own holy and just grounds; and then to go on, in a constant course of his well-warranted judgment and practice, with a careless disregard of those fools'-bolts, which will be sure to be shot at him, which way soever he goes.

LXXXII.

All God's dear and faithful ones are notably described by the Apostle, to be such, as love the appearing of our Lord Jesus; 2 Tim. iv. 8: for, certainly, we cannot be true friends to those, whose presence we do not desire and delight in. Now this appearing, is either in his coming to us, or our going to him: whether ever it be, that he makes his glorious return to us, for the judgment of the world, and the full redemption of his elect; or, that he fetches us home to himself, for the fruition of his blessedness; in both, or either, we enjoy his appearance. If then we can only be content with either of these; but do not love them, nor wish for them; our hearts are not yet right with God. It is true, that there is some terror in the way to both these: his return to us, is not without a dreadful Majesty; for the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, 2 Pet. iii. 10. and the glorious retinue of his blessed angels must needs be with an astonishing magnificence: and, on the other part, our passage to him must be through the gates of death, wherein nature cannot but apprehend a horror: but the immediate issue of both these is so infinitely advantageous and happy, that the fear is easily swallowed up of the joy. Doth the daughter of Jephthah abate ought of her timbrels and dances, because she is to meet a father whose arms are bloody with victory? Judges xi. 34. Doth a loving wife entertain her returning husband otherwise than with gladness, because he comes home in a military pomp? Is the conqueror less joyful to take up his crown, because it is congratulated to him with many peals of ordnance? Certainly then, neither that heavenly state wherein Christ shall return to us, nor the fears of a harmless and beneficial death wherein we shall pass to him, neither may nor can hinder ought of our love to his appearing. O Saviour, come in whatever equipage or fashion thou wilt, thou canst be no other than lovely and welcome: Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

LXXXIII.

Suppose a man comes to me on the same errand, which the Prophet delivered to Hezekiah: Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not live; 2 Kings xx. 1: with what welcome do I entertain him? Do I, with that good king, turn my face to the wall, and weep? or, do I say of the messenger, as David said of Ahimaaz, He is a good man, and brings good tidings?

2 Sam. xviii. 27. Surely, nature urges me to the former, which cannot but hold dissolution her greatest enemy; for what can she abhor so much, as a not-being? faith persuades me to the latter; telling me, that, To die is gain; Phil. i. 21. Now, whether of these two shall prevail with me? Certainly, as each of them hath a share in me; so shall either of them act its own part in my soul. Nature shall obtain so much of me, as to fetch from me, upon the sudden apprehension of death, some thoughts of fear faith shall straight step in, and drive away all those weak fears; and raise up my heart to a cheerful expectation, of so gainful and happy a change. Nature shews me the ghastliness of death: faith shews me the transcendency of heavenly glory. Nature represents to me a rotten carcase: faith presents me with a glorious soul. Shortly, nature startles at the sight of death: faith out-faces and overcomes it. So then, I, who, at the first blush, could say, "O death, how bitter is thy remembrance!" Ecclus. xli. 1: can now, upon my deliberate thoughts, say, I desire to depart, and to be with Christ; Phil. i. 23.

LXXXIV.

In the carriage of our holy profession, God can neither abide us cowardly, nor indiscreet. The same mouth, that bade us, when we are persecuted in one city, flee into another, said also, he, that will save his life, shall lose it: we may neither cloak cowardice with a pretended discretion, nor lose our discretion in a rash courage. He, that is most skilful and most valiant, may, in his combat, traverse his ground for an advantage; and the stoutest commander may fall flat, to avoid a cannon-shot. True Christian wisdom, and not carnal fear, is that, wherein we must consult for advice, when to stand to it, and when to give back. On the one side, he dies honourably, that falls in God's quarrel; on the other, he, that flies, may fight again. Even our Blessed Leader, that came purposely to give his life for the world, yet, when he found that he was laid for in Judea, flees into Galilee. The practice of some primitive Christians, that, in an ambition of martyrdom went to seek out and challenge dangers and death, is more worthy of our wonder and applause, than our imitation. It shall be my resolution, to be warily thrifty in managing my life, when God offers me no just cause of hazard; and, to be willingly profuse of my blood, when it is called for by that Saviour, who was not sparing of shedding his most precious blood for me.

LXXXV.

He had need to be well under-laid, that knows how to entertain the time and himself with his own thoughts. Company, variety of employments, or recreations, may wear out the day

with the emptiest hearts: but, when a man hath no society but of himself, no task to set himself upon but what arises from his own bosom; surely, if he have not a good stock of former notions, or an inward mint of new, he shall soon run out of all, and, as some forlorn bankrupt, grow weary of himself. Hereupon it is, that men of barren and unexercised hearts can no more live without company, than fish out of the water; and those heremites and other votaries, which, professing only devotion, have no mental abilities to set themselves on work, are fain to tire themselves, and their unwelcome hours, with the perpetual repetitions of the same orisons, which are now grown to a tedious and heartless formality. Those contemplative spirits, that are furnished with gracious abilities, and got into acquaintance with the God of Heaven, may and can lead a life, even in the closest restraint or wildest solitariness, nearest to angelical; but those, which neither can have Mary's heart nor will have Martha's hand, must needs be unprofitable to others, and wearisome to themselves.

LXXXVI.

There is nothing more easy, than to be a Christian at large: but the beginnings of a strict and serious Christianity are not without much difficulty; for nature affects a loose kind of liberty, which it cannot endure to have restrained: neither fares it otherwise with it, than with some wild colt; which, at the first taking up, flings, and plunges, and will stand on no ground; but, after it hath been some while disciplined at the post, is grown tractable, and quietly submits either to the saddle or the collar. The first is the worst: afterwards, that, which was tolerable, will prove easy; and that, which was easy, will be found pleasant. For, in true practical Christianity, there is a more kindly and better liberty: Stand fast, saith the Apostle, in that liberty, wherewith Christ hath made you free; Gal. v. 1. Lo here, a liberty of Christ's making; and, therefore, both just and excellent: for what other is this liberty, than a freedom; as from the tyranny of the law, so from the bondage of sin? Being then made free from sin, saith St. Paul, ye became the servants of righteousness; Rom. vi. 18. Here are two masters, under one of which every soul must serve; either sin, or righteousness: if we be free from one, we are bond-men to the other. We say truly, the service of God, that is of righteousness, is perfect freedom: but, to be free to sin, is a perfect bondage; and, to serve sin, is no other than a vassalage to the Devil. From this bondage, Christ only can free us: If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed; John viii. 36: and we are no Christians, unless we be thus freed: and, being thus freed, we shall rejoice in the pleasant fetters of our voluntary and cheerful obedience to righteous

ness; neither would we, for a world, return to those gieves and manacles of sin, which we once held our most dear and comely ornaments; and can truly say, Thou hast set my feet in a large room; Psalm xxxi. 8. I will walk at liberty, for I seek thy precepts; Psalm cxix. 45.

LXXXVII.

I cannot but pity and lament the condition of those Christians, who, for the hope of a little earthly dross, do willingly put themselves, for continuance, out of the pale of God's Church. What do they else, but cast themselves quite out of the Almighty's protection; who hath not bound himself to follow them out of his own walks, or to seek them out amongst Turks and Infidels? Well may he say to them, as to the chief pastor of Pergamus, I know thy works, and where thou dwellest, even where Satan's seat is; Rev. ii. 13: but, have they any reason to expect, that he should dwell with them there, under the reign of that prince of darkness? These men put upon themselves that hard measure, which the man after God's own heart complains to be put upon him by his worst enemies: Woe is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Meshech, and to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar; Psalm cxx. 5. That holy man could, in the bitterness of his soul, inveigh against his persecutors, for no other terms, than these men offer to themselves: Cursed be they before the Lord, for they have driven me out this day from abiding in the inheritance of the Lord; saying, Go, serve other gods; 1 Sam. xxvi. 19. I speak not of those, who carry God along with them in his ordinance all earths are alike to us, where we may freely enjoy his presence: but of those stragglers, who care not to live without God, so they may be befriended by mammon. How ill a match these poor men make for themselves, I send them to their Saviour to learn: What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul; or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? Matt. xvi. 26. God forbid, I should give their souls for lost; but I must say, they are hazarded for herein, doubtless, they tempt God, who hath not promised to keep them in any other, than their just ways; and they do, in a sort, tempt and challenge Satan, to draw them on either to a love of error and impiety, or at least to a cooling of their care and love of truth. How unlike are these men, to that wise merchant in the Gospel! He sold all that he had, to buy the pearl of great price; Matt. xiii. 45, 46: they sell the pearl, to buy a little worthless merchandize. As the greatest part of their traffic stands upon exchange, so I heartily wish they would make this one exchange more; of less care of their wealth, for more care of their souls.

LXXXVIII.

Even when Joseph was a great lord in Egypt, second to none but Pharaoh, and had the command of that richest country of the world; yet then his old father Jacob thought his poor parcel of Shechem worthy to be bequeathed to him, and embraced of him, as a noble patrimony; because it was in the promised land, and the legacy of a dying father. How justly do I admire the faith, both of the father and son, in this donation! Jacob was now in Goshen; Shechem was in Canaan: neither was the father now in the present possession; nor were the sons in some ages to enjoy it: it was four hundred and thirty years, that Israel must be a sojourner in a strange country, ere they shall enter into the promised land; Exod. xii. 41: yet now, as foreseeing the future possession, which his posterity should take of this spot of earth, so long after, Jacob gives Shechem to Joseph, and Joseph apprehends it as a rich blessing, as the double portion of the divided primogeniture. Infidelity is purblind; and can see nothing, but that, which is hard at hand: faith is quick-sighted; and discerns the events of many centuries of years, yea of ages to come. Abraham, saw his Saviour's day, and rejoiced to see it, a thousand nine hundred and forty years off; and Adam, before him, almost four thousand years. As to God, all things are present, even future; so to those, that by a lively faith partake of him. Why do I not, by that faith, see my Saviour returning in his heavenly magnificence, as truly as now I see the heaven whence he shall come? and my body as verily raised from the dust, and become gloious, as now I see it weak and decrepit, and falling into the dust?

LXXXIX.

True knowledge causeth appetite and desire; for the will follows the understanding: whatsoever that apprehends to be good for us, the effective part inclines to it. No man can have any regard to an unknown good. If a hungry man did not know that food would refresh and nourish him, or the thirsty that drink would satisfy him, or the naked that fire would warm him, or the sick that physic would recover him; none of these would affect these succours. And, according to our apprehension of the goodness and use of these helps, so is our appetite towards them: for the object of the will is a known good; either true, or appearing so. And, if our experience can tell us of some that can say, with her in the poet, "I see and approve better things, but follow the worse;" it is not for that evil, as evil, much less as worse, can fall into the will; but, that their appetite over-carries them to a misconceit of a particular good: so as, howsoever, in a generality, they do confusedly assent to