as the Sun, and made like to the glorious Body of Chriſt: This Soul alſo, as pure as the light, ſaluting its new born Body, and, poſſeſſed with a mighty love, rejoycing for ever in Gods bounteous kindneſs to it. All this it ſees, nay feels; being already filled, as St. Paul ſpeaks, with all the fulneſs of God. For it feeling, Firſt, what a vaſt difference there is between it ſelf now, and what it was before, when it was pent up in ſcant and narrow affection to theſe petty goods here below, makes no doubt there may be as wide a difference between what it ſhall be hereafter, and what it is now. It preſently concludes, that the ſame powerful goodneſs which rouſed up, and called forth its ſleepy thoughts and drowſie deſires towards it ſelf, can ſtill further awaken and raiſe all its faculties to a more quick and lively ſenſe: or call forth ſome hidden power and vertue in the Soul, which hath as yet no more appeared, than thoſe motions which now it feeles did, before it was touched by his Almighty hand. And Secondly, finding its own nature by this touch of the Divine Love made ſo free and benign, ſo abundant and overflowing in kind affection to others, ſo open-hearted and gracious, it concludes that the Almighty goodneſs not only can but will do more for it; and confidently expects to be lifted up to an higher ſtate of bliſs, proportionable to the ſuperabundant kindneſs of that moſt excellent Nature, which hath produced already ſuch good inclinations in it. It is impoſſible for a Man to be under the power of love, to feel the huge force of its flames, to perceive of what a ſpreading and communicative Nature it is; and not conceive very magnificently of the bounty of God, and have a faith in him as large and capacious as his love.

Love God therefore, My Friend, as much as ever you can; with the greateſt paſſion and moſt ardent affection: and you ſhall find Heaven coming apace into you, and taſte the good things of the promiſed World to come. You ſhall not only gueſs at your future ſtate, and make conjectures about it: but in ſome meaſure know and feel the all-filling joy of our Lord, and poſſeſs that quiet, tranquillity and peace, which paſſeth all underſtanding. For this Divine love is the right ſenſe whereby Heavenly things are apprehended. It is that which fits the mind rightly to underſtand, and the will firmly to believe thoſe great and tranſcendent things, which the Scripture reports, as the portion of the Saints in light. It gives us a ſight of things as much differing from all other, which we have meerly by dry reaſoning, and which we ſpin out by thoughtful Diſcourſes, as the ſight of a great beauty before our Eyes, differs from the deſcription of it, which we read in a Book: or as the warmth of fire on the hearth, doth from that we ſee in a Picture; which cannot looſen and inliven our ſtark and benummed Joynts. And if you would love God, I have told you the ready way to it; which is by preſerving in your mind a conſtant and lively ſenſe of his infinite love and good will already expreſſed to you: for this will naturally and eaſily produce a reciprocal love to him; and that will make you look for more of his mercy, even to Eternal Life. This you underſtand ſo well, that I ſhall not ſay a word to you more about it; but proceed to the next, when I have left a few words with you to ſay to God.

BUT as I would have you exceedingly in love with Religion, ſo I muſt adviſe you, not to charge your ſelf with too many or too long exerciſes of Devotion. For Honey it ſelf will cloy us; and a perpetual ſcent of Roſes may become offenſive to us. Obſerve therefore what you can do with eaſe, and a pleaſantneſs of Spirit: And when you find your ſelf to be free and forward, then you may be the longer and more enlarged in your Devotions. But when you are very heavy and ſtraitned, then it is not fit to tire your ſpirits and drag them along with you, whither they have no ſtrength to accompany you, nor any diſpoſition to comply with your deſires. Our Body is ſuch a beaſt, and ſometimes ſo dull and reſtife, that if we ſpur it on to a faſter pace, it not only quite tires; but will have no liſt to travel any more. Whereas if we bait it a while, and ſuffer it to take ſome repaſt, and give it ſome reſt; it will go along with us to the end of our Journey. When our ſpirits are dull already, we make them more dull by our reſtleſs importunity to do as we would have them. As a Child you may have obſerved, when he cannot think of his Leſſon, the more his Teacher chides and calls upon him, the more blockiſhly he ſtands, and the further it is beat out of his memory: ſo it is very frequently with the natural ſpirits of every one of us. They are ſo oppreſſed and ſtupid at certain ſeaſons, that if we labour to ſet them in motion, it doth but diſpoſe them the more to ſtand ſtock-ſtill. But if we let them alone, and for that time leave them, they will be like the ſame Child, who in a ſhort time comes to himſelf, and is able to ſay his Leſſon perfectly. They will go whither we would have them, and perhaps run before us.

We muſt do then with our ſelves, as one that is weak, and going up an high and ſteep Hill. When he feels his Legs begin to fail him, and complain that they are weary, he reſts a while and ſits him down to recruit himſelf. And it will not be long before he hear his mind calling on him, to try if he hath not gathered ſome new ſtrength, with which he marches a little further, according as it will carry him. And if he hath any cordial ſpirits in his Pocket, a little taſte of them may much revive him in this languiſhing condition: Yea, the pleaſant proſpect of the Fields round about him, and the various Objects that gratefully entertain his eyes if he caſt them on every ſide, will be a fit divertiſement for his mind, to turn it from thinking of his wearineſs. Thus I ſay, My Friend, it is adviſeable for you to do; reſt your ſelf a while, and make a pauſe, when you perceive your ſpirits begin to flag. Break your Devotions into little parts, and take not the Journey you have ſet your ſelf, all at once. When your mind tels you, that now you are better able, or prompts you to try your ſtrength, then up again and go forward. And between whiles, turn your mind aſide to ſomething or other, that is wont to pleaſe you much. Think of ſome good Friend, of the many fair accommodations that God hath afforded you, of the pleaſant Meadows (as I may call them) and the ſtill Waters by which he leads you; or betake your ſelf to ſome Divine promiſe, and take a taſte of the love of God contained therein, which is as a Cordial to chear and refreſh the Spirits; or run to the extract or quinteſſence that you have drawn (as I ſhall direct you anon) out of former Meditations: and ſome of theſe, its poſſible, may make you quite forget that you were faint and weary.

And truly, for the moſt part, I think it is beſt, not to be over long in your Devotions. I have heard of a very good man, who was wont to pray to God, that he would forgive him his long Prayers. Which though they proceeded from an honeſt zeal, yet wanted their efficacy, by being indiſcreetly tedious. For whilſt Men ſtudy to ſtretch and wire-draw their Meditations to the utmoſt length, what they gain that way, they loſe another; having the leſs of ſtrength and ſolidity, the more they have of length. No Metal, you know, is more maſſy and ponderous than Gold; yet it may be beaten ſo thin, that it may be blown away with ones breath, or broken with the leaſt touch of ones Finger. So, many times it is with our Devotions, which have ſome weight and force in them, if they be contracted and gathered into a little room: but while we ſpread them, and beat them out to a tedious length, they become ſo thin and weak, that very Object which ſtirs, blowes away our thoughts; and great breaches are made in them, by the leaſt imagination that thruſts in it ſelf upon them.

This is capable to be abuſed, I am well aware, by Souls that are not truly pious: but thoſe that are, may as much abuſe themſelves, unleſs they underſtand and uſe it. Indeed when the Soul is very ſtrong and full of heat, or when it is awakned by ſome remarkable ſtroke of Divine Providence, or when the mighty hand of the good Spirit of God is upon it, then it may, and will, let it ſelf run without any cautions or reſtraints: and we ſhall have nothing to do but to follow thoſe thoughts willingly, which in another caſe we could not perſwade to follow our wills. Our mind then will run (as it were) before us, our hearts will be pregnant and teeming with many good Meditations; which at another time we ſhall not be able to draw after us, nor make to conceive or bring forth one thought that pleaſes us. But now you muſt take great heed, leſt at this or any other ſuch happy time, you think to attain preſently to the perfection you deſire. Alas! My Friend, it is a great way thither: and it cannot be ſafe to make too much haſt, though you find your ſelf never ſo willing and forward. For many there are who running full ſpeed, have ſtrain'd themſelves, by fetching too great a leap, and diſabled their Souls for ſome time after. And therefore run not your ſelf out of breath, from an eager deſire to be at the very end of your Race. Let fair and ſoftly be your ordinary Rule: though ſometimes, in a very ſmooth Rode, and when your Spirits are brisk, you may make as much ſpeed as you can, for a little way. But we have ſeen ſeveral ride upon the Spur, eſpecially in the Morning when they firſt ſet out, who have been left behind in the Afternoon, by thoſe whom they ſeemed to have many Miles over-ſtripped. And therefore it is neceſſary counſel (to thoſe chiefly who are beginners) to Travel ſo in the Chriſtian Path, as we hope we may be able to hold out; and not to be ſo fiery at firſt, as to make us dread Zeal, when there may be good uſe of it.

There is another thing ſo nearly related to this matter, that it would have challenged the next place in this Diſcourſe, did your neceſſities require it. And that is to take heed you do not tire your ſelf with any one thing, for that will make you indiſpoſed to all the reſt. This I take to be good advice to my ſelf, who ought to be cautious, leſt by over-much ſtudy I ſo dull and blunt my Spirits, that even Devotion it ſelf become irkſome to me. And I doubt there are too many of the Gentry and better rank, who ſo diſſpirit themſelves by ſome of their recreations, that they are fit for nothing but to lye down and ſleep. But to ſuch as you, I need only ſay, that You muſt not weary your ſelf with any one pious Exerciſe. For I can tell by my Imployment, that if I keep one Author company ſo long, that I grow weary of him, I ſhall have no mind to return in haſt to him, and all others will find me more moroſe and indiſpoſed for Society with them.

Let me only add, that you will the better do this, if you labour to underſtand the true reaſon why you do every thing, and mark the fitteſt occaſions wherein it may be done. The difference between the grounds (as we ſpeak) or reaſons of our motions, and the occaſions of them, is this. The former perſwade our will either to decline or to purſue ſomething, that appeares either good or evil; and therefore the ſtronger the Reaſons and Motives are, the more ſhall we be induced either to avoid or embrace what is before us. The latter is only the opportunity or ſeaſon, the advantage of time or place, which doth not ſo properly move us to do a thing, as to do it now. Time and Tide, we ſay, ſtayes for no Man; and becauſe the opportunity doth not always happen, therefore it ſtirs up our Soul (which is already engaged by ſome reaſon) to work more powerfully at this preſent, than otherwiſe it would have done. So that if you underſtand not only good Reaſons for your actions, but mind alſo the Occaſions; you will be mightily inclined by the one alwayes, and more mightily by the other at certain times.

To grow in Knowledg and Wiſdome is exceeding neceſſary, not only becauſe it preſents us with great variety of things to entertain our mind withall, and makes Religion more pleaſant, and renders our Soul more firm and ſtrong, more ſolid and compact: but likewiſe becauſe while we ſearch into the reaſon of our actions, we ſhall diſcern whether the thing be only lawful, or it be convenient alſo and prudent, and withall neceſſary to be done. And accordingly we ſhall know how to make a proportionable allowance of our time and ſtrength, and earneſtneſs unto it. If the buſineſs be meerly lawful you will do it when you have nothing elſe to do. If it be neceſſary you will give it a more certain and likewiſe a larger portion of your time and ſtrength; and the very thought of its neceſſity, will enforce you to it. And it it be judged though not abſolutely neceſſary, yet convenient, and more acceptable to God, if you perform it; then you will do it when you are beſt diſpoſed, and in the fitteſt temper to do him that more pleaſing ſervice. And then, being poſſeſſed with an habitual love to God and to Religion, upon ſuch ſatisfactory Reaſons as you have propounded to your ſelf, and well conſidered; the obſerving of the Occaſions, which either time or place, or company, or ſuch like circumſtances preſent you, to expreſs it, muſt needs be a mighty awakening to your Spirit, to beſtir it ſelf with all diligence, in the improvement of ſuch an advantage. And theſe occaſions are therefore of ſuch force to call up our endeavours, becauſe we know, that as much may be done then, which cannot be performed at another time, ſo they will not wait upon us and ſtay our leiſure; and that as they paſs away, ſo we know not when they will come again. For May (as the Proverb is) comes not every Moneth: and a fit opportunity lies not, in every lock of Times head. And if there ſhould, yet it is bald behind; and we cannot call back that which is gone, which may be better, than will be preſented to us again. And if we find by experience that theſe occaſions do excite our Souls, then the obſerving and embracing them will be an excellent means to keep us from dulneſs; becauſe it is likely that God will favour us with more of them, when he ſees that we uſe thoſe well, which he hath given us already.

But yet you ought to be cautious that this do not prove matter of ſcruple and perplexity to you, if you neglect an occaſion, when you are otherwiſe neceſſarily employed. For both prudence and the forwardneſs of our affections, and every thing elſe, muſt give way to a real neceſſity: and of two neceſſary things, that ſeems to be moſt neceſſary, in which we are already engaged. Make therefore a ſhort Addreſs to God, and both comfort and quicken your ſelf, after this manner; when you are dull and indiſpoſed, or otherwiſe apt to be perplexed, upon ſuch accounts as theſe.

YOU ſee already how neceſſary it is, well to underſtand our ſelves; and therefore, leſt you ſhould think the pleaſures of Religion to be other than they are, it will concern you, My Friend, in the next place, to Diſtinguiſh carefully between thoſe conſolations that are ſpiritual, and thoſe that are ſenſible. For your receiving benefit by this Rule, you muſt conſider, that the ſpirit of man being (as I ſaid) joyned to a body, and made a member of this World, and yet belonging to another Country, hath ſeveral ſorts of faculties (which we call its upper and lower powers) whereby it converſes with both. With the former, which are the mind, underſtanding and will, it hath entercourſe with God and Inviſible things, and is fitted to improve all lower objects to an heavenly end: with the other, which we call ſenſe, imagination, and ſenſitive appetite, we can maintain acquaintance with nothing, but this outward World. Or rather this one Soul of Man is fitted with Capacities of ſuch different kinds, that it can hold correſpondence with God and the higher World, and likewiſe with the goods of the body, in this World which is ſenſible to us.

Now ſuch a friendſhip there is between the Soul and the Body, by reaſon of their nearneſs, and between the upper and lower faculties of the Soul (if you ſo conceive of it) by reaſon, as I may call it, of their oneneſs; that they do mutual good offices for each other, when they are able. And as the Soul lends ſuch a great part of it ſelf, to ſerve the Bodies neceſſities: ſo the bodily ſpirits likewiſe are ready to aſſiſt the Soul, in their better Moods, to a freer purſuit of its own concernments, in its motion towards God and the things above. And more than this, the pleaſures of the one redound to the other; what the Soul doth for the Body, returning upon the mind it ſelf, and the bodily ſpirits likewiſe oft-times feeling the contentment, of which the mind taſteth. Hence it is that by diſcreet uſe of bodily enjoyments, and due attendance to the outward Mans moderate ſatisfaction, the ſpirits ofttimes are made ſo mild and ſweet, ſo chearful and compliant; that the Mind finds them more ready and forward to accompany it in the contemplation of Diviner objects; and it ſerves it ſelf the more, by ſerving the Body for a while. And on the contrary part, when the mind converſes with Heavenly things, they ſo powerfully touch it, at certain Seaſons, that they make a motion there all over, even as far as the very skirts of its Territories. The Heart is glad, the Spirits leap and dance for joy, and the very blood in our Veins runs the ſmoother for it.

Now while we have this ſenſible delectation in the borders of our Soul by the agitation of the Animal Spirits, to which the mind communicates its reſentments; there is no part of us, but can be well content to accompany the mind in its devotions, and they will not be enclined to with draw their attendance from theſe delightful ſervices. But on the other ſide, if the Mind (through incapacity, it is like, of the Body to receive them) cannot impreſs its perceptions upon the Spirits, nor make ſuch a warmth and heat in them, that they are pleaſed, and move delightfully; though it really hath no leſs of God in it ſelf, than it had before when they skipt for joy; yet now the Body becomes like a lump of Clay, and cannot endure to be drawn any longer to theſe Holy Duties. Yea, the Soul it ſelf (unleſs it duly conſider) will begin hereat to be greatly dejected; and to have little liſt to that, which gives ſo ſmall contentment to it, as it is an Inhabitant in Fleſh, and which makes its abode nothing pleaſant and comfortable, for the preſent.

But, if in this ſtate, the Mind recollect it ſelf and conſider, that, for its part, it doth what it did before (though it doth not feel it ſelf and perceive its power in the ſame manner) and that it is not bound to produce theſe pleaſurable motions in the lower man, and that they are more pleaſing to us, than unto God; it might preſently have rational ſatisfaction and tranquillity in its own breaſt (which is the beſt of all other joys) and be perſwaded to hold on in its courſe, notwithſtanding this ſeeming diſcouragement. And if the Mind by theſe, or ſuch like conſiderations, be induced to do as it was wont, then I cannot ſee but all its performances would be both more acceptable to God, and in the iſſue more delightful to it ſelf.

For there is more ſtrength of a Mans reaſon and will in them, now that he wants that pleaſing aſſiſtance which the Body uſed to afford him in the doing of them. His love to God is the more fervent and unconquerable, in that it will not ceaſe its motion towards him, though all things elſe fail it, but only the force of its own inclination. He is not, in true underſtanding, more weak and feeble now, but a Perſon of greater might and courage than he was before. He breaks through all difficulties, and will not ſuffer himſelf to be overborn by the great load, that lies upon his Spirits. I ſaid juſt now that the lower man finding a delectation in Gods ſervice, might be well contented with it, if not deſirous of thoſe Holy Duties: and ſo the Soul in doing them, gave no great proof, at ſuch a time, of the power and vigour of its own affections to them; becauſe there was no impediment or reluctance, in the other party. But when there is nothing but a ſenſe of its duty to invite it, and all beſide begin to withdraw their conſent; then it is, that it ſhowes its reſolution, and what it can do by it ſelf. Then a man demonſtrates his heart to be ſo ſet towards God, and to be ſo much in love with him, that he will pleaſe him, though he cannot pleaſe half of himſelf in what he doth, in obedience to his commands.

And beſides, by a right underſtanding of this that I have ſaid, there may be ſome way perhaps found of recovering theſe ſenſible joyes; which are ſo grateful to us, that we never think we have enough of them. Either (1) by more preparing our Mind, and labouring to work in it a deeper apprehenſion of what we go about: And if the fault be there, this will cure it. Or (2) by gratifying our outward man with ſome recreations and ſenſible goods, that it is in love withal; whereby its ſpirits may be better cheared, than they can be, for the preſent, with Divine exerciſes. Seeing it cannot now have a good liking of that which the mind doth moſt deſire, let the mind make no ſcruple to comply more freely with it, and entertain it with thoſe innocent pleaſures, which agree beſt with its inclinations. And if the fault lye there and ariſe from its lumpiſhneſs, this may be a Remedy for it. Or (3) by uſing humiliations of the Body, by abſtinence and faſting (if through too much fulneſs it be indiſpoſed) or by ſmiting on our Breaſt, caſting down our ſelves on our Face (if through too ſtrong a taſte of earthly joyes it be grown untractable:) and if the fault be partly in the mind, and partly in the body, it may be in this manner removed. No body doubts, but diſcreet Faſting is very profitable in ſome caſes; and for the other, we find ſo many examples of them in the Holy Books, that we cannot think they are to be deſpiſed. Nay, it is likely that good men found by an outwardly humbled body, that the mind was more affected, and apt to be humbled therewith.

But then remember that it is far better when the Mind affects the Body, than when the Body affects the Mind: and we ſhould ſtrive rather after that, though we ſhould not reject the help of this. I will give you an inſtance, which ſhall, at once, prove this; and ſhow withall the influence the Body hath upon the Mind. Let a Man Pray or Preach in a melting tone, with much action of his hands, and with earneſt looks and motions of his Head; and the affections of the People ſhall be exceedingly ſtirred: when as the very ſame matter and words delivered after another manner, ſhall not half ſo much work upon them. Nay, if the Voice be but ſweet, and the carriage graceful, though there be little action of the Body, and no arts of inſinuation to conjure up the affections; yet the diſcourſe which comes with theſe advantages, ſhall find more favour and better entertainment with the Hearers; than that which proceeds from an harſher mouth, and a leſs plauſible behaviour, though otherwiſe it be of far greater weight and moment. And ſo we ſee many People chuſe to ſit in the Miniſters face, rather than behind a Pillar or the Pulpit, becauſe they ſay their minds are made more attentive, and their hearts more engaged thereby. From all which you are ſatisfied how much the Soul many times is beholden to the eyes, and eares, and thoſe ſtirrings in the blood, which outward Objects create. But yet you know very well alſo, that one ſtrong touch or ſtroke that the Mind gives it ſelf by a piercing conſideration, is of far greater force to breed even a ſenſible delectation, if the Body be diſpoſed; than all the commotions and agitations in the Body are to beget a rational ſatisfaction and contentment of mind, though it be never ſo deſirous of it. And the affections, you know likewiſe, that are raiſed by thoſe outward means, are not half ſo much worth, as thoſe which the mind it ſelf excites, from the matter, and not the manner of what is delivered.

Theſe ſenſible conſolations then are not to be ſlighted, but it is far better to look after the other. And if when we deſire them, it were as a ſtep and help to the other, they were the more to be valued and endeavoured after. As the pleaſant trembling and warmbling (I may call it) of the Spirits doth much clarify them, (juſt as the Air is purified by being ſhaken) upon that account it is deſirable; for the affording our mind a freer ſight of its own objects. But if we love it only for the harmony and raviſhing delight that is in it ſelf; then it may prove dangerous, becauſe it is apt to take the mind off from its own proper pleaſures. It is to be acknowledged that when the Spirits are refined by gentle agitations, the Soul ſits in the Body like to the Eye in a clear Sun-ſhine day: But if at ſuch a time it gaze meerly on this light, and do not make uſe of it to look upon other objects, it loſes by its advantages; and for an eye full of light, lets go an heart full of joy and pure contentment. And beſides this, it is to be conſidered that we may be eaſily cheated by theſe ſenſible delectations; and therefore they are not to be deſired ſo much as the other, wherein there is not ſo much danger of being cozened. Many warm Souls think themſelves very Religious, becauſe they are moved at a Sermon, or can weep in their Prayers; whereas they remain as cold as a ſtone, and as dry as a rotten ſtick to all good works. They are covetous, peeviſh, proud and cenſorious: and yet theſe ill qualities do not trouble them, as long as they feel thoſe pleaſing motions, which tickle them into a belief that they are beloved of God, though they be no better. And on the other ſide, many good Souls imagine that they have more of God in them at ſuch times, when they find ſuch melting affections in their hearts, than they have at others, when they are without them; whereby they ſet a lighter eſteem upon far greater teſtimonies of Gods love (which then they need not want) ſuch as Humility, Patience, Denial of our own wills, and reſignation to his good will and pleaſure.

Upon this account many Papiſts, that have left our communion, are wont wretchedly to deceive and abuſe themſelves: who profeſs that they find their hearts more ſtirred before a Crucifix, and the Image of the bleſſed Virgin, and with Prayers which they hear in an unknown Language, than they were while they attended on the Divine Service of our Church; where they knew, or might have known, as much of God, and our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, and all ſpiritual things, as they can do now. Alas! they conſider not how much the fancy is taken with Pictures, and Bodily Geſtures, and all things of Novelty; without any preceding conſideration of the mind, or any conſent of the will before demanded. Theſe may be but natural motions (ſuch as are common to us with brute Creatures) which are raiſed by outward objects, and not by our ſelves. And as a drop of ſweet phlegme that trickles down upon a Mans Palate in a ſlumber, makes him think he ſwallows honey, or is glutted with ſweet meats: So many times do drowſy and inconſiderate Souls dream that they are full of the joys of God, and ſatiated with Divine Pleaſures, when they are but mocked with thoſe natural delights which agreeable Objects ſtroke them withall, while their fancies are awake, and their minds are aſleep.

Let us attend therefore, My Friend, to the giving all ſatisfaction to our inward man, and ſeriouſly comply with our nobleſt deſires of pleaſing God, by doing his will in every thing. And, if we can likewiſe give contentment thereby, to all about us; well and good: but if that be not poſſible, let us not think we are the worſe becauſe we cannot; ſince we are not the better, if we can. And ſeeing variety is ſo grateful to our weakneſs, you may try what paſſions you can excite in your heart, by this ſhort addreſs to God, which I ſhall add, at the end of this particular, to many others which you are acquainted withall: adviſing you ſtill to be ſatisfied and well pleaſed, in the doing of what you ought, though it prove not ſo delightful to you as you deſire.

BUT that your mind may not grow quite dull, when your bodily ſpirits begin to ſink, and to be flat and liſtleſs, Obſerve, My Friend, what it was that firſt begat devotion and lively affections in you, towards God and Goodneſs: for that will be moſt effectual to continue them. It is an ordinary Maxime in Phyſick, that we are nouriſhed out of the ſame things, of which we conſiſt. Liquid things agree beſt with a Child, while its Fleſh is ſoft, and but newly come from ſwimming in its Mothers Womb. Every Lamb runs to the Ewe that yean'd it, and layes hold of her teates; which are near the place where it lately lay. And ſo may we hope to ſuck both moſt ſweetneſs and moſt proper ſuſtenance, from thoſe truths which firſt affected our hearts, and wherein we have been wont to find the greateſt relliſh. It is obſervable that Iron, which naturally moves towards the Load-ſtone, when it hath once ſaluted it, and hath been received into its embraces, is more poſſeſſed with a magnetick love, and grows more ſenſible of its attractions, and more deſirous of an union with it, than it was before that touch, which made it feel how it could awaken and enliven it. Even juſt ſo it is with our hearts; which when they feel the kind influence and invigorating power of any thing upon them, are the more diſpoſed to receive the touches and impreſſions of it again, and naturally open themſelves, and wiſh for it with greater paſſion, than they did before they had that acquaintance with it.

If it was the lovelineſs and beauty then of the Divine Nature and Perfections, which firſt awakened your Heart, think of that, and turn your eyes towards it; for it is not at all withered or decayed. How doth a fair Image ſometimes ſlip through a Mans eyes into his heart, and ingrave it ſelf ſo deeply there, that it is paſt his power to raſe it out? And will not a ſenſe of God and the light of his countenance, if it ſhine upon us, leave ſuch a laſting remembrance of it in our Souls; that we ſhall like him, and love him longer than a Day? And if the firſt glance of him be ſo ſurpriſing, and make us, that we cannot eaſily forget how amiable he is; O how infinitely more affecting will a ſerious and conſtant contemplation of him prove? If a little ray from his face, that glided into our hearts, we know not how, was ſo ſtriking and glorious; how ſhall we be inamoured, when we ſtedfaſtly, and on purpoſe fix our minds and affection on Him, deſiring to be better acquainted with his Excellencies? It is impoſſible but you ſhould find your heart more powerfully ſtirred toward Him; when you conſider likewiſe, that you can never diſcover all of him, but new beauties will every Day preſent themſelves, and ſhine upon you, while you feelingly converſe with him. You will not endure your ſelf, if you ſhould love him the leſs, becauſe he admits of your love, and every day appears more lovely and deſirable.

But it was a ſenſe of his love to you perhaps (which is far more common) that begat in you the affection of love to him. Then there cannot be a more delightful ſubject for your thoughts: nor can Religion commend it ſelf by any thing more than this, that it is love, begot by love. And there is nothing ſurer than that you ſhall be conſtant and unwearied in your duty, if Gods mercies and kindneſſes can affect your heart, for they are conſtantly and unweariedly poured forth upon you. The new ones you enjoy daily are ſo many, that you may know by them the old ones are innumerable. You can turn your eyes no way, but you ſee your ſelf incircled with them, and hear ſomething calling for your love. All his works declare, not only the excellence of his Nature, but his goodneſs likewiſe and bounty towards you. For every one of them doth you ſome office of love. They all wait upon you at the command of your Heavenly Father; and they would inſtantly deny their Service, did not he continue it by the Word of his Power. He muſt be blind and never ſaw the Sun, who ſees not God and his goodneſs every where: What beauties doth not that great Luminary create? What fruits and flowers doth it not produce? What Liquors doth it not generate? How doth it cheriſh all Creatures? How doth it fill your eyes and eares, and all your Senſes with its Heavenly influences? And how many of thoſe good things, which you behold by its light, hath God beſtowed on you for your portion? Rather than not love ſome higher Being, one would be tempted to fall down and worſhip this. The poor Perſians of old, knowing nothing more glorious, had their hearts wounded with the Raies of the Sun, and the light and warmth of its beames ſeemed ſo admirable, that they adored and loved it as their God. Shall not we then love him moſt heartily, who made that, and all things elſe: who hath opened to us alſo another World (as I have told you) by our Lord Jeſus, far more beautiful and glorious than this, to make us love him? You can never want matter to feed your thoughts, and to recreate your mind with delightful Meditations, and your heart with Heavenly affections; when his goodneſs is ſo largely diffuſed, beyond the bounds of all things viſible. Or if, when you would meditate on his innumerable favours, you find that your thoughts ſtand ſtill, and will not ſtir, or that they go backward and ſtart aſide to ſomething elſe: Your heart will even then burſt forth into admiration and great expreſſions of love, to think that his goodneſs ſhould be ſo great to us, who can ſcarce thank him for it, or conſider it.

But ſuppoſe it was a ſenſe of ſin, and the evil of it, which moſt ſtartled your mind, when you began to be Religious; then every thing you ſee, every thing you can think of, will help to aggravate it. And the more you heighten its malignity, and repreſent to your ſelf its formidable nature; or reflect only on its baſeneſs and diſingenuity, together with its pride and arrogance; the more you will unavoidably be rouſed out of the ſin of ſlumber and ſtupidity.

Or if it was the promiſe of Heaven, and the belief of immortal life (that I may name no more inducements) which firſt invited you to od; that is a thing ſo vaſt, that your deſires and hopes of enjoying it, will not let you be weary of thinking of it. Immortal Life! What a good is that, will you ſay to your ſelf? On what ſhould I fix my eyes ſo much, and with ſo much pleaſure, as on that bleſſedneſs? Who would loſe his Portion in Immortal Life, for all the dying pleaſures and poſſeſſions of this World; though he could be ſure to enjoy them to the end of his days? Immortal Life! I am not yet awake ſure; or elſe the very Name of it would make my Heart leap, and quicken this dull and ſluggiſh Spirit, to the moſt earneſt and chearful purſuit of it, in all the exerciſes of Chriſtian godlineſs. What ſhould make me move ſo heavily in the ways of God, unleſs it be, that I forget to look continually towards this Immortal Life? And what is that ſhould make me forget it? How come I to loſe that ſenſe, and let go my hopes of Immortal Life? O wonderful Love! O patient goodneſs! which ſtill waits and attends upon me, to remind my Soul of its everlaſting bliſs. May I after ſo long a time of ſleep, and ſuch forgetfulneſs, be favoured with a ſight of it? Will my love and free obedience be yet accepted? Awake, awake then all the hidden powers of my Soul; riſe up and call him bleſſed. Who can with-hold his heart from devoting it ſelf affectionately to him? With what pleaſures can I entertain my ſelf, comparable to thoſe which grow out of the hope of Immortal Life? Or what ſervice can be unpleaſant, which is undertaken for ſo great an happineſs? The thoughts of it make my Soul light and aërial, even under the burden of this Body. I feel it drawing me up above: from whence when I look down upon all the men of this lower World, how do they appear, but as ſo many little Ants, buſily creeping on a Mole-hill; while I ſit upon the holy Hill of God? O that my mind could dwell there! Or, ſince I cannot reach ſo high a felicity, it may never deſcend from thence, but with a lively remembrance of the joys of that Celeſtial Hope; which may bear me up above all the petty temptations of this World! For what is it that I labour and toil, with ſuch reſtleſs thoughts and deſires? For what am I troubled and diſcontented? Can any thing make him abſolutely unhappy, who hopes to live for ever with God? No; I will rejoyce in my Lord always, again I ſay, I will rejoyce. I will bear at leaſt, even all my dulneſs and liſtleſneſs to my duty, with a quiet and compoſed mind, in hope one day to be more full of life.

Here my Pen is very forward, and would be running on further than my deſign will allow. And therefore I muſt reſtrain it, and abbreviate alſo the remaining Counſels, having been ſo long in ſome of the foregoing: leſt inſtead of a little Book to carry about with you and refreſh you, I ſhould ſend you a tedious Volume that will quite tire you. Let me only annex, before I leave this, a Prayer to God, which relates to what hath been now ſaid, and with which you are not unacquainted.

AND having thus poured forth your Soul to God, you may feel your ſelf ſometimes ſo mightily moved; that your heart runs out, with much pleaſure, in abundance of pious thoughts and holy affections, which you are not wont to find at other times. And then, My Friend, let me tell you, it would be of ſingular uſe, if you would ſet down thoſe extraordinary thoughts and paſſionate effuſions of your Soul, which you feel in your greater enlargements. Theſe are as ſo many Records, which you have to ſhow of the Spirits prevalency and triumph over the dull fleſh. They are the flights of your Soul, whereby you ſee to what it aſpires; and how great and happy it may be, when God pleaſes. They are the tokens of Gods love, whereby he would indear himſelf to your heart. And you may look upon them, as if they were Golden Chains let down from Heaven, to draw and attract you thither; and bind you faſt, but willingly, to your duty. It is great pity to throw away ſuch ſweet flowers, after once ſmelling of them: to lay by ſuch good thoughts, as we do a common Book after the firſt reading. I would wiſh you to find ſome ſafe repoſitory for them, and to lay up carefully ſuch expreſſions of your mind in Meditation or Prayer, as are moſt lively and affecting; and to fetch them out for your uſe, when any dulneſs or ſtraitneſs ſhall oppreſs you.

As a good Student when he reads a Book, though he may let paſs the moſt of it which he knew before, yet, remarks and preſerves in his Notes the choiceſt parts, in which he finds great ſtrength of reaſon, or ſharpneſs of wit, or may be any ways uſeful to him in his deſign: ſo would I have you mark thoſe paſſages in your converſe with God and Divine things, which have in them ſome fulneſs of ſenſe, ſome livelineſs of conceit, ſome elevation of mind, and are ſo much beyond the ordinary ſtrain of thinking; as if they were ſome beam of light darted from an higher hand, or the utmoſt endeavour of the Soul to be with God. When you find, I ſay, your conceptions ſo fit and proper, that you ſeem to behold the bare face of truth, when ſome thing ſmites your heart with ſuch a force of reaſon, that you are conſtrained to yield, or when ſuch an holy breath comes into you, that your Soul ſwells and grows too big for your body; let them be noted as carefully as the Moneth and the Day was, by your Parents, which brought you into the World; or as you remember the happy time, when God beſtowed ſome ſingular bleſſing on you, which made this World a more comfortable place, than otherwiſe you ſhould have found it.

Examples you know are wont to move us much; and therefore of what power may we ſuppoſe it to be, when we can propound our ſelves for an Example to us? This Copy, as I may call it, of our ſelves, beſides that it will make us bluſh at another time, to ſee how unlike we are to our ſelves, will alſo excite us to recover the ſame countenance and aſpect that once we had; and make ſome colour come into our Faces and warmth into our Spirits, when we are pale and cold in the ſervice of God. It will remember us likewiſe of the pleaſurable motions, that were then in our hearts; and remembrance is the way to call them back again. It will furniſh us alſo with ſome matter for our thoughts, when they are barren, and can bring forth nothing. For, though reading of ſome good Book, in this caſe, may be very advantageous to us, yet nothing can more aſſiſt us than a Book of our own making; the births, as I may term them, of our own mind: Both becauſe they beſt ſute with our notions, and can ſoon find the place where they lay before, and becauſe they will remember us alſo of Gods grace and goodneſs to us; ſo that either ſhame, or love, or hope will make us ſtrain to do the ſame again, or to excel our ſelves. When no thoughts will ſtir within, we muſt call for ſome helps without to move us; and what is there that will ſo eaſily enter, as that which was once within us before? Nothing ſure can better fit us, than that which our own Souls have cut out and ſhaped for themſelves.

As a Chymiſt therefore that is drawing out the more retired ſpirits of things, if he grows faint in his work, takes a drop or two of his own extracts, to bring his Soul back again: ſo ſhould we do, when our livelineſs begins to forſake us, and our Soul complains of its weak and fainting Fits. We muſt pour in ſome of thoſe thoughts which we have formerly drawn out of our hearts; which are, as it were, the quinteſſence of our Souls, and the very ſpirits of our Devotion, that they may recall the life that is flying away. And tell me, I beſeech you, what a reviving it is, but to think that we once had ſuch thoughts in our mind? What a Cordial is it, to the languiſhing Soul to feed, as I may ſay, upon its own Honey, and taſte of its own ſweetneſs? How greedily will it embrace, and how gladly will it ſmile upon the Children of its own Womb? How pleaſant will it be but to hope, that it may become fruitful again, as well as it was before? to behold the Picture of what it may be, as well as of what it hath been in former times?

Save therefore ſome of theſe; and let them not all be ſpilt, as they diſtill from your Soul. Lay them up in ſtore; conſidering the time may come when your Soul will be glad to have them reſtored to it, and will receive them as ſo many drops of Balm. Keep them by you, as you do ſome precious Liquor; which by long labour, and many Operations, you have fetcht out of a number of excellent Herbs or Spices, or other rare Ingredients. For, though you muſt not have recourſe to them every day, yet there may be a ſeaſon, you ſee, when they will do you ſo high a pleaſure, that you may owe your life or your chearfulneſs to them. They may ſtand you, at leaſt, in ſo much ſtead, as to preſerve you from utter diſtaſt of your ſelf, and deſpair of Gods favour; when you are apt to droop, nay ſink under the weight of your Body, or any other load that lies very heavy upon you.

Chear up your Soul then with ſome of its own ſublimer thoughts; and turning your ſelf to the Father of Mercies, ſay;

AND here I cannot but commend to you frequent Meditation and ſerious conſideration (which you might expect to have heard of before) as of ſingular uſe, for the continuance either of your diligence, or of thoſe delectable affections in it. For the Soul is a thing ſo entire in it ſelf, that if one part be ſtrongly moved, the other will be ſo too: juſt as when the Nave of a Wheel turns round, it makes the outermoſt circumference to circle about with it. Much is ſaid by many on this ſubject; and therefore I ſhall only direct you how to Meditate, when you are dull, and unfit, as you imagine, for any thoughts.

When we diſcourſe (you know) with a Servant, and deſire to affect him with what we ſay; if he be ſtupid and heavy, and ſeems not at all to be concerned in our words, then we are wont to make uſe of interrogations, beſeechings, objurgations, exclamations, corrections of our ſelves, admirations, and ſuch like ways, to rouſe his apprehenſion. For we find that if an object touches any of our ſenſes gently and ſoftly, we mind it not while we are intent upon other matters; but if it ſtrikes us with ſome ſmartneſs, and comes with a vehemency and importunity, it alarmes the whole Soul, and makes it not only hear but demand what's the matter. And thus it is in our diſcourſes, if they barely preſent themſelves before Mens Souls, that are otherwiſe ingaged, they regard them not; unleſs by ſome ſuch form of ſpeech, as I have mentioned, they put on ſome ſharpneſs, and be armed with ſome Authority. If we ſpeak, for example, to one that hath committed a fault, in ſuch terms as theſe; Indeed you are very much to blame; You ought not to have done thus; it is contrary both to God and to your ſelf; the World will cry ſhame of you; no body will endure you; &c. He ſtands perhaps as if he were marble, and had been compoſed of inſenſible materials. But if we ſay, what did you mean, when you did ſuch or ſuch an action? Whither were your wits and your conſcience gone? Could you do thus, and not tremble at Gods diſpleaſure? Nay, anſwer me, do you think that God is an Idol, who regards you not, and cannot ſtrike? Oh, that any Man ſhould be ſo ſottiſh; that he ſhould be ſuch an ill Friend to himſelf! Ill Friend, did I ſay? ſuch a deſperate Enemy, I meant, ſuch a fury, ſuch a Devil to his own Soul, &c. This kind of language, it is likely, may make him ſeem a Man; one that is made of fleſh, and not of ſtone.

In ſuch like manner then may you learn to Meditate alone; by diſcourſing with your own Soul after the way of expoſtulation, chiding, reprehenſion, and ſuch like: wherein there is great variety; and therefore great eaſineſs, and no leſs pleaſure. It was a more awakening expreſſion, for David to ſay, Why art thou caſt down, O my Soul? and why art thou diſquieted within me? (XLII. Pſal. 5) than if he had only ſaid, I do not do well to be dejected on this faſhion; it is to no purpoſe to afflict and trouble my ſelf; far better and more ſeemly were it for me to reſt contented. And the repetition of this again (V. 11. and XLIII. 5) gives it a greater force, and adds a ſharper edge to it, than if it had been but a ſingle queſtion. And ſo likewiſe doth it more pierce a ſinners heart to hear God ſay, as you read in the Prophets; Why will you dye? Wilt thou not be made clean? When ſhall it once be? Shall I not viſit for theſe things? ſaith the Lord: Shall not my Soul be avenged on ſuch a Nation as this? than barely to tell him, that there is no reaſon a Man ſhould deſtroy himſelf, and that He is very deſirous of his good, and that it is high time alſo a ſinner ſhould amend, and if he will not, that He cannot ſuffer it, but will certainly puniſh ſuch continued contempt of his forbearance. And therefore you need not doubt but your Soul will ſooner open to you, at ſuch knocks as theſe, and more ſpeedily bring forth its conceptions and paſſions by the Midwifry (as I may call it) of ſuch like queſtions and arguings with your ſelf; than by any other way whereby you endeavour to help its delivery.

Let me preſent you with an example of ſuch a diſcourſe, ſutable to the drift and deſign of this Treatiſe. O my Soul (may you or I ſay) are we now to learn that there is a God? Doſt thou know nothing but what thine Eyes ſee, and thy Hands feel, and thy Pallate taſteth? Strange! that thou ſhouldſt ſo forget to look into thy ſelf! And muſt I be ever demonſtrating to thee, that thou art not of this earth, but a parcel of another World? What? Doſt thou not call God thy Father? Is it not him thou ſeekeſt? With him wouldſt thou not live for ever? Say, wouldſt thou not? Is not this thy earneſt deſire? Speak, and tell me if thou art not of this mind. Need I uſe ſo many words to extort from thee this confeſſion? O how dull art thou, if thou doſt not yet underſtand the difference between his favour, and all the Kingdomes of this Earth! And is it poſſible thy memory ſhould be ſo perfidious, as to have no remaining ſenſe of the incomparable happineſs, thou haſt ſometime ſeen, he is preparing for thee? Where haſt thou been? What haſt thou been doing? What is become of all thoſe holy thoughts, and of that bleſſed Hope of immortal life, which was ſo lately the joy of thy heart? Is that happineſs grown leſs? or is it leſs certain than it was, that thou art grown ſo cold, ſo liſtleſs and indifferent? Let me hear thee ſpeak what thou thinkeſt of it. Is it true, or is it not? Do we Dream, or is it a certain Report which comes to our Eares, when Jeſus tells us he will give Eternal Life to them that obey him? What anſwer doſt thou return? Would a man take all the World in exchange, for his Portion in ſuch a bliſs? Shall our preſent ſatisfaction here be dearer to us, than our future repoſe and fulneſs of joy in the preſence of the Lord? What did I ſay? Satisfaction? Alas! how far are we all from that? The eye is not ſatisfied with ſeeing, nor the Ear filled with hearing. Who hath bewitched thee then, to think of ſeeking thy happineſs here? Is there ſo much as room for thy choice, whom thou wilt love, and to whom thou wilt cleave, as thy chiefeſt good? Doth not neceſſity carry thee to God, and to the eternal World, if thou meaneſt to have ſatisfaction? O how glad am I to find that there is thy heart! What a pleaſure is it to love thy God, and to hope thou art beloved of him? Doſt thou not hold every thing for thy enemy, which would rob thee of ſuch a Pleaſure?

But alas! how long ſhall I find thee full of theſe apprehenſions? Canſt thou aſſure me how many days this ſenſe will abide with thee? O how ſuddenly may I feel thee altered, and become a ſenſleſs thing! How treacherous waſt thou lately; how falſe to thy own reſolutions? Would one think thee a rational being, when thou ſo forgatteſt thy greateſt intereſt? Was it thou who then didſt govern me; or ſome brutiſh ſoul that came for a time and officiated in thy ſtead? How often haſt thou told me of a World of Enemies that watch for our ruine! and yet how negligent and ſupine art thou, as if we had none? Need I remember thee how long ago it is, ſince thou didſt yield, and ſubmit thy ſelf to the weakeſt of them? Thou knoweſt very well, that on ſuch a day thou wert very angry; but canſt thou tell me for what? On another day (would I could ſay but one day) thou waſt lazy; Were thine Enemies then all aſleep? At another time a ſlight occaſion made thee omit a good duty; O at what a ſmall rate art thou willing to part with thy peace? Can one truſt any more ſuch a ſilly and fickle thing as thou art? Can one rely on any of thy promiſes? How wilt thou be able to hold out in ſuch a long conteſt, as we are engaged to maintain? how wilt thou be patient to the end? Such a dull and lazy Soul as thou art, ſo timorous, ſo inconſtant, ſo eaſily abuſed, ſo ſoon puſht down with every occurrence; what hopes can one have of it? —

By this vehement inveighing againſt your ſelf, it is poſſible your Heart may be much awakened, even in its moſt liſtleſs moods, to ſome generous reſolution: and it may anſwer it ſelf after this ſort.

Sad things are here objected againſt me, or if that be too mild a word, why did not I ſay inſufferable things? Much ſloth, idleneſs, impatience (I wiſh thou couldſt tell me all) I am accuſed of; and alas! my preſent dulneſs aſſures me it is too true. O that I could deny it, without any fear of a terrible rebuke! But muſt I therefore be ſo caſt down, as to be diſcouraged? Can he that hath done ill, never be ſo happy as to be able to do well again? May I not hope ſo much, as that I may be chidden into better behaviour? Where is the doom paſſed that I ſhall never amend? Show me that it is impoſſible, or elſe I will not deſpair of it. True it is I need a great deal of patience; but where ſhould I begin to practiſe it, but upon my ſelf? Is it not fit to attend and wait till I can grow better? Many enemies indeed I have; but ſhall I become an enemy to my ſelf alſo? and ſhall I imagine, that I have no Friend? I have been inconſtant, and peeviſh, and diſcontented, and a lover of the World, &c. But muſt I therefore be always ſo? No; Therefore I will not be ſo always. It is confeſſed, my indeavours have been careleſs and lazy: What ſhould I do therefore, but be more vigilant and induſtrious? I have faln ſometimes; but is it wiſdome therefore to lye ſtill? Do you call this good reaſoning? Is there any ſenſe in ſuch a concluſion? Rather I will take more heed to my ſelf, and walk with greater care. What though I have given back in ſome aſſaults? May not a Man recover his courage, and behave himſelf more valiantly? O the folly of humane Nature! that we ſhould undo our ſelves at every turn; firſt by doing amiſs, and then by deſpairing to do otherwiſe! Bleſs the Lord, O my Soul, that we are aware of this dangerous miſtake. And let us not deſpond, though we have no reaſon to boaſt, and glory in our reſolution.

Was not this the condition of other of the Saints, long before I was born? Am I the only example of an heavy and ſluggiſh Soul? Muſt I be recorded the firſt in the Catalogue for inconſtancy? What helps and aſſiſtances then had they, to reſtore themſelves and to preſerve them to the end, which are ſtrangers to our eares? Muſt I diſpatch a meſſage to ſome Forreign Country for their Recipe's, as we ſend for Drugs and Spices? Cannot we tell without the charge of going to Hippo, what Holy Auſtine ſtrengthned himſelf withall? Muſt we take a Pilgrimage to Rome to learn St. Hierome's Medicines? Sure, my Soul, thou haſt the ſame gracious Saviour, the ſame compaſſionate High-Prieſt, the ſame cordial promiſes, the very ſame hope of the Goſpel, which revived and ſupported their hearts; or if thou haſt not, ſpeak, that I may go and ſeek them. Look then on thy bleſſed Saviour, look on his holy Apoſtles, nay, look upon all thoſe excellent Perſons in the Church that have ſucceeded them; Shall we not follow ſuch glorious Leaders? Are their Examples impoſſible to be imitated? If they be, they are not examples. How can we be cold, when we think of the flames of their love? How can we be lazy and unwilling to do, when we ſee how forward, how vehemently deſirous they were to ſuffer? What ſhould hinder us from going on, when we have ſuch a Multitude of Triumphant Souls before our eyes, whom nothing could drive back? Shall pleaſures, ſhall the incumbrance of buſineſs, ſhall Relations and Friends, yea, ſhall dangers, ſhall Death? No; I am not inchanted, I am not affrighted with theſe words. Be gone you falſe and deceitful pleaſures. How dare you perplex me, you impertinent imployments? No more of your importunity, I charge you, if you will be my Friends. Welcome contempt, welcome reproach, welcome poverty, or any other thing, which will certainly bring me nearer to my God.

But what is it that gives you this ſuddain confidence? How come you of a coward, to grow thus couragious? Of a Snail, who made you thus to mount up in your thoughts like an Eagle? Who will believe that thou wilt do ſuch things? I will believe it (may you anſwer again to your ſelf) whatſoever can be objected againſt it. Why are theſe called ſuddain thoughts, which are my moſt deliberate reſolutions? Through the Lord I ſhall do valiantly: He it is that ſhall tread down mine enemies under me.—

The like diſcourſe you may have with your ſelf about God, or any other ſubject. You may conſider not only that he is gracious, and merciful, but cry out, O how great, how great is his goodneſs! Is there any thing thou canſt name comparable to his loving-kindneſs? What makes thee then ſo unwilling to go to him? What's the cauſe of ſuch a diffidence and unbelief, as hath deadned and diſpirited thine heart? Could I think that any thing would make thee fall into this ſtupidity? Didſt thou not once look upon him as the firſt Beauty, as the joy, the health and the life of our Souls? Who is it that is altered and hath ſuffered a change? He or thou? Is he not the ſame to day, yeſterday, and for ever? Why ſhouldeſt not thou be the ſame too? Or, why ſhouldſt thou not think that he will make thee the ſame again? How many times is it repeated in the Book of God, that his mercy endureth for ever? For whom was it but ſuch trembling Souls as thou, that he proclaims himſelf ſo often, to be abundant in mercy, goodneſs and truth? But muſt we not then believe it? Is this the way to obtain his mercy, by diſtruſting of him? What a prepoſterous courſe is this? How unſeemly, nay, how unkind is it to queſtion theſe gracious declarations of his love? Let us be confidently perſwaded he hath a greater deſire than we, that we ſhould be true and faithful to him. Let us reſt our thoughts in this concluſion that neither death nor life, nor Angels, nor Principalities, nor Powers, nor things preſent, nor things to come, nor heighth, nor depth, nor any other Creature, ſhall be able to ſeparate us from the love of God, which is in Chriſt Jeſus our Lord.

Now when you find any benefit by ſuch expoſtulations and reaſonings with your ſelf, & hope it would do you ſome good, if you ſhould uſe the like in an humble addreſs to God; you may be furniſhed with ſeveral ſtrains of devout Admiration, and Pathetical Appeals to his all-ſeeing Majeſty out of the Holy Scriptures. There are Examples alſo of the other; but expoſtulations with God are not to be imitated without much caution and holy fear, and ought not to be commonly uſed. It may be ſufficient to conclude the foregoing Meditations, with ſome ſuch form of words as this.

AND that you may be the more humbly confident both of Gods continued goodneſs, and your own fidelity and the more fit likewiſe for pious Meditations; labour, I intreat you, as much as ever you can, to maintain a conſtant chearfulneſs of ſpirit, and lightſomneſs of heart. Without this, it will be always night with you, or but a cold Winters day; and as you will have no liſt either for meditation or any other employment, ſo you will be apt to live in perpetual ſuſpicion of God, and of your Friends, and of your ſelf.

Melancholy is a dull lumpiſh humour, which makes us of a frozen diſpoſition, and a Leaden temper. It inclines us not only to think worſe of our ſelves than we are, but to do worſe than otherwiſe we ſhould. It repreſents thoſe things as exceeding difficult, which may be done with eaſe; and thoſe as impoſſible, which have in them any conſiderable difficulty. It benums and ſtupifies our Souls; and will let us feel nothing but it ſelf. It quite diſpirits us, and will not ſuffer us to do any thing, becauſe it imagines we cannot ſtir. It ſhows us to our ſelves in an ugly Glaſs; and then no wonder we look amiſs upon all things elſe. Some things it makes to appear bigger than they are; and then all the reſt appear leſs. And having conceived them otherways than they are, it nouriſhes the conceit till we believe it real.

As under the weight of ſome ſluggiſh matter in the blood, a man ſometimes fancies his Arms are as big as Poſts, and then his Hands ſeem as heavy as a Pig of Lead, and he thinks he is unable to lift them up to his Head: ſo it is with our minds, when they are oppreſſed with the burden of a ſad and melancholy humour. It makes all our duty ſeem very great, and our ſtrength to be none at all. All impediments it renders as big as Mountains; but our ſelves not of force enough to remove a ſtraw. It firſt binds up all the powers of the Soul, and then will not let them be unlooſed. It makes us very fearful of that, which it perſwades us we cannot avoid. And it afflicts us for that, which yet it makes us fancy we cannot do. In an heat it puſhes us forward; but ſuddenly it cools, and ſays we cannot go. If it catch fire it makes us wild; and when it hath ſpent that flame, it leaves us ſots and fools. It pricks us forward ſometimes to an enterprize; but it ſelf is the ſhackles and fetters that will not let us move.

This heavineſs you muſt take heed of, and give no indulgence to it: For it is the worm of the mind (as one of the Antients expreſſes it) which eateth up its Parent that brought it forth. Contrary to the nature of other births, it pleaſes us much, when we bring it forth, but proves a miſerable torment to us, as ſoon as it is born. Melancholy muſings, I mean, are at firſt a very delightful entertainment to the mind; but they grow in a little time to be a very troubleſome brood. They are a dangerous maze, in which a Man may eaſily loſe himſelf, and from whence he cannot, without much difficulty, get forth. Honey is not ſweet to a feaveriſh man; nor are the ſweeteſt truths acceptable to the ſad. Clogs are not a greater impediment to the Feet, than this humour to the motions of the Soul. The eyes are not more darkned with ſome kind of fumes and vapours, than the underſtanding is with its black imaginations. The Ayr is not more poyſoned, when it is charged with a thick and ſtinking miſt, than the mind is offenſive to it ſelf and others, when it is buried in its Clouds. And as the Sun, when it looks through a Fog, ſeems as if it were all bloody: So do the faireſt objects, even God himſelf, appear in a diſmal and horrid ſhape, when theſe ſullen exhalations gather about us.

Labour then continually to diſperſe them, and blow them away by ſuch means as you find, by experience, to be moſt available to that purpoſe. For chearfulneſs cauſes the Soul to breath in a pure Air; and to dwell in a wholſome and ſweet incloſure. It makes our work ſeem eaſie, and difficulties ſeem little, and God ſeem good, and ſo our ſtrength ſeem great and irreſiſtable. It inlightens the mind, it incourages the heart, it adds wings to the affections: and therefore he that forbids it to our Souls, keeps out the welcomeſt Gueſt, and the beſt Friend that Nature hath. It misbeſeems none but the wicked, in whom it is commonly a light mirth and a fooliſh jollity. As you ſee fine ornaments and curious dreſſes ſet off an handſome Face, though they render thoſe who are ugly more ill-favoured: So doth chearfulneſs exceedingly become good Souls, though in bad men it be moſt ridiculous.

For which cauſe, it is neither unmeet to uſe any helps that Nature affords us to acquire it; nor to call in the aſſiſtance of innocent arts and pretty inventions to invite it to keep us company. Socrates bluſhed not to be found at Boyes-play with his Children. The wiſe and ſolemn Cato ſometimes ſtooped to be a little frollick. The great Scipio thought it not unbecoming his triumphal body (as Seneca calls it) to uſe grave dances, and trip about a Room in decent meaſures. Some devout men indeed have pronounced of ſuch like paſtimes, as Phyſicians do of Muſhromes, that the beſt ordered are worth nothing: but they did not mean ſure to decry all thoſe pleaſures which of themſelves are indifferent, and which the intention alone can render good, as well as evil. You ought not to refuſe any ingenious or harmleſs recreations, which you find will cheriſh or refreſh your ſpirit; though by Souls of a dark complexion they be deemed fooleries. It is too great a burden to impoſe on your ſelf ſuch reſtraints, as not to dare ſo much as laugh; for fear of giving occaſion of ſuſpicion to the weak, or of ſlander to the wicked. But ſince a ſpirit free and full of life is moſt uſeful, being indued with more ſtrength and ability than any other, it ought to be preſerved in its alacrity; and when it droops and languiſhes be excited to recover its chearfulneſs again.

I know you do not think it a crime to laugh; nor are you in love with a ſtudied face. You are none of thoſe who take innocence and ſeverity to be ſuch inſeparable companions, that they can never be found aſunder: nor that judg a free carriage to be a certain ſign of an ill mind; and a merry humour to be a conſtant token of levity of ſpirit, or want of judgment. But I deſire that you would not only think it lawful, but neceſſary, to be pleaſant; and that you would by no means ſuffer your ſelf to become ſad, under the notion of being ſerious. The Ancient Chriſtians were ſo cautious in this Point, that we read in Palladius of an old Hermite, who, having five hundred Scholars, would never diſmiſs them without this Leſſon, My Friends be chearful; do not forget, I beſeech you, to be chearful. This was his conſtant lecture; which he repeated as often as St. John did thoſe words (which he is reported always to have had in his mouth) My little Children, love one another. He took it, I ſuppoſe, out of St. Paul, who gives this admonition thrice to the Philippians, III. 1. IV. 4. Rejoyce in the Lord. Rejoyce in the Lord always; and again I ſay rejoyce. It is an unſeemly thing for you to be ſad and heavy, who ſerve ſo good a Maſter, from whom you ſhall receive the reward of an Eternal Inheritance. If they that traffick in earthly Goods rejoyce in an advantageous bargain; Why ſhould not Religious People, whoſe Merchandiſe is Wiſdome (a choiſer thing than Silver or Gold) who have many divine bleſſings already in poſſeſſion, and are in certain hope of more and greater; cheriſh a perpetual joy, and ever be of good comfort?

By which you may ſee, whence we are to derive our chearfulneſs, and to what we muſt be principally beholden for it. It ſprings out of an hearty and ſolid belief of the bleſſed Goſpel, and out of a ſincere obedience to it; and increaſes with our growth in ſpiritual knowledg and underſtanding, and in love to God, and all our Brethren. All which, it would be eaſie to ſhow you, is comprehended in thoſe words of the Apoſtle to the Coloſſians, 11.2, 3. where he expreſſes his earneſt deſire for them, and other Chriſtian People, that their hearts might be comforted, being knit together in love, and unto all riches of the full aſſurance of underſtanding, to the acknowledgment of the myſtery of God, and of the Father, and of Chriſt; in whom are hid all the Treaſures of Wiſdom and Knowledge.

But when our natural ſpirits fail and ſink within us, we muſt uſe natural remedies to recruit them and raiſe them up again. None are to be rejected which are not ſinful; or will endanger to make us ſo. But thoſe eſpecially are to be choſen, which will chear the Body, and yet do no injury, but rather prove beneficial, to the Mind. Of which ſort I ſhall recommend one to you, when I have concluded this Advice, as I have done the reſt, with a ſhort Prayer to God.

THIS puts me in mind to ſpeak a little of Good Company, as a ſingular means not only to chear and refreſh your ſpirits; but to quicken and improve your mind alſo, in wiſdome, or vertue. The joy of one Soul, is no joy, ſay the Hebrews in their common Proverb; which is much-what the ſame with that of the Greeks, One man, is no man. Good Company will help to divert our thoughts, and yet not let us ſpend our time unprofitably. It will make us chearful, and yet wiſe and ſerious: It will delight us, and do us no harm; but make us rather much better.

Some chearfulneſs, I confeſs, is ſuppoſed in a Mans ſpirit, to make him good Company for his Neighbours; for it renders his conceits quick and pleaſant, his words gracious and acceptable, and his very countenance ſmooth and obliging. But if ſome dulneſs at preſent make him not to be a good Companion for them, yet they may be the better company for him; and their chearfulneſs may ſerve to revive his ſpirits, and make him as brisk and well pleaſed as themſelves. For it is not more natural to us to yawn, when others do; than to be uncloudy in our countenances, when the Faces of others ſhine.

We can ſcarce refrain from ſighing, when we are entering upon a very long Journey, through ways in which there are many dangers, and which we have never gone before. But to perform it all alone is ſo uncomfortable, that we are apt to grow weary as ſoon as we have begun it: and therefore are mighty inclined to ſeek for ſome Fellow-travellers, to make it ſeem leſs tedious. Our very Horſes will go the better, when they travel together: And the Beaſt (as ſome Philoſophers call our Body) which we carry along with us, will not be ſo ſoon tired, if we let it have ſome to follow, and bear it company. Whether it be that the forwardneſs of others ſpurs us up to mend our pace, or whether it be that love to them makes us like them, I know not; but ſo it is, that they who have the goodneſs of others to help and incourage them, are wont to find themſelves better diſpoſed, than otherwiſe they ſhould have been, if they had lived alone.

It is Solomon's Obſervation, XIII. Prov. 20. that, He who walketh with wiſe men ſhall be wiſe; but a Company of Fools ſhall be the worſe for it. We have an example of the former part of it (ſaith R. Eliezer) in Lot; who by the pious Example of Abraham with whom he lived, became a good Man, imitating his works, and walking in his ſteps. For as Abraham, when he dwelt in Charran, was wont to exerciſe hoſpitality, and to receive ſtrangers: So did Lot when he dwelt in Sodom; whereby he had the happineſs to entertain Angels. As a Man (ſaith he) who goes into the Shop of one that ſells Spices, though he cheapen and buy nothing, yet receives a grateful odor, and carries away a refreſhment: So does he that converſes with the juſt, partake of their good manners, and carries away a ſweet remembrance of their works. Therefore, either ſociety, or death, is a common Proverbial wiſh among the ſame Hebrews. One cannot tell which is the greater deſert, as Nauſiclides was wont to ſpeak, (as Athenaeus tells us) a place where there is no ſpring, or where there are no good Neighbours. He muſt be more than a Man, whoſe ſpirits do not fail him, if he want this refreſhment. He will ſoon be gone to another World, if he have no ſociety in this. It is a thing ſo neceſſary, that company not ſo good as we would wiſh, proves, now and then, better than none at all; if it be but to make us more contented when we are alone, and the more to prize our ſolitary opportunities.

And if we cannot have the ſociety of many, yet we may find great uſe of one ſpecial Friend, if well choſen. Nay, it is the advice of the wiſe Son of Syrach, VI. Eccluſ. 6. Be in peace with many: nevertheleſs have but one counſellour of a thouſand. O how great a good is this, for a Man to meet with a well-prepared Heart; wherein to lay up his ſecrets, more ſafe than a Jewel in his Cabinet? whoſe conſcience and fidelity he ſhall ſtand in leſs fear of, than his own, whoſe diſcourſe ſhall lenifie his carefulneſs; whoſe Opinion ſhall diſpatch his Counſels; whoſe chearfulneſs ſhall diſſipate his ſorrow •• ; and whoſe very aſpect is delightful! This is a Jewel worth ones ſeeking; and he that hath him not is but half a Man. A man without a Friend is like the left hand without the right, as one of the Jewiſh Doctors ſpeaks. He is an imperfect Creature; and, according to this Man's Opinion, wants the better part of Himſelf. But howſoever we may take Solomon's word for it, that two are better than one. If we have the uſe of another Mans parts, time and labours; it is as if we had two Souls, and as many Bodies; and did ſee with four Eyes, and think with two underſtandings. He illuſtrates this in that place, IV. Eccleſ. 9, 10, &c. by putting three Caſes, (which may be eaſily applied to our ſpiritual concernments) wherein the benefit of a vertuous friendſhip plainly appears. Firſt, In the caſe of inward weakneſs he ſaith, if the one fall, the other will lift up his fellow. When we ſlip, a good Friend will ſupport us; or if we be down, he will preſently reſtore us to our ſelves again. Secondly, In caſe of dulneſs, if the one be cold, the other may communicate ſome heat to him. If any Perſon think himſelf ſo ſtrong, that he is not in danger to fall, yet the beſt grown man may feel ſome chilneſs, & ſpiritual numbneſs creep upon his Soul: for, alas! we are at a great diſtance from the Sun, in compare with thoſe who are above, and it is, as it were, a Winter with us, while we are here in this lower World. Now, how can one, ſaith he, be warm alone? But, if two lie together, then they have heat. As two Fire-ſticks will ſingly caſt no warmth, but let their Flame dye; whereas both together will make a good Fire in the Chimney: ſo will two Friends that lie cloſe to each others hearts, keep themſelves from that coldneſs, which ſeparated would ſeiſe upon them both. And, Thirdly, In the caſe of worldly troubles and violent enemies that outwardly aſſault them, though they may prevail againſt one, yet two, he ſaith, ſhall withſtand them. When we have a ſecond, we may venture to go into the Field: and by a double ſtrength we may take up the Bucklers, and hope to overcome, when we might juſtly doubt of our own ſingle valour.

But I cannot better repreſent the truth of all this, than in the words of Simplicius, In Epict. Cap. 37. an excellent Philoſopher; who hath briefly, but fully demonſtrated the many happy advantages of pure and hearty Friendſhip, in a diſcourſe to this effect.

But the difficulty, you will ſay, is in finding him. True; and it requires ſome judgement to make a right choice. We muſt deliberate of all things with our Friend, but firſt of our Friend himſelf. And therefore you muſt remember the advice of the Son of Syrach, VI. Ecclus. 7. If thou wouldeſt get a Friend, prove him firſt; and be not haſty to credit him. For though Friendſhip begin in converſation, where Men ſoon find a mutual liking of each others Perſons, Words and Actions; yet they cannot ſo ſoon diſcover that likeneſs of humour and diſpoſition, and that ſympathy in deſires, which hath the greateſt power to unite Souls. In ſo much that when by continuance of converſation and mutual liking and happy agreement in all things, they are made one; the ſtate of things is ſo altered, that as at the firſt the Perſon was liked for what he ſaid or did, now the ſpeeches and actions ſhall be liked, becauſe they are ſaid and done by that Perſon.

But I ſhall ſcarce ſay any thing new in this Argument, (of which you know where to find a larger diſcourſe) and therefore I ſhall only add this, which is ſutable to the buſineſs in hand. When you want ſuch an one, let him not be a Perſon that is ſad and melancholy, or that loves always to be complaining; for, though he be never ſo honeſt and faithful, he will prove but an heavy Companion. And on the contrary, one that is too merry and jocund, will be no leſs diſagreeing to a ſerious ſpirit; and be apt to offend more by his levity and imprudence, than he gives content by his liberty and mirth. The happy mixture of both theſe humours, which will ſerve for a remedy to each other, compounds that Perſon, after whom we enquire. Juſt as the Romans (it is obſerved by an ingenious Perſon) eſteemed beſt thoſe Tribunes, who teſtified moſt inclination to the Senate; and among the Senators thought thoſe the beſt, who favoured moſt the Peoples ſide: So it ſeems that the beſt of the pleaſant humours are thoſe that come neareſt to the melancholy; and the beſt of the melancholy, thoſe that approach neareſt to the pleaſant. For where there is this temperature, the firſt ſort will be more diſcreet and prudent; and the latter leſs auſtere and incompliant. And if ſuch a perſon have a quick ſenſe of Divine matters; and be of a pittiful and ſympathizing diſpoſition, free from envy, patient of labours, and temperate in his pleaſures; if he have done us good before he was asked, and when he had done it, keeps it as a ſecret, and ſpeaks not of it (which Ariſtotle obſerves, is a ſign he doth it for our ſake,L. 2. Rhetor. cap. 4. and for no other end) you may repoſe the greater confidence in him, as one that is both more able and more willing to do you ſervice.

And therefore when you have found ſuch an one, think you have found great riches, though you ſhould be never ſo poor. Great Riches, did I ſay? Rather the greateſt Treaſure in this World. For if a Man be more worth than all the World, (as our Saviour ſuppoſes, IX. Luk. 25.) then he is the moſt wealthy Perſon, who intirely poſſeſſes a worthy Man, that's like himſelf: And there is no way to acquire ſuch a poſſeſſion, but only this. For though a Slave or a Servant be ours, yet they are ſo but in part. The firſt gives us power over him out of fear, and the ſecond, for reward: But it is a power over their Bodies only, and not over the men. Becauſe neither fear of puniſhment will tye up a Slave from rebellious thoughts; nor hope of reward oblige a Servant, to a chearful obedience in his will. He only hath intirely gain'd a man, and ſo added to himſelf ſomething better, than any poſſeſſion in this World, who enjoys a Friend, and hath won an abſolute power over the heart and affection of another Perſon. This is a rich man indeed, eſpecially when the Perſon he enjoys is one of real worth; having a mind ſtored with the Treaſures of Divine wiſdom, and an heart full of the love of God. Otherways it muſt be confeſſed, a Man loſes by this gain, and hath the leſs by this acceſſion of ſeeming riches. It was an audacious fancy of Boccalin's, and an unjuſt eſtimate which he made, when (in his Ballance wherein he weighs all the States of Chriſtendom) he ſuppoſes England, which he throws into the Scales for a counterpois to France, to weigh the lighter upon the addition of Scotland to it. But if we conceive the like Ballance for our purpoſe, we ſhall find it too true, that he who contracts a Friendſhip with a prating Companion, or a Perſon of no inward worth and value, will feel himſelf the poorer and the weaker (when he comes to weigh what he hath got) for his pretended increaſe; and the annexing of a Friend, will be an heavineſs, and not a refreſhment to his mind.

Whoſo feareth the Lord, therefore, ſhall direct his friendſhip aright: (as the Son of Syrach ſpeaks, VI. Ecclus. 17.) for as he is, ſo ſhall his Neighbour (or Familiar) be alſo. God loves ever, as the ancient Greek ſaying was, to bring like to like. He will guide a good man in his choice, and lead him by the hand to one that is good. In whom he will make account he hath found ſuch a plentiful fortune, that he will not be content to forgo it, and take his portion in ſome other goods. For, you may truſt the ſame wiſe man, Nothing doth countervail a faithful Friend, and his excellency is unvaluable, v. 15. It is a great comfort to us, but to think that we have ſuch a treaſure: for we receive no ſmall benefit by him, even when he is only the companion of our thoughts, and is not otherwiſe preſent with us. And therefore, change not a Friend for any good by no means: neither a faithful Brother for the Gold of Ophir, VII. 18. Covet his company above all others; and do not think you can preſs too near him, or be too familiar with him. Love him exceedingly; and be not willing, on any occaſion to be divided from him. There can be no danger you ſhould claſh, by being ever together: For as one of the Hebrews excellently expreſſes it, A Needles eye is not too strait for two Friends; and all the World is not wide enough for two Enemies. And if you muſt live at a diſtance from him; be not jealous of him, nor ſuſpect his conſtancy. For ſolid love, whoſe root is vertue, can no more dye, than vertue it ſelf; as Eraſmus excellently ſpeaks, in a Letter of his to one of our Country-men. When covetouſneſs, ſaith he, Lib. 9. Epiſt. 12. makes Men Friends, their love and their gain muſt needs end together. And they whom pleaſure allures to friendſhip, will make an end of loving, when they are ſatiated with it. And laſtly, they who have a great kindneſs one for another out of a childiſh forwardneſs, or a juvenile heat, will forſake one another with the ſame levity, that they embraced. Our kindneſs relies on ſtronger Pillars; for it was neither hope of gain, nor pleaſure, nor youthful affection, but an honeſt love of wiſdome and our common ſtudies which joyned us together. For good men are linkt and chained to each other, by their admiration and eſteem of the ſame things. And ſince the ſtudy of vertue is not ſubject to thoſe alterations and changes of fortune that other things undergo: the benevolence of good men muſt needs be perpetual, and is not in danger to ſuffer that decay, which is wont to be the fate of vulgar friendſhip. But that it may be the better preſerved and maintained, it is neceſſary that Friends frequent the company and converſation of each other, as much as they can. For, as Themiſtius well notes, Exerciſe is all in all things: and mutual converſation, Orat. 3. or correſpondence is the exerciſe of friendſhip.

But it is time to make an end of this, which I have the longer continued for the reaſon now named; becauſe the writing of all this is a good exerciſe of my Friendſhip to you. Let me only caſt in this one Rule, at the bottom of it. It is good to obſerve when any chilneſs and heavineſs creeps upon you, from what quarter it comes. I mean, you muſt follow the ſtream backward to the Fountain, and inform your ſelf of the cauſe of the alteration. If it be too much company; then, as ſoon as you can, ſeek retirement, and betake your ſelf to private Meditation. If too much ſolitarineſs; then find out ſome agreeable company, or run to your Friend. If the change of weather, then wait, if there be no other relief, till it change again. If you know not what, then believe you ſhall find a remedy in Gods goodneſs, you know not how. And it may give you ſome pleaſure perhaps, when you are moſt indiſpoſed, as to think of your Friend, ſo to ſend up this ſhort Prayer to Heaven for him, and for all thoſe that heartily love you, and to hope that they alſo are making the ſame addreſs upon your account. I put them all together indiſtinctly; it is in your power, at any time, to make it as particular as you pleaſe.

IN the next place I muſt exhort you, to exerciſe a great faith in Gods good Providence, which rules in all affairs. This is of great force to baniſh all perplexing thoughts; and conſequently to make you of a chearful ſpirit, and to be good company for your ſelf when you are alone, or about your neceſſary employments. And it hath not only this oblique aſpect upon our Souls, to defend them from that heavineſs & ſadneſs which is too apt to oppreſs them; but is of a more direct and manifeſt influence to comfort and enliven them, on all occaſions. By removing, that is thoſe impediments out of the way, which are a clog and a burden to our ſpirits, and by begetting likewiſe an higher faith in Gods goodneſs to our better part, which takes ſuch care of our lower concernments. For what is it that makes our heart unwilling to go to God, and to wait upon him, as Mary ſate at our Saviours Feet; but the multitude of buſineſſes wherewith, like Martha, we incumber and trouble our ſelves? We imagine we can never take care enough about thoſe things; and when we have done our beſt, ſtill we remain ſolicitous about the ſucceſs. And ſo our Souls being already filled & crowded with theſe thoughts, there is no room left to admit of any other, till they be thruſt out.

And ſuppoſe now our own Conſcience begin in this caſe to reprove us, and bid us go to our God; yet if it be that only which urges us, and not a quiet faith in his good providence, how do we hear thoſe things calling us off again, and inviting, nay drawing our hearts to them; as being indeed their own? It is nothing elſe that diſtracts us but theſe cares; which are not ejected by faith, but only ſilenced and ſtilled a little by natural conſcience, which tells us we do amiſs. Or if they have lain quiet a while, and given us leave to pray to God, and think of better things; how eaſily do they thruſt out all our good Meditations and pious affections, when they return again? Nay, how do they eat up and prey on the very Soul it ſelf, as well as on all the good notions which are within it?

If we be neceſſarily engaged then in more affairs, than willingly we would; it is as neceſſary we ſhould be ſtrongly perſwaded of the Care which God takes of all things, that they ſhall go well with thoſe who truſt in him. That ſo we may uſe but a moderate diligence, and not trouble our ſelves about iſſues and events: and that we may ſave abundance of time for better thoughts; and that theſe affairs may not take up our hearts, both while we are in them, and when we are out of them too. That's too much familiarity with them, when they will never let us alone. And we ought to endeavour that, though they employ our minds for many Hours, yet, when we have done our work, they may not then ingroſs our time alſo.

The care of Religion is great enough; we need not take upon us the care of the World too. With what reaſon do we complain, that we find it difficult to govern our ſelves, when it ſeems, we think our ſelves meet to govern this World and all? No wonder that we are weary of our work, when we have not only our own to do, but will needs undertake Gods work likewiſe. We may well ſigh and be diſcouraged, when we carry ſuch a vaſt burden upon our Shoulders. There is no end of theſe Cares; which intermix themſelves not only with our particular buſineſſes, but trouble us continually with ſad and fearful thoughts about the affairs of Nations, and the ſtate of the publique, wherein our private wealth is embarqued. And this is the miſchief of it, that when we are diſcouraged by this means, it is a ſin, and not meerly our miſery: becauſe we will meddle with more than belongs unto us. We put our ſelves to an unneceſſary pain, to put our ſelves out of the favour and care of him; who would eaſe us of this burden, by caſting it upon his merciful providence. It is an uncomfortable and a ſinful condition; which is aggravated by this, that it is a needleſs and a bold intruſion into his buſineſs who governs the World. It is as if I ſhould be very ſolicitous, whether the Sun will ſhine to morrow or not; when I have occaſion to ſtay all Day about my affairs at home.

Let us do what concerns us; and leave God to diſpoſe of all the reſt▪ And let us believe that he will aſſiſt us in our diſpatches; and a great deal the more, if we will not ſtretch our ſelves to meddle beyond our line. He will help us to do what we ought, when we do no more than we ſhould. When we are not oppreſſed, I mean, with fear that we ſhall not be able to go thorough our employments; and when we are not too careful what will become of them, after we have finiſhed our work. God will take care that we ſhall do them, and that they ſhall have the beſt ſucceſs, when they are done. Look upon your ſelf as a part of the World, and upon God as the Governour of the whole. And then by faith in him, make your ſelf (as it were) a part of himſelf; that ſo he may have a particular concernment in your affairs. Look upon your ſelf not only as one of his Family, and therefore under his General Providence: but alſo as one of his Children, for whoſe good he will more than ordinarily provide. And be always confident he will provide the better for you; becauſe you truſt him, and leave your ſelf wholly to his Wiſdom and Kindneſs.

I could entertain you here with a delightful Diſcourſe on this Argument; were it not that I would not burden you, as I ſaid before, with too great a Book. Let me only adviſe you of this, which ſhall excuſe me from adding a Prayer at the end of this Diſcourſe; eſpecially ſince you know where to find one in another place. That as it is moſt for our eaſe to recommend all we have and do to Gods good providence, and reſolutely to reſt ſatisfied in what he determines: ſo the moſt effectual courſe to obtain this reſignation to him and confidence in him, is rather to exerciſe it in our Devotions by acts of reſignation and expreſſions of our truſt in his great goodneſs, than to be petitioning him continually to beſtow upon us this grace. Say therefore, with the heartieſt affection, upon all occaſions, in the words of David.

Thou art my hope, O Lord, thou art my truſt from my Youth. I truſt in the Mercy of God, Pſal. 71.5.14.52.8.141.8.56.3.92.2.118.9.37.2.5. for ever and ever. Mine eyes are unto thee, O God the Lord: I will hope continually, and will yet praiſe Thee more and more. What time I am afraid, I will truſt in thee. I will ſay of the Lord, he is my refuge, and my fortreſs: my God, in him will I truſt. It is better to truſt in the Lord, than to put confidence in man. It is better to truſt in the Lord, than to put confidence in Princes. I will therefore truſt in the Lord and do good: I will commit my way unto him, that he may bring it to paſs.

Behold, O Father of Mercies, how intirely I confide in thee. I abſolutely reſign my ſelf and all I have unto thee. I rely upon thy bounty, for what thou judgeſt fit and needful for me. Thy Goodneſs is the greateſt treaſure; thy Truth and Faithfulneſs is my beſt ſecurity; thy gracious Promiſes and careful Providence is my comfort; thy Wiſdom is my ſatisfaction in all events and accidents; thy Power is my ſupport, protection, and ſafeguard. Lead me whither thou pleaſeſt; and I will follow thee with a chearful heart. I refuſe nothing which comes from thy hands, O moſt loving Father. I ſubmit to thy orders; and hope that all things ſhall work together for my good. And I truſt in thy grace, that I ſhall always do as I do now: ſtedfaſtly adhering thus unto thee, and never ſuffering any thing that befalls me, to pull me away from this humble faith in thy wiſe and almighty Goodneſs; to which I refer my ſelf, now and ever.

And the more to awaken you to this; let me tell you, My Friend, that we find examples of it, even in the Heathens themſelves, who, in a ſtrange fit of devotion, have ſometime cryed out on this faſhion.

O man, what doſt thou? Why doſt thou not free thy ſelf from all this trouble? Adventure at laſt,Arrian. Epict. L. 2. Cap. 16. with eyes lifted up to God, to ſay unto him. Uſe me at thy pleaſure, O God, for the time to come. Thou haſt my perfect conſent. I am of the ſame mind that thou art. I have a mind to nothing but what thou thinkeſt good. Wilt thou have me bear an Office; or ſhall I lead a private life? Muſt I ſtay or muſt I fly? Shall I be poor or ſhall I be rich? I am ready to obey. I will defend thee, againſt all the World. I will apologize for thy providence about theſe things, to every body. I ſay that all is good, becauſe thou art ſo.

Thus they exhorted men to follow God chearfully, in a belief that he is Wiſe and Good: for we can never be happy ſaid they if we follow him ſighing and groaning; as a man doth one that is ſtronger than he, who pulls him after him, when he hath no mind to go. Let us begin every thing (ſaith the ſame Philoſopher in another place) without too much deſire or averſation. Let us not incline to this, or to the other way. But behave our ſelves like a Traveller, who when he comes to two ways, asks him whom he meets next, which of thoſe he ſhall take to ſuch a place: having no inclination to the right hand rather than to the left; but deſiring only to know the true and direct way that will carry him to his Journeys end. Juſt ſo muſt we come to God, as to a Guide; as to one who ſhall diſpoſe of our motions as he pleaſes. We muſt not look about us, and deſire of him this or the other thing which we fancy. We muſt not direct Him what courſe he ſhould take with us; nor deſire him to ſhow us this rather than that: but embrace that which he propoſes; and deſire only he will conduct us in the right way to happineſs. This is our duty and our ſafety. Whereas now you ſhall ſee Men run to him, and ſay, Lord have Mercy upon me; deliver me from ſuch and ſuch a thing. Wretch that thou art! Wouldſt thou have any thing but what is beſt? And who can tell what that is? Is there any thing beſt, but that which ſeems ſo to God? Why then doſt thou endeavour, as much as in thee lies, to corrupt him who is to judg; and to ſeduce Him who is thy Counſellour; and to move him, by thy cries, to do otherways than he thinks good? Ceaſe theſe clamours, and do not urge him to incline to thy deſires; but ſuffer him to follow his own Wiſdom. It cannot be any delight to him to croſs and vex us. If what we are inclined to deſire be conformable to his judgment; he will not deny it us, meerly becauſe we are inclined to deſire it. But he will give us that which is good in his eyes, as the holy Scripture ſpeaks; And what would we have more? Will it not ſuffice us to have our own hearts deſire? And what ſhould that be, if we are well advis'd, but this; that we may have what unſearchable Wiſdom, united with Infinite Power and Goodneſs, ſhall think to be fitteſt for us, and moſt convenient? Of this we need not doubt: And this is ſufficient for any Mans ſatisfaction.

AND, as a means to all this which hath been ſaid in the foregoing Advices, I cannot but deſire you, in the next place, to Receive as often as you can the Holy Sacrament of Chriſt's Body and Blood. For there you have an ample teſtimony of Gods tender love to you, and care over you. There a number of Chriſtian Brethren and good Friends meet, to rejoyce together. There your Soul is excited to the nobleſt thoughts and ſublimeſt Meditations of your Saviour's love, and of the purchaſe he hath made for you: The ſight of which will not let you ſtand in need of being chidden, by your ſelf, into the devouteſt affections, and the moſt chearful reſignation to him; who having given ſo great a gift as his Son to you, will not deny, you may be confident, to beſtow leſſer benefits, when he ſees them expedient for you. In brief; This is an holy Feaſt, where our Lord not only makes you good chear for the preſent; but renews your decayed ſtrength, and begets in you a greater livelineſs for the future.

One great end of the inſtitution of publique Feaſts, among all Nations in the World, was for the maintaining of unity, love and friendſhip among the People that lived under the ſame Laws; and for the recreating of thoſe who were tired with their conſtant labours. And it is the deſign, we likewiſe ſee, of our private Feaſts; which are times of eaſe and refreſhment for our neighbours, and preſerve alſo good will among them: according to that of Ben Syra, a famous Perſon among the Jews, Spread the Table and contention ceaſes. We are all good Friends at a Feaſt; Upon which account Plato was of Opinion that their Gods themſelves, in much pitty to Man-kind, whoſe life is full of labour, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , &c. Lib. 2. de Leg. did appoint thoſe Feſtival times for them; that they might have a little relaxation, and be incouraged by thoſe publique joyes, to proceed without any murmuring, in their ſeveral imployments.

We are very ſure that God hath inſtituted, by his particular command, this Holy Feaſt (like to which none ever was, and which we may celebrate as oft as we pleaſe) upon the Body and Blood of his dear Son. Whereby a great love, ſure, will be begot in our hearts to him and his ſervice, whoſe gueſts we are; and at whoſe coſt the entertainment is made, meerly out of his extraordinary grace and royal favour towards us. This ſure will be a ſingular refreſhment and reſtorative to our ſpirits; when we grow weary, and almoſt ſpent in the work of our Lord. The ſweetneſs of this will be like Wine to the Heart, or like Marrow and Fatneſs to the Bones. It will ſtir us up, when we are liſtleſs; and comfort us, when we are ſad; and put life into us, when we are dead; and make us not only able but willing to be Religious, being both our pleaſure and our food.

Seneca, ſpeaking of times of relaxation and reſt from labours, ſaith, he knew ſome great Men,L. de tranq. animi. who once a Moneth would give themſelves a Day of play; and others that every Day would allow ſome Hours, wherein they would not ſo much as write a Letter, or meddle with any thing that had the ſhow of buſineſs. If we in like manner did, though not every Day, yet every Moneth take this ſweet repaſt; if out of love to Chriſt, and conſideration of our own neceſſities, we did lay aſide all other thoughts, and give up our ſelves to thoſe delightful Meditations, which here preſent themſelves unto us; it would eaſe us of many cares and troubles, and make us more chearfully do the will of God at other times, and diſpoſe us to attend the whole buſineſs of Religion as the pleaſure rather than the labour of our life.

But if you be caſt into a place, where you have not the opportunity ſo frequently to celebrate the remembrance of Chriſt's death, by receiving the outward and viſible ſigns and pledges of his Divine Grace; then you may the oftner communicate with him ſpiritually in your own heart, and repreſent his dying love as lively as you can to it, in your retired thoughts: Beſeeching him to accept of your unfeigned deſires, to make him your publick acknowledgments, and to joyn with all thoſe pious Souls, which are then met together throughout the Chriſtian World to ſhow forth his praiſe, and to offer up themſelves in holy love to him, and to our bleſſed Redeemer Chriſt Jeſus. For which purpoſe I would adviſe you to make uſe of all ſuch Meditations, Prayers, and Thankſgivings, as are wont to attend thoſe Solemnities: altering only thoſe words which relate to your actual receiving at the Table of the Lord.

The profit of ſuch a frequent remembrance of our Lord one way or other, will be exceeding great; for the ſecuring your duty, and the making all thoſe Counſels, which I have given you, the more effectual. It will put you in mind of the worth and dignity of your Soul; for which Chriſt hath done and ſuffered ſo much, and on whom he beſtows ſuch precious tokens of his love. It will quicken your love to him, which is the life of Religion. You ſhall taſte how ſweet it is, beyond all compariſon, to be Religious; whereby we have ſuch hope in God. There you ſhall be remembred how gainful it is to be good, beyond all the purchaſes of this World; for Chriſt imparts himſelf to you and all his benefits. There you pray with the greateſt devotion, and offer up Spiritual Sacrifices; and you repreſent alſo the Sacrifice of Chriſt, to prevail for bleſſings for you. And there you are moſt likely to have the moſt plentiful communications of God's Holy Spirit to you; and to feel your Heart dilated in the largeſt affection unto Him. There you confirm your promiſes to God; and he ſeales his to you. You cannot there be of another judgment, if you would, than this; that ſince Chriſt dyed to give you life, you ought not henceforth to live to your ſelf, but unto him which dyed for you, and roſe again.

This, I make no doubt, is one reaſon, why thoſe promiſes wherein Men ſtand engaged to God, are no better performed; becauſe they do not frequently repeat this holy action, in the exerciſe of which, they find their hearts, at preſent, fully reſolved for God and goodneſs. This is the cauſe that they waver again; and all their Promiſes and Vows wherein they bind themſelves, fall off like cords of vanity. Whereas, did they upon all occaſions communicate with our Saviour, they would find their reſolutions grow ſo ſtrong and ſtedfaſt, that no temptation would be able to break them. They would be like Bands of Iron, or Chains, rather, of Gold; that would hold them for ever to their duty. You have heard, I believe, the ſtory of Mithridates; who by often uſe of the Antidote which he invented, ſo fortified his Spirits; that they reſiſted the force of all Poyſon. Inſomuch that when, to avoid the Roman ſlavery, he would have diſpatched himſelf by a ſtrong venemous draught, he was not able to effect it. Such a ſoveraign vertue you will find, in the frequent devout receiving of the Sacrament of Chriſts Body and Blood. It will ſecure the life of your Soul; confirm your ſtrength; arm you againſt the bitings of the old Serpent; and make it, in a manner, impoſſible for you to be impoiſoned, by any naughty affections.

But I have writ ſo much, on this Subject, in other Books already, that I need not ſay any more of it here. You find, I hope, thoſe Treatiſes uſeful to the ſtirring up Devotion, and to the making a Soul more forward and unwearied in Gods ſervice. And there likewiſe you may meet with a particular Prayer, for Love to the Holy Communion: wherefore let me proceed, without any ſtop, to the next Advice.

IF ſo be you find your Dulneſs and backwardneſs to your Duty, at any time, continue ſo long and increaſe ſo much, that you are afraid there is danger in it, and it may prove pernicious to your Soul; then go and take counſel of your ſpiritual Phyſician, to whom I would have you open your caſe, as plainly and fully as you can. There is no ſmall ſafety in taking a good Guide by the hand, at all turns, as you walk in your way to Heaven. But then eſpecially it is a neceſſary piece of wiſdome to ask about your way betime, when you fear you may be out: and to open your grief at the beginning, when you are wounded with ſad apprehenſions, before the Sore feſter.

And if your Phyſician or Director could be your Friend alſo, then you would have a three-fold advantage for your relief; by the advice of a good Man, a Friend, and one of Gods Officers. For I believe the ſame words ſpoken by him, and by another, are not the ſame. They are the more acceptable when they come from a Friend; and carry the greater Authority from the Mouth of God's Miniſter. And therefore be no more backward to reveal the ſecrets of your Soul to Him, when it is beyond your own skill to heal your diſtempers; than you are to let a Phyſician know thoſe Maladies in your Body, which muſt be beholden to him for a Cure.

He may furniſh you with incentives, if you need quickning. He may revive you, when you ſeem as if you were a dying. He may lend you his ſupports and comforts, when you are feeble and diſconſolate. He may help you to diſtinguiſh between your fears and real dangers; between your weakneſs and your wilfulneſs; between your lazineſs, and your caution; between your bodily and your ſpiritual infirmities. He will be as a good Pilot to ſteer your Soul, when you are toſſed (like a Ship in a dangerous Sea and a dark Night) in the doubts and waverings of your own Mind. Yea, in your beſt eſtate, he may be of ſingular uſe to you, to keep you within the bounds of prudence; that you be not over-born with the too violent guſts of your own awakned affections and deſires. A Ship needs a Pilot in fair weather, as well as in a ſtorm: when it hath a proſperous Gale, as well as when it is driven with rough and furious, or with croſs Winds. She may be in danger then by undiſcovered Shelves and Rocks, or by carrying too great a Sail; as in the other caſe ſhe is, by Tempeſts and Hurricans, which tear her Sails in pieces. And ſhe muſt never ſail at randome, but ſteer to ſome certain Port; which cannot be performed without his direction, and muſt be the effect of his skilful guidance. Even ſo it is in the caſe of our Souls; which may be overturn'd in our ſpiritual fervours, unleſs we have ſome to manage us. When all things favour us, we may ſtrain our ſelves too much and be overſet, if there be none to govern our Motions. Our zeal may be indiſcreet, if we have not a wiſe and faithful Adviſer. It may ſpend it ſelf on little things, or thoſe that are unprofitable, if there be none to give directions about it: Or it may drive at no certain end, but flote as it happens, unleſs ſome body ſit at the ſtern, to order and rule it. We may hoyſe up too high a Sayle, and by making too much haſt be indangered; if we have not the aſſiſtance of one that can judg what we are able to bear, and that ſhall ſometimes ſlacken us in our too ſpeedy courſe. In ſhort, a great deal of time may be ſpent in ſome caſes, to ſmall purpoſe; without a greater prudence than our own, to husband it, and lay it out for us.

I muſt commend to you therefore the Rule, which one of the Jewiſh Doctors gave his Scholars (half of which you have had already) Provide your ſelf, In Pirke Aroth, Cap. 1. of a good Teacher, and a good School-fellow. A good Guide, and a good Companion, you will find exceeding uſeful to you. Eſpecially the Guide; who may ſometime be your Companion too. Such the holy Scripture calls our Leaders (Rulers we render it, XIII. Hebr. 17) the Conductors, and Governours of our motions, in the way to Heaven. Thoſe that take us by the hand, as I ſaid, both to guide and to ſupport us: by their advice and counſel; by their admonitions and exhortations; by Prayer and Bleſſing; by comforts and ſpiritual conſolations. They are Miniſters of the Word; Expounders of the holy Books; Monitors to our Duty; Mediators with God; and Diſpenſers of the Myſteries of Salvation: And therefore it will not be ſafe to travel without the Inſtructions of ſome or other of them. To whom when you have committed your ſelf, look upon Him as your good Genius, or tutelar Angel, (by which Name the higheſt Miniſters in the Church are called) whom you would have as near you as you can; and in whoſe company, and under whoſe care and tuition you may hope to arrive in ſafety at your Journeys end. To him it will be neceſſary to repair on all occaſions, that He may inſtruct and teach you in that whereof you are Ignorant; or awaken you, when you are ſleepy; or refreſh and chear you, when you are weary; or cure you, when you are ſick and ill at eaſe; or reſolve you in your doubts; or quicken your dulneſs; or bridle your fervours; in ſhort, that he may illuminate your mind to make a difference between truth and falſhood, reality and appearance, good and evil; and excite your will to embrace the one, and refuſe the other, with a conſtant affection.

For ſuppoſe (to give an inſtance) any Man ſhould make a tendry to you of ſome Principles, which he labours to prove you ought to receive, as Articles of the Chriſtian Faith: How can you be ſecure that you ſhall not drink in ſome poyſonous Conceits, under the ſugared Name of Truth; unleſs you take advice of thoſe, that have their Senſes more exerciſed to diſcern, than your ſelf? And ſo, in all other caſes, know for certain, you will never be ſo well able to inſtruct and counſel your ſelf, as they: never ſo well underſtand the Sacred Books, as by the help of their Interpretations: nor be ſo well ſatisfied you do your duty, as by conſulting with them, whoſe work it is to ſearch and make enquiries into the Laws of God. Every Man may know ſo much of the Law, as to keep him from quarrelling, or treſpaſſing upon his Neighbours: But he will not depend upon his own knowledg in every thing that concerns his eſtate, eſpecially when any part of it is in diſpute, or he would have it well ſetled according to his hearts deſire. And though ſome ordinary things in Phyſick, the vertues of certain Herbs and Plants, may be underſtood by any Body with a little pains; yet none will truſt themſelves, or their next Neighbours, in caſe of a ſharp Diſeaſe, but ſend, if they be able, for a Man of the greateſt repute in his faculty, to look after their health, and adminiſter Medicines to them. Juſt thus it is in the caſe of our Souls: it is too much preſumption and careleſs confidence, to rely upon our own counſel alone, in the ſetlement of our everlaſting eſtate, or in the Cure of thoſe Diſorders and Diſtempers in our mind which threaten danger; we ought to take good advice, and, for fear of miſtake, have the judgement of ſome more skilful Perſon to ſecure us, as well as our own.

And indeed, from hence you may learn what account God makes of your Soul (and how highly it ought to be valued by your ſelf) for the ſafety of which He hath made ſuch careful and plentiful proviſion. Having, next to the gift of his Son, and of the Holy-Ghoſt, ſetled an order of men to miniſter unto Souls; to look after them, and ſee that they do not periſh, for want of inſtruction or good advice. As he would have our Saviour lay down his life for them, ſo he hath, thereby, made him a moſt compaſſionate High-Prieſt, and preferred him to a Kingdome; which is nothing elſe but an Office, Power and Authority, to take care of Souls, and do them good continually. By vertue of which, he hath committed Authority unto others in a perpetual ſucceſſion, that they ſhould watch for Mens ſouls, as the Apoſtle to the Hebrews ſpeaks: declaring to them their own worth, and his love; ingrafting that Word in them, which is able to ſave them; calling them to repentance; eſtabliſhing them in the Faith; incouraging their Progreſs in vertue; ordering their goings; feeding them with his bleſſed Body and Blood; abſolving them from their ſins; aſſiſting them in their laſt agony, that they may finiſh their courſe with joy.

This is the effect of a peculiar kindneſs to Souls. He hath not dealt ſo with our Bodies: for we never heard of a Company of Men appointed by God to invent pleaſures and contrive ways for the feaſting of our Senſes. There are none ſeparated and ſet apart by him, to teach the World how to get riches, and improve their Eſtates, and fill their Coffers. But all the wiſdom of Heaven is employed to other purpoſes: having ordained Men to teach us how to live above thoſe things, and to repleniſh our minds with his knowledg, and our wills with his love. This he hath made their conſtant function, and perpetual employment, to the Worlds end.

And therefore be not ſlack to uſe their Miniſtry, nor doubt of the bleſſing of God upon it. But have ſo much love to your Soul, as to apply your ſelf to them for aſſiſtance, who are particularly concerned to give it: and ſo much love to God, as to be confident he will make thoſe means ſucceſsful, which he hath particularly ordained for your good.

BUT when you are in your beſt moods, and think your ſelf furtheſt off from danger, it will be good to exerciſe an Holy Fear and Jealouſie over your ſelf; leaſt you ſhould give way to any thing, which may make you grow worſe. Remember how falſe and treacherous the conquered Enemy is; and therefore it ought to be narrowly watcht. Though it promiſe fair, Remember that you muſt not truſt it without a conſtant Guard. And mark the leaſt beginings of an evil, for fear, if they be ſlighted as ſmall faults, they draw you into a greater. Though we muſt not be dejected for our little irregularities, yet we muſt not paſs them over neither, without a ſerious obſervance. If a Father laugh or ſmile when he chides a wanton Child, it is ſo far from being a check to his follies, that it doth the more embolden him to play thoſe idle tricks, for which he is reproved. And ſo it is to be feared we ſhall find our ſelves diſpoſed; if we be not in good earneſt diſpleaſed at our ſelves for any thing that borders upon Vice, and do not reprove our ſelves ſeriouſly for making too much uſe of our liberty: We may be in danger by this mildneſs and gentleneſs, to take the boldneſs to proceed to further tranſgreſſions.

But I may ſeem to forget to whom I write; and, conſidering what a great quantity you have of this fear, I had need give it a large daſh of ſome other mixture; leaſt it turn into timorouſneſs, and hurt your Soul. And this indeed is the skill we ſhould all learn; to behave our ſelves with ſuch caution and evenneſs in the exerciſe of fear, that it do not make us Superſtitious, nor, through a deſpondency of Spirit, caſt us into that dulneſs and weakneſs, which we are ſtriving to avoid. You muſt let your Fear therefore be tempered with ſo much of a Divine Faith; that like heat and moiſture, they may make up one healthful conſtitution.

Faith in God, I ſay, is another thing that you muſt carefully and daily foſter in your Soul; if you would be conſtant in his Service. Be verily perſwaded that he loves you infinitely more, than you love him; and therefore is more deſirous, than you can be, to ſee you do well and continue in well doing to the end. Think that his eye is upon you; that his arm is under you; that he is as near to you as you are to your ſelf: for, in all regards, we live and move, and have our Being in Him. Think therefore that you behold Him, the Father of Lights, ſending in rayes of light into your mind, as you ſee the Sun looking in at your Windows, and filling the room with its chearful beams: and that you feel Him pouring in life conſtantly into your will, as the Heart ſpurts out blood into all the Arteries of the Body. Never entertain ſuch a thought of Him, as though he was willing to deſert you, and caſt you out of his friendſhip; now that he hath done ſo much for you, and you have been ſo long acquainted. By no means hearken to any jealous thoughts, that are but whiſpered of his goodneſs; whatſoever the jealouſies be, which you have of your own inconſtancy.

Was it not He that called us, when we were in horrid darkneſs and forgetfulneſs of him; bending all our thoughts and deſires to our own ruine and his diſhonour? Was it not He that aſſiſted us to get the victory over ſo many Enemies? Who but He is it, that hath hitherto enabled us, in our ſtudy to live vertuouſly, and pleaſe Him in all things? What ſhould now move him to alter his mind? After ſuch numerous tokens of his love, what is it ſhould make him hate us? Will he bear with no weakneſſes; or ſhall a fault that we have committed, wholly alienate his affection from us? If when we lay in our filthineſs, he took pitty on us, pulled us out of the Mire, and laid us in his boſome; now that we are waſhed all over, will he ſhake us off, and caſt us out of his embraces, becauſe our Feet (as our Lord ſpeaks) ſtill need ſome waſhing? He that invited us ſo kindly when we were ſtrangers, and took us into his houſe, and made us become not his ſervants only, but his Children; will he now turn us out of doors preſently, and thruſt us into the wide world again, becauſe we have offended Him? When we had no ſtrength, did he inſpire us, and hath he thus long tenderly followed us, and trained us up in his ſervice; and will he now forſake the conduct of us, and abandon us to the mercy of our Enemies? Why did He then with ſo much labour purchaſe our love? Why hath He been at ſuch vaſt expence on our account? Why would He take ſuch incredible care to loſe us, when we might have periſhed by his no care of us?

O unworthy thoughts of ſo gracious a Maſter, ſo loving a Father, ſo tender a Husband! Rather let us think the Sun may refuſe to riſe and ſhine upon us, or the Sea may be dryed up; than imagine that He ſhould be willing to caſt us into our former darkneſs, and not let the current of his grace ſtill run towards us. Let us at leaſt make him as good as an ordinary Mother, who not only ſuckles her Child when it is young, and indures many tedious Days and weariſome Nights, in the midſt of its cries and froward humours; but likewiſe loves and looks after it when it can go alone, and make ſome proviſion for its own good and ſafety. Far be it from us to make him like the ſilly Birds, that attend their young no longer than they are in the Neſt, and leave them to ſhift for themſelves, when they have once taught them to uſe their Wings. Will not the Divine love think you indure far more untowardneſs, peeviſhneſs and waywardneſs in our hearts, when our grace is but in its infancy and childhood; than a tender Mother indures in her little one, before it can ſpeak and tell its mind? And will he not bear then with ſome indiſcretions or faults afterwards; but caſt us out as Sarah did Iſhmael and the Handmaid into a Wilderneſs; where there is no proviſion for us? Nay, will He that took compaſſion on that poor outcaſt and his Mother, to whom he ſent his Angel for their preſervation, leave his dear Children to become a prey to the wild Beaſts of the Deſert? Far be it from the Father of Mercies, the God of love and all comfort, to deal ſo with us.

And let me tell you that, the more confidence we repoſe in his love, the more he hates to uſe us ſo unkindly. What man is there ſo hard-hearted, that ſeeing his Neighbour ready to fall and hurt himſelf, will deny him his help, and with-draw his ſupport; eſpecially when he falls into his armes, and deſires wholly to lean Himſelf on his Breaſt? Who can indure to fail a Man, and let him be undone; that comes and puts his eſtate and his life into his hands, though otherwiſe he be undeſerving? If a poor Bird fly to us for protection from the ravenous Kite that perſecutes it, Can we find in our hearts to throw it into its Enemies claws? Who can then ſuſpect, that God, who hath declared himſelf otherwayes willing to do us good, ſhould then caſt us off and forſake us, when we altogether rely upon his goodneſs, clemency, wiſdom and power to help and relieve us? When we fly to none elſe for ſhelter; when we ſay as David doth (LXII. Pſal. 1, 2, 5.) Truly my Soul waiteth upon God, from Him cometh my Salvation: He only is my rock and my ſalvation, he is my defence: The rock of my strength, and my refuge is in God: Who can let it enter into his thoughts, that then He will turn away from us, and ſuffer us to be greatly moved?

But more than this; there is no Man among us, unleſs he will make himſelf moſt infamous, can fail and deſert another; who, upon his earneſt invitation, and kind proffers of ſecurity, comes and puts Himſelf wholly under his Wing, and truſts to his Covert for ſafe protection. Men are not arrived yet at ſuch inhumanity; but are aſhamed to be ſo barbarous, as to inveigle Men with fair promiſes and ſhows of kindneſs to come, and take Sanctuary with them, and then betray them. Let the Lord of Heaven then never be held in the leaſt ſuſpicion of ſuch unfaithfulneſs as well as unkindneſs to us, whom he hath invited and perſwaded to confide and put their whole truſt in him. Never ſo much as imagine, that he will diſappoint thoſe good Souls, that rely and depend on nothing in their obedience to him, but his undoubted promiſes. Let it not come into any our minds (or let the thought of it be abhorred and rejected with indignation) that after he hath made us ſuch aſſurances of his Care and Love, he will break his word, and let us fall, when we have faſt hold of his Mercy and his Truth. Men may prove falſe and treacherous; there may be ſuch Monſters whoſe kindneſſes are but flatteries, and their invitations but inſnarements: But faithfulneſs it ſelf cannot be unfaithful; God's Goodneſs cannot mock us; His infinite perfections will not let Him have any unworthy deſigns upon us, or any ways delude us.

What? deceive a Confident, and fail a Friend?— Such God is pleaſed to eſteem us, when we devote our ſelves in love to his Service: which is a farther conſideration, of greater moment than any elſe; to ſecure us of his faithful kindneſs. For if our heart will not ſerve us, to let a poor neighbour fall to the ground; when we can eaſily ſupport him; much leſs to deſert one that hath intirely truſted us with all he hath, and who by our deſire repoſed this truſt in us; then leaſt of all can we be enclined to abandon the care of him, who by long converſation with us, and experience of us, is become our Friend. This gives him a new and a ſtronger title to all that we can do for him; and becauſe we have been ſo kind, will be the beſt reaſon why we ſhould continue to be ſo ſtill. Conſider but the Natural works of God; doth He begin to form the life of a Child in the Womb, and leave it before it become a perfect Creature? yea, if it be but a Chicken in an Egg, doth he not bring it to its full growth, unleſs (in either caſe) ſomething extraordinary hinder? Why then ſhould we dream that he will deſiſt, and forſake the formation of his Son Chriſt in us; the lively Image of whom he hath already begun? It muſt be ſome ſtrange violence which we offer to our ſelves, ſome very ill uſe of our Souls, and great ſtraining of the conſcience, that can make us miſcarry.

I have askt the Queſtion, you know, elſewhere, and let me briefly repeat it again in this place; Who was it that bid S. Peter to walk upon the Water? At whoſe command did his body, though apt to ſink like a ſtone, tread in that ſoft and yielding Element? Was it not our Saviour that ſaid, Come? and that was enough. His word made the floods that they could not ſwallow him up. He felt no more difficulty or danger in thoſe paths, as long as he believed our Saviour's Power, than if he had walked on dry Land. Then it was that he began to ſink, when his faith turned into fear. His heart ſunk before his body; and his courage yielded before the Waters. Juſt ſo it is with us, who are compounded of earthly materials, and yet are bid to wade through this world to heaven. A Miracle it is, that our dull Nature which hangs downward, and is inclined to ſink into the ſoft delights of ſenſe, ſhould be able to look up above, and not be ſwallowed up in a gulph of ſin and miſery. For this we ſtand indebted to the Divine Power, upholding and aiding our weakneſs. And He that hath called us, as he did Peter, and bid us come to him, continues his mighty word with us, and bids us go on in the ways of his Commandements. What need we fear, as long as we have him in our company, to go along with us? And when is it that we are in danger of drowning; but when we grow diffident, (as St. Peter did) and our minds are fixed more upon the Wind and the Waves, the hardſhips and the hazards, that threaten us, than upon the grace and power of our Lord, that takes the charge of us?

And yet if through our fearfulneſs and diſtruſt, we chance to ſtagger and waver in our reſolution; we are not utterly undone, but have a Remedy very near us. Our Lord will put forth his hand, even in the midſt of theſe fears, and hold us up, as he did that faint-hearted Diſciple of his, when we cry out to Him in his words, Lord ſave me.

It is ſtoutly reſolved by an Heathen, that ſeeing all diſorders in man ariſe, partly from the weakneſs of thoſe reaſons that are in his mind, and partly from the exceſſive abundance of groſs matter, to which he is chained; and ſeeing thoſe Reaſons & Notions are Divine, and near of Kin to the Gods themſelves; the inſuperable and irreſiſtible power of the Gods will come to the aſſiſtance of their Kindred,Proclus, L. 1. in Timaeum. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , &c. and ſo revive & renew thoſe Reaſons, ſo comfort & cheriſh their weakneſs, that they ſhall be able to conquer the heavineſs and dulneſs of the bodily impediments. Let us much more reſolutely conclude, that ſeeing our Souls (though here in this Priſon) are the off-ſpring of God, and ſeeing likewiſe he is manifeſted in our fleſh, and hath married it (as I may ſay) to himſelf; he will mightily incourage & ſtrengthen the one, and help us to disburden the other, and purifie both: and that he will never deſpiſe the fainteſt eſſayes of any honeſt Soul that faithfully ſtrugles for greater liberty; but aſſiſt it in all its attempts and endeavours, to be unloaded and made more free and chearful in his ſervice. Theſe very motions derive themſelves from Heaven; and may as confidently expect to be ſuccoured from thence, as a Child to receive relief from his Parents when he is in diſtreſs, and when, by his order alſo, he is ingaged to apply his weakneſs to a mighty work, which without his help, he knows, cannot be accompliſhed. It is incredible that the Father of Mercies ſhould expoſe that which is born of him, to be undone and periſh; which will certainly be the fate of all that is good in us, without his conſtant care and aſſiſtance for its preſervation. Do not doubt, but God will look after his own, and ſee that the little portion of goodneſs which is remaining in this World, be countenanced and incouraged. In aſſurance of which, you may addreſs your ſelf unto him, after this manner.

AND now is there any need to uſe many words, to ſhow how much force there is in the Meditation of Death to make you lively? It is the common opinion, that all things intend themſelves more earneſtly, and act in the extremity, when they meet with their contrary, which threatens their deſtruction: As Springs are hotteſt in the coldeſt ſeaſons, and Fire it ſelf moſt ſcorching in froſty weather. Even ſo if we ſet Death very ſeriouſly before our mind, and laid the thoughts of it cloſe to our heart, would it cauſe our life to be more full of Life. We ſhould gather together all our might, to do as much as we can; if we lookt upon our ſelves, as going to the Grave; where there is no work to be done at all.

The mind of Man is too apt to feed it ſelf with the fancy of ſeveral pleaſures, that either Nature affords, or Art hath invented. Among all which a good natur'd mind findes none ſo delicious; as the conceit which frequently ſtarts up in it, of the exceſſive pleaſure he ſhould enjoy, were he always in the company of a Friend whom he loves intirely, and might they ſpend their days, even as they liſt themſelves, and diſpoſe of all their Hours according to their own inclinations. But if a thought of Death interpoſe it ſelf when he is in the height of this delight, it daſhes all theſe fine Bubbles of the imagination in pieces: All's gone, and vaniſhes into a ſigh; or there is nothing of them remains, but a drop as big as a tear. And therefore if it be ſo ſharp a curb to the forwardneſs of our deſires, and ſerve as a Bridle to hold in our headſtrong paſſions; we may uſe it alſo as a good Spur to prick them on, when they are too ſluggiſh, and to ſtir them up when they have no liſt to move at all.

When we are ready to fall aſleep, did we but think of dying, it would make us ſtart and ſay; Who would ſleep and dream away his time in this manner, when, for any thing he knows, he hath but a few Sands left in his Glaſs? Death is coming to draw the Curtains about me, and to make my Bed for me in the duſt; Awake then, up, and be doing, becauſe there is a long Night near at hand, wherein we muſt reſt and not work. And is it not a very great grace, if for ſo ſmall, ſo ſhort a work, we ſhall receive ſo vaſt, ſo long a reward? It is a great ſhame to ſtand all the day idle, if it be but for this very reaſon, that our beſt diligence, though it could be continued for many more years than it is like to be, can never deſerve ſuch a recompence.

Place your ſelf therefore, as if you were upon your Death-bed, and think with what ardent deſires, with what paſſionate groans, with what an heartful of ſighs, you would ſeek after God, if your Soul was juſt taking its flight out of this Body; and perhaps this will ſend it out beforehand in the like ſighs and groans, which will help to waft You towards Heaven. Juſt as when a man is to write to the deareſt Friend he hath in the World, and thinks they are the laſt Lines that ever he ſhall ſend him; his very heart diſſolves and drops it ſelf into his Pen: So would all our affections melt and flow forth towards God, if we ſeemed to our ſelves, as if we ſhould never ſpeak to him more with a Tongue of Fleſh, nor look upon him through theſe Windows of Clay; but ſhould ſhortly dwell in ſilence, and go down into the Houſe of Darkneſs. O how would our Souls thirſt for God (as David ſpeaks) for the living God! How much ſhould we love him, and endeavour to confirm our friendſhip with him! that when our Bodies are diſpoſed of into the Earth, our Souls might ſtill live and rejoyce with Him in Heaven; expecting alſo a bleſſed Reſurrection.

And if you ſay that in this ſtate of dulneſs, that I am ſpeaking of, a Soul is fit to think of nothing; this thing will tell you how it alarms the heart, and makes it muſter up its thoughts, and collect its ſcattered Forces, that it may be in a readineſs to receive the approaches of Death, and its aſſault upon us. And the thoughts of it, at ſuch a time, are the more natural and eaſie, becauſe there is nothing more like to Death than this unactive and ſluggiſh temper; when the Soul ſeems as if it were buried in the Body, and intombed already in this Vault of Fleſh.

And it would be very eaſy to ſhow how much every one of the foregoing counſels would be improved, by our frequent converſation, on all occaſions, with our Graves. It would excite our minds to enquire after another World; and make us very deſirous to find it out. It would raiſe our eſteem of the great love of God, who hath given us ſuch aſſurance of a never dying life. It would carry away our thoughts from this Earth, as not the place of our ſetled abode. It would preſently ſend them above; and bid them ſee the pleaſures which we do but imagine here, in their full growth, and perfection of joy and happineſs there. O how delightful would Religion and Vertue be unto us, which is the only thing we can carry away with us? How curious ſhould we be to judg aright, that Death may not be the firſt thing that ſhall undeceive us? How would it open our heart, as I ſaid, to pour out it ſelf in devout affections to God? and what a comfort would theſe be to us, if the records of them were ſpread before us at our dying hour? This is ſo far from being an enemy to chearfulneſs, that it is a forcible reaſon why we ſhould freely enjoy all that God hath given us, becauſe we muſt ſhortly leave it. Our Friends alſo we ſhall therefore be enclined to embrace more ardently, and do them the more good, and covet their company, becauſe we have not long to ſtay with them. For when I ſaid the thoughts of Death are apt to reſtrain our too forward deſires, I did not mean that it checks or abates our love to our Friends. No; Love is strong as Death, and hard (or unyielding) as the Grave: the Coals thereof are Coals of Fire, a moſt vehement flame; as Solomon ſpeaks, VIII. Cant. 6. It burns, that is, like the Fire on the Altar (for in the Hebrew the laſt words are; the Flame of God) which came down from Heaven and never went out. Nothing can conquer it, no not Death which conquers all Fleſh. That can only teach us not to place our chief contentment in any thing here; no, not in the beſt good in this World, though never ſo dear unto us: becauſe it may ſhortly leave us only its ſhaddow, the image of it in our memory; which putting us in mind of our forepaſt pleaſures will make us ſo much the more ſad, if we have not hope to find that good improved, by its departure from us, in another World. And is not the uſe of a Friend then moſt viſible, when we think of our departure, by whom as I ſaid, in one of the former Diſcourſes, we ſhall ſtill remain with thoſe whom we leave behind? But what Friend is there like to our bleſſed Lord; whoſe love we ſhall the oftner remember by commemorating his Death, if we think of our own? We cannot chuſe but be excited to prepare our ſelves thereby, for an happy and chearful diſſolution. And why ſhould we not truſt God with all we have for a little time, whom we muſt ſhortly intruſt with Soul and Body to all Eternity? But I liſt not to prolong this Diſcourſe, with ſuch collections as theſe; which I will leave to your own thoughts, with this Prayer, wherewith you may awaken your mind, when you find it neceſſary.

BUT if you be ſo much diſcompoſed at any time, that you cannot get your thoughts cloſe to this buſineſs, nor find any relief in any of the foregoing counſels; I muſt then, in the laſt place, ſend you to a never failing remedy; which is, to Exerciſe a great deal of patience towards your ſelf. I am ſo well aſſured of your goodneſs, and that my judgment is not herein blinded by my affection to you; that I dare conclude with this Advice: Be content to be dull ſometime, and able to do nothing as you would; and yet do not think the worſe of your ſelf for it. But if it do ſtir up any ſuſpicions in your mind, of you do not know what fault; yet never bluſter at your ſelf, but with a calm and gentle ſpirit ſuffer this diſtemper. Look upon your ſelf as ſick, and think that it is not good now to ſtir any humours. And therefore ſtrive not too much neither with your ſelf [do not diſtruſt this counſel] when you are thus melancholy; for that will but caſt you more into it. You will be the ſooner eaſed, if you do as well as you can; and add not a greater load to your ſpirit, by your own fretful thoughts at this untoward indiſpoſition.

You muſt conſider that our Bodies being a part of this World, will be obnoxious to thoſe changes which are in things adjacent to them. And that your Soul being united to your Body, cannot but feel its viciſſitudes: Juſt as when the Houſe ſmoaks, the Inhabitant is offended, unleſs he can ſtep out of Doors.

Conſider alſo that the ſame work is not required of a weak, and of a ſtronger Perſon. The Nemalim and the Gemalim (as the Jews ſpeaks) muſt not be alike loaded: that is, the Ants cannot carry ſuch a Burden as the Camels.

You muſt thank God it is no worſe with you; and that you have not quite forgot Him. Thank him, I ſay, that you have any uſe of patience, and that you are not under an abſolute ſtupidity.

Remember likewiſe that it will be better with you. As long as there is the ſame Sun in Heaven, the Clouds will be diſperſed, and we ſhall have fair days as well as foul: and as long as our Lord lives and changes not, there will be a brighter ſeaſon, and we ſhall be warm as well as cold.

Think likewiſe how unworthy the beſt of us is, to live always under the Sun-beames. And that as there are many Countrys more North 〈◊◊〉 gland, who in the depth of our Winter, are in a long and diſmal Night: ſo there are many Souls who are in a colder caſe, and more remote from the Sun of righteouſneſs, than yours is.

But however think, that after you have done what you can, it is the will of God that you ſhould be as you are. And if this dulneſs pleaſe him, it need not diſpleaſe you.

Remember alſo, that he is not perfect in patience, who can bear with others, but not with himſelf.

And again, that there is good reaſon you ſhould bear with your ſelf; becauſe accidentally this dulneſs will breed a greater activity, when you come out of it: Both out of juſtice, that you may make ſome recompence for that drowſineſs; and out of gratitude to him, by whoſe goodneſs you were delivered from it. For Nature, you know, inſtructs us to be very kind to thoſe who have helpt us ou • of a very great diſtreſs; and it is not eaſie, to blot their readineſs to relieve us out of our memories.

And beſides, it is manifeſt there are ſome kinds of dulneſs and indiſpoſition, which ariſe from the meer neceſſity of Nature: With which we can no more reaſonably quarrel; than we do becauſe it rains or ſnows, when we would have it fair weather. Can it be expected, for inſtance, that a Woman with Child ſhould be ſo vigorous as ſhe was wont? She muſt be content perhaps to ſpend that time in vomiting, which once ſhe did in praying. It muſt not put her to pain in this caſe, that ſhe cannot read or think ſo long, or with ſo much delight, or with ſuch clearneſs of underſtanding as formerly ſhe could: but ſhe muſt comply with her condition, and, conſidering no more can be done in ſuch circumſtances, believe that God requires no more. There is as much reaſon to be troubled, becauſe ſhe hath not Wings to fly, or cannot walk now as faſt up her ſtairs, as when ſhe had no burden; as to chide her ſelf that ſhe cannot be ſo earneſt, ſo long, ſo chearful as formerly in the performance of Holy Duties.

There are many caſes like to this▪ in which there is no more caution neceſſary, but to ſee that too much care of our eaſe, and indulgence to our preſent infirmity (which muſt at ſuch a time be liberally allowed) do not tempt us to be negligent in that, which it is in our power to perform. We may often retire to God in ſhorter thoughts, and affectionate longings and pantings after him; and thereby keeping our hearts in a glowing temper, we may prevent that chilneſs and lazineſs, which otherwiſe might creep upon us, and make us imagine our ſelves leſs able than we are. And particularly I would adviſe you, on ſuch occaſions, to lift up your Soul frequently to God in earneſt deſires, beſeeching Him to preſerve you from cheating your ſelf; and that he would help you to diſcern clearly when it is the flattery, and when it is the meer weakneſs of Fleſh and Blood, that hinders you from doing as you were wont.

When you caſt a glance, I ſay, towards Heaven, and ſend up a ſigh thither now and then, (as you are able) let this be one of your deſires; that God would be ſo gracious, as to give you to feel plainly, when meer neceſſity requires your attendance on your Body, and when it calls for more than it needs. For he loves that in every thing we ſhould make known our requeſts to Him, and will certainly ſome way or other ſatisfie your mind in ſuch concernments. And when you have uſed the beſt judgment you have and can procure, together with your Prayers, about them; then I hope you will be chearful, and let your thoughts trouble you no more. Or if a thought ſhould happen to ſtart up and ſtrike your mind, telling you that you are lazy yet believe, I beſeech you, your more deliberate, and not theſe ſuddain concluſions.

There is one caſe, I know, of this kind, wherein though it be certain that it is impoſſible for us to do as we were wont, and that we are not hindred by any fault in our will, but by the meer indiſpoſition of nature, yet it may be hard ſometime to avoid dejected and complaining thoughts upon this account: It is in ſickneſs; when the Mind neceſſarily languiſhes with the Body. You may chance then to imagine that ſome ſin or other is the cauſe of this Correction (and ſo you have drawn this diſability upon your ſelf) for which you cannot now be humbled as you deſire. But I hope, My Friend, that you take ſuch an exact view of your life, that ſickneſs will not let you ſee any fault, that was not viſible to you before. And I know you to be wiſer, than to torment your ſelf with a fancy that there is ſome ſin lurking in you, though you cannot find it out. But if any thing ſhould diſcover it ſelf to you, which was not ſo evident before; let me beſeech you, not to paſs any hard cenſure upon your ſelf: But to remember that this hath been bewailed whenſoever you lamented the general infirmity of your nature; and that now perhaps it is repreſented to you more ugly than it doth deſerve, or if it be not▪ yet it is ſufficient only to beg of God to accept your hearty confeſſion and your promiſe of amendment (when you are able) and to deſire your ſpiritual guide to be the witneſs of your ſincere reſolution, and to give you abſolution, and his bleſſing; and ſo reſt ſatisfied.

But there may be another reaſon likewiſe aſſigned of our heavineſs at certain ſeaſons, which I have no • yet named: and that is, the withholding, in a great meaſure, of tha • ſtrength and power which was upon us from the Holy-Ghoſt, to raiſe and elevate us to an high pitch of love, activity, and joy in well doing. For as the help of that doth lift us up above our ſelves, ſo, when it much abates, we are apt to fall as much below our ſelves; and to be ſurpriſed with ſadneſs and dejection of ſpirit, to ſee our ſelves ſo ſtrangely changed. And this may be denyed us for ſeveral cauſes; either becauſe we have not improved it, ſo well as we might; or becauſe our Lord ſees that our Nature cannot bear always ſuch extraordinary motions; or that he may make us more ſenſible of his favours, and raiſe their price and value in our eſteem; or that he may try our ſtrength, as a Mother lets go her hold of the Child, to make it feel its Feet; or that he may thereby bow our wills more abſolutely to his, and break our ſelf-love, which deſires nothing but pleaſure; or that he may prove whether we will love him for himſelf, and not for the delicate entertainments which he gives us; or for ſome ſuch cauſe unknown to you and me, and every body elſe.

And ſhall we not yield ſubmiſſion quietly, to a thing for which there may be ſo many reaſons; and thoſe not at all to our prejudice, but to our profit? Let me ſay a few words concerning the two laſt things mentioned; and ſhow you that if our Patience be exerciſed upon thoſe accounts, it will prove very beneficial to our Souls.

I cannot ſay (as ſome have done) that we ought not to deſire goodneſs for our own good, but meerly becauſe it is pleaſing to God. No; this ſeems to me a very abſurd doctrine, and utterly impoſſible, that we ſhould ſeparate theſe two, Piety, and our own good. We cannot ſo much as deſire to be good, but we ſhall feel a ſatisfaction in it. For the very Name of good carries a reſpect in it, to ſomething in us to which it is agreeable and convenient. We do not mean when we bid you love God for himſelf, that you ſhould not therein love your ſelf, and ſeek your own contentment; for you cannot chuſe but be pleaſed in the love of God and vertue. But this I may affirm with ſafety; that there may be ſometimes too much of ſelf-love in our vehement deſires after the extraordinary pleaſures and joyes of piety: and that if we could be content, after we uſed due diligence, with our drineſs and barrenneſs of ſpirit, with our dulneſs and want of vigour, nay, with our frailties and faults too, meerly out of ſubmiſſion to God, and becauſe he thinks not fit to give us the pleaſure of being wholly without them; it would be highly acceptable to him, and no leſs advantageous to us. If in all things, I mean, we could reſt ſatisfied that God's will is done, though ours be denyed, if we could forbear to proſecute our own will even in thoſe matters, and deſire him to give us as much Life, and Spirit, and chearfulneſs and joy as he pleaſes; we ſhould be ſo far from offending him, that he would take it for a very grateful piece of ſervice to him.

This is not to teach any remiſneſs in your deſires and endeavours; but it ſuppoſes you do your beſt, and only adviſes you, that if notwithſtanding you cannot be as you would, you do not let your ſpirit fall into any impatience or fretfulneſs. For this is to prefer God's pleaſure above your own. It is a ſubjection of your will to his, in thoſe points wherein you are moſt deſirous to have it gratified. It is an unuſual inſtance of reſignation to him; which declares there is nothing ſo dear to you, but you are willing to quit it, ſo you may but do well, and be accepted with Him.

And here remember theſe two things: Firſt, that our ſolid comfort doth not depend upon doing every thing ſo readily, eaſily and delightfully as we would; but in accompliſhing Gods will, however it be done. And 2dly, That Humility, Patience and Submiſſion to God in the midſt of our infirmities, may be more acceptable to him than that complacence and joy which we feel to ariſe meerly from the ſenſe that we have of our strength and abilities. To be pleaſed in our ſucceſſes is not ſo pleaſing to God, as to be patient in our Conteſts. Nay, to rejoyce and triumph in our Victories, is nothing ſo good, as to be conſtant and reſolved, notwithſtanding that we are a little overcome. In thoſe ſpiritual conſolations which we thirſt after, we do not always receive ſo much profit as we do pleaſure▪ but in the want of them, if our wills be thereby more perfectly ſubdued to his, we receive both a very great benefit, and in the iſſue, no ſmall pleaſure.

You have ſeen perhaps, or you may imagine, the ſmoak of a Potters Furnace; how thick and black it is, as if it would make a Picture of Hell it ſelf. Who would think that the Veſſels of Clay, which are baked there, would not be burnt to aſhes by the fury of the Fire; or that at leſt they would come out as black as ſoote, by the foulneſs of the ſmoak? And yet when the Fire is put out, and the Veſſels unfurnaced, you ſee there is no ſuch thing: But that which was ſoft and yielding, is become hard and ſtrong; and its complexion likewiſe is ſo much mended, that a Prince need not diſdain the uſe of ſome of theſe Cups. Juſt thus it is with a diſtreſſed Soul, when it is covered with a Cloud, and wrapt in darkneſs; and burns thereby in a great and ſore diſpleaſure againſt it ſelf. It is apt to think, that this ſure is the Gate of Hell; that it is forſaken of God; and ſhall either periſh in this condition, or not eſcape out of it, without much loſs. But after a while, when the work of God is done, and the vapours are vaniſhed and diſappear, it findes it ſelf to be grown much in firmneſs, purity and ſplendor; and that it is made a Veſſel of honour fit for the Maſters uſe. There is no loſs of any thing, but of its ſelf-will. Nothing is conſumed but its ſoftneſs and delicacy; which made it loth to be toucht.

The like may be ſaid of many little paſſions and diſorderly deſires, to which our frail Natures are ſubject. If we can free our ſelves from one inordinate paſſion, which is a too vehement deſire to be quite rid of them; it might bring us little leſs peace, than if we were: and our profiting would no leſs appear, in continuing ſtill to do our duty, of which we complain that they are ſo great an hinderance. However, there is no reaſon for ſuch concluſions as thoſe, which good minds have been apt to make in a gloomy day; that if God loved them, he would not treat them after that manner. There is rather great reaſon, conſidering what hath been ſaid, to be not only patient, but thankful to him in ſuch a condition. For it is not inconſiſtent with his care and infinite kindneſs, to let us be obnoxious to thoſe changes, and thoſe weakneſſes too, which I have mentioned: but you ſee plainly it muſt be ſo; and therefore it is beſt to be well pleaſed with theſe Methods of our Heavenly Father, at leaſt contented that it ſhould be ſo.

And let me add this for a concluſion of this Diſcourſe; that God may ſuffer ſome Perſons to be thus overcaſt with darkneſs, and he may with-hold his gracious influences from them, for the ſins of their former life, before they were converted; which deſerved he ſhould never have afforded his grace unto them at all. What are we, ſhould ſuch Men ſay, that we ſhould expect to live always under the light of his countenance? Alas! one age of darkneſs is too good for us; and we have reaſon to thank him, if we be not eternally baniſhed from his ſight. Why ſhould ſuch poor things as we think to receive every day ſome extraordinary tokens of his Divine favour; when one good look from him, is enough to oblige us as long as we live? How much more reaſon have we to praiſe him, that all our days are not gloomy, that our Sun is not always eclipſed, or rather that our life is but one long Night; than to complain that a Cloud ſometimes paſſes over us, or a Miſt gathers about us? It is but fit that we ſhould be hereby taught what it is to ſin againſt God; and it is well for us that we were not ſent to learn it in outer darkneſs. We are not ill dealt withall, if we can learn at ſo cheap a rate the value of pardoning mercy: but ſhall have cauſe in Heaven to praiſe God, that we paid no dearer for it. Is this all the puniſhment that is due for our many faults? Doth he not uſe us very kindly, if we be not quite caſt out of his Preſence? O what a joy will it be to us, to find that we are in his favour in the other World? And we may be content, if he pleaſe, to ſtay for our joy till that time; when we ſhall certainly know, whether we have reaſon to rejoyce or no.

But I ſhall ſay no more of this to you, who have ſpent your time ſo innocently and vertuouſly, that there is reaſon you ſhould reap the fruit of it now in perpetual joy and ſatisfaction of heart, from the conſideration of God's goodneſs to you. And I had wholly omitted this laſt Advice, did not I know the weakneſs of humane Nature to be ſo great, that the beſt diſpoſed Souls may ſometimes feel ſuch alterations in them, as may make it very neceſſary. In which caſe, if ever you ſhould find your ſelf, doubt not to approach to God, and ſay to him, with all humility of ſpirit, ſome ſuch words as theſe.

THUS, My Friend, I have finiſhed this little Labour of Love (to ſpeak in the Language of St. Paul, 1 Theſſ. 1.3.) which I wiſh may prove ſo ſerviceable to you, that it may do more than produce that Patience of hope in you, which he mentions in the ſame place. I would have you to be filled with the joy of hope, or, as he ſpeaks in another Epiſtle, (XV. Rom. 13.) with all joy and peace in believing. It becomes one of your underſtanding and goodneſs: nor is there any greater effect of true Wiſdome (as Seneca hath obſerved) than the equality and evenneſs of our joy. Nothing ſure can hinder it in you, but the inequality perhaps at ſometimes of your bodily temper, which is not to be avoided. But in that caſe I have inſtructed you what to do; and I am ſure you will not fail to follow my Directions therein, and in all the reſt, whatſoever pains it coſt you. For I need not ſend you to Muſonius to learn this great truth (of which you are as ſenſible as it is incourageing) that if a Man do any good thing with labour, the labour paſſes ſoon away, but the good remains: and if he do any evil with pleaſure, the pleaſure preſently flies away, but the evil remains. So great is the difference between doing well, and doing ill, that you can never, I know, be tempted from the one unto the other. It is too late now to put a cheat upon you. The pleaſures of ſin cannot deceive one, whoſe ſenſes are ſo well exerciſed to diſcern between good and evil. You may be abuſed, it is poſſible, with fears and jealouſies of your ſelf; and be caſt down when you have no liſt to do any thing that is good, or when you miſtake, or have committed a little fault: but as I ſaid in the beginning, ſo I conclude, be ſure you hold faſt an unmoveable belief of the goodneſs of God to you; which will defend you from the danger of thoſe aſſaults, and prevent all the miſchief which otherwiſe they might do you.

He doth not expect Children without all faults; and you may be ſure cannot be unwilling to pardon them, when he knows that's the way to incourage them to grow better. There is no reaſon to ſuſpect his ſincerity, when he tells us, that he deſires not the Death of a Sinner: Or to imagine that he ſecretly undermines us, while he openly profeſſes love and friendſhip to us: or to fear that he intends to make us the Trophees of his meer Power and Greatneſs; or to draw us after Him, as his Captives, in any other Chariot than that of his Omnipotent Goodneſs, in which he rides all the World over. Believe this, and it will never let you deſpond in the worſt condition; nor ſuffer you to be jealous of any of his commands, or fancy that he will lay impoſſible tasks upon you. And you will have as little cauſe to be ſuſpicious of his Providence, or to take too heavily any thing that he doth: but will ſtill believe, notwithſtanding any objections or contrary appearances, that all things ſhall work together for your good. And whatſoever there is that might diſhearten you, this will make you perſiſt in a reſolute perſwaſion that GOD is willing and deſirous to receive your Petitions, and will grant a gracious anſwer. He cannot envy his bleſſings to any: nor loves he to ſuppreſs his kindneſs within himſelf. For envy proceeds from weakneſs and from want, which incline a Perſon to ſeek how he may ingroſs every thing, and appropriate it to his own particular being. But he who in his own Nature is ſo perfect that he can want nothing, is inclined no doubt to let others participate with him in his happineſs, ſince he will ſtill remain as full as he was.

You think it is impoſſible (as Proclus well ſayes) that darkneſs ſhould approach the Sun, who is the Parent of Light: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . But it is more impoſſible that any envy ſhould touch God, whoſe Nature is ſo excellent, that he hath given to all what they have. What is there left for him to envy, who hath already all that can be? For what want can there be in Infinite Fulneſs? What Weakneſs and Infirmity in the Omnipotent Deity? Who is there that can ſhare and go halfs with the Fountain of all Good? Let Us not therefore look upon GOD, as if we thought Him afraid that we ſhould be too good, or enjoy too much good; or as if He were unwilling we ſhould be exceeding happy. For He is ſuch a Good, that He hath filled and repleniſhed all things; and doth good, and beſtows Benefits continually upon them all. And why ſhould you think your ſelf excluded out of the vaſt compaſs of his Love; or imagine after He hath done ſo much for you, that his Bounty is exhauſted? Do you not feel what kindneſs GOD hath implanted in our Hearts, towards each other? How free, how diligent, how unwearied a Friend is in ſerving a Perſon whom he loves intirely? And what is there better natur'd than that Religion which Chriſt hath taught Us; the top of which is Love and Charity; and that is both a Bountiful, and a Meek, and a Patient Vertue? For it ſuffers long and is kind, ſo St. Paul begins its Character; it beares all things, and indures all things, ſo he ends it. And is it poſſible, do you think, that GOD ſhould give Us that, which is not in Himſelf? Or that He ſhould command Us to accompliſh our Souls with that Perfection, which is not eminent in his own moſt excellent Nature? We are ſure that our loving kindneſs is but a weak imitation of His. And therefore may conclude that He will have Patience with Us, and not be eaſily provoked; but bear with our Infirmities, and be exceeding kind in beſtowing his Bleſſings, and Pardoning our Offences, and delight in doing both; becauſe there is nothing He ſo much delights to ſee in Us, as this Image of His loving kindneſs. So the greateſt Men in the Church of CHRIST have reſolved.

Some empty their Bags, (ſaith Gregory Nazianzen) others macerate their Fleſh; Orat. 17. and there are thoſe who quite abandon the World, and retire out of it; and ſome who have conſecrated their deareſt pledges to GOD. But thou needeſt do none of theſe; there is one thing thou mayeſt bring and offer to Him in ſtead of all, and that is loving kindneſs, (forgiving of Injuries, and doing Benefits) in which God rejoyces more than in all the reſt put together. A proper Gift; an unſpotted Gift; a Gift that provokes the Divine Bounty to be ſtill more Liberal in His Favours to Us.

For, it is impoſſible that He ſhould be out-done by Us, or that we ſhould equal Him in tenderneſs and compaſſion: of which He hath given Us ſuch a ſurpriſing and glorious inſtance in the Son of his love Chriſt Jeſus; that we ſhould be very unjuſt as well as ungrateful and unkind, if we ſhould not expect more from him, than we would do from the beſt Friend in the World. We ſee in our Lord what the Divine Love will incline Him to do: We are ſatisfied beyond all reaſonable cauſe of diſtruſt how propitious and gracious He is: So that you ought to be confident, whatſoever defects you find in your ſelf, that He who hath begun a good work in you, will pe • form it unto the Day of CHRIST JESUS. It is but handſome and becomeing that you ſhould have this Opinion of Him. Judge by your ſelf and your own good inclinations, whether you ought not to have ſuch high thoughts of Infinite Love. You owe to Him all the good you have: and there is more Reaſon, as I told you, that He ſhould perfect his own work, than there was that He ſhould begin it. And therefore let your Eyes be ever towards the Lord. Commit your Self to Him, in aſſured hope of His continued Love to you. Beſeech him to fulfill in you all the good pleaſure of his goodneſs; and that, according to the truſt you have repoſed in Him, He would keep you from falling, and preſent you faultleſs before the Preſence of his Glory with exceeding joy.

I cannot tell you how oft I have ſaid AMEN to this; nor how much I am inclined to continue this Diſcourſe further than I have deſigned: For Wiſdome it ſelf (as the ſame Gregory Nazianzen hath obſerved) which give meaſures to all things elſe, ſets none to Friendſhip; which ought to know no bounds, nor be confined within any limits. Orat. 12. But I ſhall contain my ſelf within the compaſs which I preſcribed my ſelf at firſt; and add no more, unleſs it be that Prayer of R. ElieZar, with which he is ſaid to have concluded Daily all his other Prayers.

Let it be thy good pleaſure, O Lord, that Love and Brotherly kindneſs may dwell in our lot.

For why ſhould I prolong this Letter, in making any needleſs declarations, how much I am, where, or how-ſoever our lot falls,