for the best. Alas, that I must stand by and see the church and cause of Christ, like a foot-ball in the midst of a crowd of boys, tossed about in contention from one to another; every one running and sweating with foolish violence, and labouring the downfall of all that are in his way, and all to get it into his own power, that he may have the managing of the work himself, and may drive it before him which way he pleases; and when all is done, the best usage it may expect from them, is but to be spurned about in the dirt, till they have driven it on to the goal of their private interests, or deluded fancies! There is none of this disorder in the heavenly world. There I shall find a government without imperfection, and obedience without the least unwillingness or rebellion, even an harmonious consent of perfected spirits, in obeying and praising their everlasting King. O how much better is it to be a door-keeper there, or the least in that kingdom, than to be the conqueror or commander of this tumultuous world! There will our Lord govern more immediately by himself, and not put the reins into the hands of such ignorant riders, nor govern by such foolish and sinful deputies, as the best of the sons of men now are. How long hast thou desired to be a member of a more perfectly reformed church, and to join with more holy, humble, sincere souls, in the purest and most heavenly worship! Why, dost thou not see that on earth thy desires fly from thee? Art thou not as a child that thinks to travel to the sun, when he sees it rising or setting, as if it were close to the earth; but as he travels towards it, it seems to go from him; and when he has long wearied himself, it is as far off as ever; for the thing he seeks is in another world? Even such has been thy labour in seeking for so holy, so pure, so peaceable a society, as might afford thee a contented settlement here. When wars and calamities attending them have been over, I have said, Return now unto thy rest, 0 my soul. But how restless a condition has next succeeded! When God had given me the enjoyment of peace, and friends, and liberty

of the gospel; and had settled me even as my own heart desired, I have been ready to say, "Soul, take thy ease and rest.” But how quickly has Providence called me fool, and taught me to call my state by another name! When did I ever begin to congratulate my flesh on its felicity, but God did quickly change my tune, and made almost the same breath to end in groaning, which had begun in laughter? I have often thought, in the folly of my prosperity, "Now I will have one sweet draught of solace and content." But God has dropped in the gall, while the cup was at my mouth. We are ever weary of our present condition, and desire a change; and when we have it, it does not answer our expectation, but our discontent and restlessness are still unchanged. In time of peace, we thought that war would deliver us from our disquietments; and when we saw the iron red-hot, we catched it inconsiderately, thinking that it was gold, till it burned us to the very bone, and so stuck to our fingers, that we scarce know yet whether we are rid of it or not. In this our misery, we longed for peace; and so long were we strangers to it, that we had forgotten its name, and began to call it REST, or HEAVEN. But as soon as we again grow acquainted with it, we shall bethink ourselves, and perceive our mistake. O why am I then no more weary of this weariness, and why do I forget my resting place? Up, O my soul, in thy most elevated and fervent desires! Stay not till this flesh can rise in desire with thee; its appetite has a lower and baser object, and therefore look not that sense apprehend thy blessed object, and tell thee what and when to desire it. But though sense apprehend not that which must draw thy desires, yet that which may drive them, it does easily apprehend. It can tell thee that thy present life is filled with distress and sorrows, though it cannot tell thee what is in the world to come. Thou needest not Scripture to tell thee, nor faith to discern, that thy head aches, and thy stomach is sick, thy bowels griped, and thy heart grieved; and some of these, or such like, are thy daily case. Thy friends

about thee are grieved to see thy griefs, and to hear thy dolorous groans and lamentations; and yet art thou loath to leave this woful life! Is this a state to be preferred before the celestial glory; or is it better to be thus miserable from Christ, than to be happy with him!

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O my soul, does not the dulness of thy desires after rest accuse thee of ingratitude and folly? Must thy Lord procure thee rest at so dear a rate, and dost thou no more value it? Must he purchase thy rest by a life of labour and sorrow, and by the pangs of a bitter and accursed death; and when all is done, hadst thou rather be here without it? Must he go before to prepare so blessed a mansion for such a worm, and art thou now loath to go to possess it? Must his blood, and care, and pains be all lost? O unthankful, unworthy soul! shall the Lord of glory be desirous of thy company, and art thou undesirous of his? Are they fit to dwell with God, that had rather stay from him? Must he crown thee and glorify thee against thy will? Or must he yet deal more roughly with thy darling flesh, and leave thee not a corner in thy ruinous cottage to cover thee? Must every sense be an inlet to thy sorrows, and every friend become thy scourge, and every messenger be the intelligencer of thy multiplied calamities, before that heaven will seem more desirable than this earth? Must every joint be the seat of pain, and every member deny thee rest, and thy groans be indited from thy very

"The things of this world do nothing delight me, nor any temporal kingdom. It is better for me to die in Jesus Christ, than to reign in the ends of the earth. For I desire after the Lord, the Son of the true God, and the Father of Jesus Christ. Him I seek, and him that died and rose for us. Spare me, brethren, hinder me not from life; for Jesus is the life of the faithful. Do not wish me to die; for life, without Christ, is death. Being resolved to be God's, I may not please the world. Suffer me to behold the pure light. When I come thither, I shall be a man of God. Let me alone that I may be an imitator of the sufferings of my God. He that would have him in himself, let him know what I would have, and suffer with me, as knowing what is in me," says Ignatius in Epist. ad Roman. edit. Usserii, p. 87.

heart and bones before thou wilt be willing to leave this flesh? Must thy heavy burdens be bound upon thy back, and thy intolerable paroxysms become incessant? Yea, must earth become a very hell to thee before thou wilt be willing to be with God? O ungrateful soul, what is loathing, if this be love? Look about thee, O my soul; behold the most lovely creature, or the most desirable state, and tell me, where wouldst thou be, if not with God? Poverty is a burden, and riches a snare. Sickness is little pleasing to thee, and usually health is little safe; the one is full of sorrow, the other of sin. The frowning world bruises thy heel; and the smiling world stings thee to the heart. So much as the world is loved and delighted in, so much it hurts and endangers him who loves it; and if it may not be loved, why should it be desired?

Awake, then, O my drowsy soul, and look above this world of sorrow! Hast thou borne the yoke of afflictions from thy youth, and so long felt the smarting rod, and yet canst thou no better understand its meaning? Is not every stroke to drive thee hence? and is not the voice of the rod like that to Elisha, "What dost thou here?" Dost thou forget the prediction of thy Lord, "In the world ye shall have tribulation; but in me ye shall have peace ?" first thou hast found true by long experience: and of the latter thou hast a small foretaste; but the perfect peace is yet before thee, and till it be enjoyed, it cannot be clearly understood.

The

The blessed souls of David, Paul, Augustine, Calvin, with all the spirits of the just made perfect, were once on earth, as I now am, as far from the sight of thy face and glory, as deep in sorrows, as weak, as sick, and full of pains as I. Their souls were long imprisoned in corruptible flesh, as well as mine. I shall go but the way which they all went before me; their house of clay fell to dust and so must mine. The world they now are in, was as strange to them before they were there, as it is to me. And am I better than all these precious souls? I am, therefore, contented,

O my Lord, to stay thy time, and go thy way, so thou wilt exalt me also in thy season. In the mean time, I may desire, though I am not to repine; I may look over the hedge, though I may not break over; I may believe and wish, though not make any sinful haste; I am content to wait, but not to lose thee. And when thou seest me too contented with thine absence, and satisfying and pleasing myself here below, O quicken up my dull desires, and blow up the dying spark of love; and leave me not till I am able unfeignedly to cry out, "As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?" Dispel the clouds that hide from me thy love, or remove the scales that hinder mine eyes from beholding thee; for only the beams that stream from thy face, and the foresight or taste of thy great salvation, can make a soul unfeignedly to say, "Now let thy servant depart in peace." Reading and hearing will not serve: my food is not sweet to my eye or my ear; it must be taste or feeling that must entice away my soul. Though arguing is the means to bend my will, yet if, by the influences of the Spirit, thou make it not effectual, I shall never reason my soul to be willing to depart. In the winter, when it is cold and dirty without, I am loath to leave my chamber and fire; but in the summer, when all is warm and green, I am loath to be confined. Show me but the summer fruits and pleasures of thy paradise, and I will freely quit my earthly cell. Some pleasure I have in my books, my friends, and in thine ordinances: till thou hast given me a taste of something more sweet, my soul will be loath to part with these. The traveller will hold his cloak the closer when the winds do bluster, and the storms assault him; but when the sun shines hot, he will cast it off as a burden; so will my soul, when thou frownest, or art strange, be more loath to leave this garment of flesh; but thy smiles will make me leave it as my prison. But it is not thy ordinary discoveries that will here suffice; as the work is greater, so must be thy help.