# (l^,^^^^i^^^ # OooulO^I ^ 4le.^A\-^ ## LIFE OF GOD ##### SOUL OF MAN o BOSTON: ``` NICHOLS AND NoC|TE>3. ``` ``` iS6S. ``` ``` ' ``` ``` '*"^" '^' ``` ``` J >. '[^5] ``` ``` THE NEW YORK ``` ``` PUBLIC LIBRARY^ ``` ``` 793478 A ``` ``` ASTOR, LENOX AND ``` ``` TlLDtN FOUNDATIONS! ``` ``` H[^1935] L ``` ``` CAMBRIDGE t ``` ``` fRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. ``` I r C c< < PREFACE. ``` nr^HERE are books which never grow old : ``` ``` and this precious Httle volume, by Henry ``` ``` ScouGAL, is to be numbered among them. ``` ``` In it is an eternal freshness and beauty, its ``` ``` bloom actually brightening wdth advancing ``` ``` time. These words, for two centuries, have ``` ``` been bread of life to thousands. They have, ``` ``` through that long period, guided, comforted, ``` ``` and inspired ; from that fact, they possess ad- ``` ``` ditional interest, for they have stood the severest ``` ``` test, and been found adequate to meet the deep- ``` ``` est Avants of human nature in its most trying- ``` ``` needs. This "Life of God in the Soul of ``` ``` Man " has somethino- of that divine life within ``` .itself wliich can impart of its own fulness to ``` every soul ready to receive. The very breath ``` of Jehovah may be felt through it. It kindles in the soul a sympathetic power, and lifts it into connection with higher realms. With its holy fervor there is blended a natural calm- ness. Health and healing are in its influence. Practical throughout, there is also a heavenlv spirituality. Rising above all narrow limita- tions, the devout of every name may hold it in reverence, and cherish its counsels with grati- tude and love. To the young, it will prove, ``` armor of strength ; to the aged, perpetual reno- ``` vation ; while Christians of all communions will find within it a foretaste of immortality. The life to which it would lead is a heaven upon earth, and that is but the commencement of a heaven without end. To all who hold in ``` honor Christ and his gospel, to those who would ``` love God and man, to each one who would so live in time as to make it the joyous gate- w^ay to a glorious eternity, this little volume should be heartily welcome ; and we doubt not ``` such welcome it will widely receive. ``` ``` Henry Scougal was the son of the Bishop ``` ``` of Aberdeen, in Scotland. Born, June, 1650, ``` ``` at the age of fifteen he entered the Universit}', ``` ``` and at the early ao-e of twenty he became ``` ``` professor of philosophy. Haying most ac- ``` ``` ceptabl}^ fulfilled this important office for four ``` 3^ears, he prepared himself for the ministry, ``` and was established in a small yillage about ``` twenty miles from Aberdeen. From this place, ``` howeyer, he was soon urged to enter upon ``` the Professorship of Diyinity in King's Col- leo-e, which duties he discharij^ed with honor : but, at the earh' aixe of twenty-seyen, his health gaye way, and on the 13th of June, 1678, he closed his brief but useful career. One year before his departure, this inyaluable treatise was giyen to the world. It was modestly written, only for priyate use ; but Bishop Burnet, seeing it, appreciated it so highly that he hastened to giye it to the world with the most generous and earnest com- mendation. "It was written," he says, "by a pious and learned countryman of mine, for the private use of a noble friend of the author's, without the least design of making it more public. Others, seeing it, were much taken, both with the excellent purposes it contained, and the great clearness and pleasantness of the style, the natural method and shortness of it, and desired it might be made a more public good." ``` Some time after, another edition of this in- ``` comparable treatise was published, with a preface by the Principal of the College of Edinburgh, in which he says, "Since I had the happiness of becoming acquainted with this book, I have heartily blessed God for the benefit I have received by the perusal of it, and have earnestly wished it had a place in every family ; was carefully perused by every- one who can read ; and that the sentiments of pure and undefiled religion it contains, were impressed upon every heart.'' ``` Among other special excellencies, the same ``` writer dwells upon '"the prudence and charity. the author discovers, in avoidino- matters ot doubttiil disputation, about which the best and wisest men differ, while he is treating of mat- ters of the greatest importance, about which all good and wise men must agree.''—" Had we more," he adds, '' of that true Christian spirit so beautifully delineated and so warmly recommended in this book, I cannot but think that the tierceness of our contentions and ani- mosities about things of lesser moment must considerably abate." ``` The present edition of this volume is pub- ``` lished by the request of one who, for nearly eighty years, has found in it a continued re- source and pleasure. Now at the advanced age of ninety, with a keen appreciation of present enjoyments and privileges, he looks tbrward with growing earnestness and happv anticipation to the sublime realities of the fu- ture. Much that he has enjoyed, through his pleasant pilgrimage, as well as the heav- enlv Vision which kindles before the eve of ``` Faith, is associated with this little volume, ``` familiar to him from his 3^outh. Having de- rived so much happiness and advantage from it himself, he desires to place it within the reach of others, confident that, with the bless- ing of Providence, it can only be productive of increasino- crood. ``` R. C. W. ``` Boston. December, 1S67. ###### THE LIFE OF GOD ``` SOUL OF ^lAX. ``` ``` THE LIFE OF GOD ``` ``` SOUL OF MAN. ``` IV /TY Dear Friend, —This designation doth ``` give vou a title to all the endeavors ``` whereby I can serve 3'our interests ; and your pious inclinations do so happily conspire v/ith my duty, that I shall not need to step out of my road to gratify you ; but I may at once perform an office of friendship, and discharge an exercise of my function, since the advancing of virtue and holiness (which I hope you make your greatest study) is the peculiar business of my employment. This, therefore, is the most proper instance wherein I can vent my affec- tion, and express my gratitude towards you ; and I shall not any longer delay the perform- ance of the promise I made you to this purpose. For though I know you are provided with bet- ter helps of this nature than any I can offer ``` The Life of God ``` you ; nor are 3^ou like to meet with any thing here which you knew not before ; yet I am hopeful, that what cometh from one whom you are pleased to honor w^ith your friendship, and which is more particularly designed for your use, will be kindly accepted by you : and God's providence perhaps ma}^ so direct my thoughts, that something or other may prove useful to you. Nor shall I doubt your pardon, if, for moulding my discourse into the better frame, I lay a low foundation, beginning with the nature and properties of religion, and all along give such w^av to mv thoughts in the prosecu- tion of the subject, as may bring me to say many things which were not necessary, did I only consider to whom I am writing. ## MISTAKES ABOUT RELIGION. ``` T CANNOT speak of religion, but I must ``` ``` lament, that, among so many pretenders to ``` it, so few understand w^iat it means : some ``` placing it in the understanding, in orthodox ``` ``` notions and opinions ; and all the account they ``` ``` can give of their religion is, that they are of ``` this or the other persuasion, and have joined themselves to one of those many sects where- ``` into Christendom is most unhappily divided. ``` ``` Others place it in the outward man, in a con- ``` stant course of external duties, and a model of performances : if they live peaceably with their neighbors, keep a temperate diet, observe the returns of worship, frequenting the church and their closet, and sometimes extend their hands to the relief of the poor, they think they have sufficiently acquitted themselves. Others again put all religion in the affections, in rapturous heats and ecstatic devotion ; and all they aim at, is, to pray with passion, and think of heaven with pleasure, and to be affected with those kind and melting expressions wherewith they court their Saviour, till thev persuade them- selves that they are mightily in love w^ith him ; and from thence assume a great confidence of their salvation, w4iich they esteem the chief of Christian graces. Thus are those things which have any resemblance of piety, and at the best are but means of obtaining it, or par- ticular exercises of it, frequently mistaken for the whole of religion ; nay, sometimes wick- edness and vice pretend to that name. I speak not now of those gross impieties wherewith the heathens were wont to worship their gods ``` : ``` there are but too many Christians who would consecrate their vices, and hallow their corrupt affections ; whose rugged humor, and sullen pride, must pass for Christian severity; whose fierce wrath, and bitter rac^e acrainst their ene- mies, must be called holy zeal ; whose petu- lancy towards their superiors, or rebellion against their governors, must have the name of Christian couracre and resolution. ## WHAT RELIGION IS. ``` TDUT certainly religion is quite another thing ; ``` ``` and they who are acquainted with it, will ``` entertain far different thoughts, and disdain ``` all those shadows and false imitations of it. ``` They know by experience, that true religion is an union of the soul with God, a real parti- ``` cipation of the divine nature, the very image ``` ``` of God drawn upon the soul ; or, in the Apos- ``` tie's phrase, it is Christ formed zuithin tis. Briefly, I know not how the nature of religion can be more fully expressed, than by calling it a divine life. And under these terms I shall discourse of it ; showing first how it is called a life, and then how it is termed divine. ## THE PERMANENCY AND STABILITY OF ``` RELIGION. ``` ## T CHOOSE to express it by the name oi life ``` ; ``` ``` first, because of its permanency and stabil- ``` ``` ity. Religion is not a sudden start, or passion ``` of the mind ; not though it should rise to the ``` height of a rapture and seem to transport a ``` ``` man to extraordinary performances. There ``` ``` are few but have convictions of the necessity ``` ``` of doing something for the salvation of their ``` ``` souls, which may push them forward some ``` ``` steps with a great deal of seeming haste. But ``` ``` anon they flag and give over : thev were in a ``` ``` hot mood, but now they are cooled : they did ``` ``` shoot forth fresh and high, but are quickly ``` ``` withered, because they had no root in them- ``` selves. These sudden fits may be compared to the violent and convulsive motions of bodies newly beheaded, caused by the agitations of the animal spirits, after the soul is departed : which, however violent and impetuous, can be of no long continuance : whereas the motions of holy souls are constant and regular, pro- ceeding from a permanent and lively principle. It is true, this divine life continueth not always in the same strength and vigor, but many times suffers sad decays ; and holy men find greater difficulty in resisting temptations, and less alac- rity in the performance of their duties : yet it is not quite extinguished, nor are they aban- doned to the power of those corrupt affections which sway and overrule the rest of the world. THE FREEDOM AND UNXONSTRAINEDXESS OF ``` RELIGION. ``` ``` A GAIN, religion may be defined by the ``` ``` name of life^ because it is an inward, ``` free, and self-moving principle ; and those w^ho have made progress in it, are not actuated only ``` in the Soid of Man, ``` by external motives, driven merely by threat- enings, nor bribed by promises, nor constrained by laws ; but are powerfully inclined to that which is good, and delight in the performance of it. The love which a pious man bears to God and goodness, is not so much by virtue of ``` a command enjoining him so to do, as by a ``` new nature instructing and prompting him to it ``` ; ``` nor doth he pay his devotions as an unavoid- ``` able tribute, only to appease the divine justice, ``` ``` or quiet his clamorous conscience ; but those ``` ``` religious exercises are the proper emanations ``` of the divine lite, the natural employments of the new^-born soul. He prays, and gives thanks, and repents, not only because these things are commanded, but rather because he ``` is sensible of his w^ants, and of the divine ``` goodness, and of the folly and misery of a sin- ful life. His charity is not Ibrced, nor his ``` alms extorted from him : his love makes him ``` willing to give ; and though there were no out • ward obligation, his heart zvotild devise liberal thing's. Injustice and intemperance, and all other vices, are as contrary to his temper and constitution, as the basest actions are to the most generous spirit, and impudence and scur- rility to those who are naturally modest : so that I may well sa}^ with St. John, Whosoever is born of God^ doth not coniniit sin; for his seed remaineth in hini, and he cannot sin, be- cause he is born of God. Though holy and religious persons do much eye the law of God, and have a great regard unto it ; yet it is not so much the sanction of the law, as its reason- ableness, and purity, and goodness, which do prevail with them : they account it excellent and desirable in itself, and that in keeping of it there is great reward ; and that divine love wherewith they are actuated, makes them be- come a law unto themselves. ``` Qiiis legem det amantibus? ``` ``` Major est amor lex ipse sibi. ``` ``` Who shall prescribe a law to those that love? ``` ``` Love's a more powerful law which doth them move. ``` ``` In a word, what our blessed Saviour said of ``` ``` himself, is in some measure applicable to his ``` ``` followers, that it is their meat and drink to do ``` ``` their Father's zvill: and as the natural appe- ``` ``` tite is carried out toward food, though we ``` ``` should not reflect on the necessity of it for the ``` ``` preservation of our lives ; so are they carried ``` ``` with a natural and unforced propension toward ``` ``` that which is good and commendable. It is ``` ``` true, external motives are many times of great ``` ``` use to excite and stir up this inward principle, ``` ``` especially in its infancy and weakness, when ``` ``` it is often so languid that the man himself can ``` ``` scarce discern it, hardl}^ being able to move ``` ``` one step forward, but when he is pushed by ``` ``` his hopes, or his fears ; by the pressure of an ``` ``` affliction, or the sense of a mercy ; by the au- ``` ``` thority of the law, or the persuasion of others. ``` ``` Now, if such a person be conscientious and ``` uniform in his obedience, and earnestly groan- ing under the sense of his dulness, and is de- ``` sirous to perform his duties with more spirit ``` ``` and vigor : these are the first motions of the ``` ``` divine life, which, though it be faint and ``` weak, will surely be cherished by the influ- ences of heaven, and grow unto greater ma- turity. But he who is utterly destitute of this inward principle, and doth not aspire unto it, but contents himself with those performances whereunto he is prompted b}^ education or custom, by the fear of hell, or carnal notions ``` of heaven, can no more be accounted a reli- ``` ``` gious person, than a puppet can be called a ``` ``` man. This forced and artificial religion is ``` ``` commonly heavy and languid, like the motion ``` of a weight forced upward : it is cold and spiritless, like the uneasy compliance of a wife married against her will, who carries it dutifully toward the husband whom she doth not love, out of some sense of virtue or honor. Hence also this religion is scant and nig- gardly, especially in those duties which do greatest violence to men's carnal inclinations ; and those slavish spirits will be sure to do no more than is absolutely required : it is a law that compels them, and they will be loath to go beyond what it stints them to; nay, they will ever be putting such glosses on it, as may leave themselves the greatest liberty ; whereas the spirit of true religion is frank and liberal, far from such peevish and narrow reckoning ; and he who hath given himself entirely unto God, will never think he doth too much for him. ``` RELIGION A DIVINE PRINCIPLE. ``` ## T3 Y this time I hope it doth appear, that ``` rehgion is, with a great deal of reason, ``` ``` termed a lifc^ or vital principle ; and that it ``` ``` is ver}' necessary to distinguish between it, and ``` ``` that obedience which is constrained and de- ``` ``` pends on external causes. I come next to ``` ``` give an account why I defined it by the name ``` ``` of divine life. And so it may be called, not ``` ``` only in regard to its fountain and original, ``` ``` having God for its author, and being wrought ``` in the souls of men by the power of his Holy ``` Spirit ; but also in regard of its nature, reli- ``` gion being a resemblance of the divine perfec- tions, the image of the Almighty shining in the soul of man : nay, it is a real participation of his nature ; it is a beam of the eternal light, a drop of that infinite ocean of good- ness ; and they w^ho are endued with it, may be said to have (j^od dzvelliug in their souls and Christ formed zuithin them. ## WHAT THE NATURAL LIFE IS. T3EFORE I descend to a more particular ``` consideration of that divine life wherein ``` true religion doth consist, it will be fit to speak a little of that natural or animal life which prevails in those who are strangers to the other. And by this I understand nothing else, but our inclination and propension toward those things which are pleasing and accepta- ble to nature ; or self-love issuing forth and spreading itself into as many branches as men have several appetites and inclinations. The root and foundation of the animal life I reckon to be sense, taking it largely, as it is opposed unto faith, and importeth our perception and sensation of things that are either grateful or troublesome to us. Now, these animal affec- tions considered in themselves, and as they are implanted in us by nature, are not vicious or blamable ; nay, they are instances of the wisdom of the Creator furnishing his creatures with such appetites as tend to the preservation and welfare of their lives. These are instead ``` /;/ the Soul of Alan. ``` of a law unto the brute beasts, whereby they are directed towards the ends for w4iich they were made. But man, being made for higher purposes, and to be guided by more excellent laws, becomes (xuiltv and criminal w4ien he is so far transported by the inclinations of this low^er life, as to violate his duty, or neglect the higher and more noble designs of his creation. ``` Our natural affections are not w^ioll}" to be ex- ``` tirpated and destroyed, but only to be mod- ``` erated and overruled by a superior and more ``` ``` excellent principle. In a word, the difference ``` between a religious and a wicked man is, that in the one divine lile bears sway, in the other the animal lite doth prevail. THE DIFFERENT TEXDENXIES OF THE NATU- ``` RAL LIFE. ``` ``` "pUT it is strange to observe, unto what dit- ``` ``` ferent courses this natural principle will ``` ``` sometimes carry those who are wholly guided ``` ``` by it, according to the diverse circumstances ``` ``` that concur with it to determine them ; and ``` ``` l6 The Life of God ``` then not considering this, doth frequently oc- ``` casion very dangerous mistakes, making men ``` think well of themselves by reason of that seeming difference which is between them and others ; whereas perhaps their actions do all the while flow from one and the same origi- nal. If we consider the natural temper and ``` constitution of men's souls, we shall find some ``` to be airv, frolicsome, and light, which makes their behavior extravagant and ridiculous ``` ; ``` whereas others are naturally serious and se- vere, and their whole carriage composed into ``` such gravity as gains them a great deal of ``` reverence and esteem. Some are of an humor- some, rugged, and morose temper, and can neither be pleased themselves, nor endure that others should be so. But all are not born with such sour and unhappy dispositions ; for some persons have a certain sweetness and benignity rooted in their natures, and they find the greatest pleasure in the endearments of society, and the mutual complacency of friends, and covet nothing more than to have everybody obliged to them. And it is well that nature hath provided this complexional ``` tenderness to supply the defect of true charity ``` ``` in the world, and to incline men to do some- ``` ``` thing for one another's welfare. Again, in ``` ``` regard of education, some have never been ``` ``` taught to follow any other rules, than those ``` ``` of pleasure or advantage : but others are so ``` ``` inured to observe the strictest rules of decency ``` ``` and honor, and some instances of virtue, that ``` ``` they are hardly capable of doing any thing ``` ``` which they have been accustomed to look ``` ``` upon as base and unworthy. ``` ``` In line, it is no small difference in the de- ``` ``` portment of mere natural men, that doth arise ``` ``` from the strength or weakness of their wit or ``` judgment, and from their care or negligence in using them. Intemperance and lust, in- justice and oppression, and all those other im- pieties which abound in the world, and render it so miserable, are the issues of self-love, the effect of the animal lifc^ when it is neither overpowered by religion, nor governed by natural reason. But if it once take hold of reason, and get judgment and wit to be of its party, it will many times disdain the grosser sort of vices, and spring up unto fair imita- ``` 2 ``` ``` 8 ``` ``` tions of virtue and goodness. If a man have ``` ``` but so much reason as to consider the preju- ``` ``` dice which intemperance and inordinate lust ``` ``` do bring upon his health, his fortune, and his ``` ``` reputation, self-love may suffice to restrain ``` ``` him ; and one may observe the rules of moral ``` justice in dealing with others, as the best way to secure his own interest, and maintain his ``` credit in the world. But this is not all. This ``` ``` natural principle, by the help of reason, may ``` take a higher flight, and come nigher the ``` instances of piety and religion. It may in- ``` ``` cline a man to the diligent study of divine ``` ``` truths : for why should not these, as well as ``` ``` other speculations, be pleasant and grateful to ``` ``` curious and inquisitive minds? It may make ``` ``` men zealous in maintaining and propagating ``` ``` such opinions as they have espoused, and be ``` ``` very desirous that others should submit unto ``` ``` their judgment, and approve the choice of re- ``` ``` ligion which they themselves have made. It ``` ``` may make them delight to hear and compose ``` ``` excellent discourses about the matters of reli- ``` ``` gion ; for eloquence is very pleasant whatever ``` ``` be the subject. Nay, some it may dispose to ``` ``` no small height of sensible devotion. The ``` ``` glorious things that are spoken of heaven, ``` ``` may make even a carnal heart in love with ``` ``` it ; the metaphors and similitudes made use of ``` ``` in scripture, of crowns and sceptres, and rivers ``` ``` of pleasure, &c. will easily affect a man's ``` ``` fancy, and make him wish to be there, though ``` ``` he neither understand nor desire those spirit- ``` ``` ual pleasures which are described and shad- ``` ``` owed forth by them : and when such a person ``` ``` comes to believe that Christ has purchased ``` ``` those glorious things for him, he may feel a ``` ,kind of tenderness and affection towards so ``` great a benefactor, and imagine that he is ``` ``` mightily enamoured with him, and vet all the ``` ``` while continue a stranger to the holy temper ``` ``` and spirit of the blessed Jesus. And what ``` ``` hand the natural constitution may have in the ``` ``` rapturous devotions of some melancholy per- ``` ``` sons, hath been excellently discovered of late ``` ``` by several learned and judicious pens. ``` ``` To conclude : there is nothing proper to ``` ``` make a man's life pleasant, or himself emi- ``` ``` nent and conspicuous in the world, but this ``` ``` natural principle, assisted by wit and reason, ``` may prompt him to it. And though I do not ``` condemn these things in themselves, yet it ``` ``` concerns us nearty to know and consider their ``` ``` nature, both that we may keep within due ``` bounds, and also that we may learn never to value ourselves on the account of such attain- ``` ments, nor lay the stress of religion upon our ``` ``` natural appetites or performances. ``` ``` \VHEREIN THE DIVINE LIFE DOTH CONSIST. ``` ``` TT is now time to return to the consideration ``` ``` of that divine life whereof I was discours- ``` ing before ; that life which is hid with Christ in God, and therefore hath no glorious show or appearance in the world, and to the natural man will seem a mean and insipid notion. As the animal life consisteth in that narrow and confined love which is terminated on a man's self, and in his propension towards those things that are pleasing to nature ; so the divine life stands in an universal and unbounded affec- tion, and in the mastery over our natural inclinations, that they may never be able to ``` betray us to those things which we know ``` ``` to be blamable. The root of the divine Hfe ``` ``` is faith ; the chief branches are, love to God, ``` ``` charity to man, purity and humihty : for (as ``` ``` an excellent person hath well observed) how- ``` ``` ever these names be common and vulgar, and ``` ``` make no extraordinary sound ; yet do they ``` ``` carry such a mighty sense, that the tongue of ``` ``` man or angel can pronounce nothing more ``` weighty or excellent. Faith hath the same place in the divine life which sense hath in the natural, being indeed nothing else but a kind of sense, or feeling persuasion of spiritual things. It extends itself unto all divine truths : but, in our lapsed estate, it hath a peculiar relation to the declarations of God's mercy and reconcilableness to sinners through a Mediator ; and therefore, receiving its de- nomination from that principal object, is ordi- narily termed faith in Jesus Christ, ``` The love of God is a delightful and affec- ``` tionate sense of the divine perfections, which makes the soul resign and sacrifice itself wholly unto him, desiring above all things to please him, and delighting in nothing so much ``` as in fellowship and communion with him, and ``` being ready to do or suffer any thing for his ``` sake, or at his pleasure. Though this affec- ``` tion may have its first rise from the favors ``` and mercies of God towards ourselves, yet ``` ``` doth it in its growth and progress transcend ``` ``` such particular considerations, and ground ``` itself on his infinite goodness manifested in all the works of creation and providence. A soul thus possessed with divine love, must needs be enlarged towards all mankind in a sincere and unbounded affection, because of the relation the}^ have to God, being his crea- tures, and having something of his image stamped upon them. And this is that charity I named as the second branch of religion, ^and under which all the parts of justice, all the duties we owe to our neighbor, are eminendy comprehended : for he who doth truly love all the world, will be nearly concerned in the interest of every one ; and so far from wrong- ing or injuring any person, that he will resent any evil that befalls others, as if it happened to himself. ``` ^y j)iirity, I understand a due abstractedness ``` from the bodv, and mastery over the inferior appetites ; or such a temper and disposition of mind, as makes a man despise, and abstain from all pleasures and delights of sense or fancy which are sintul in themselves or tend to extinguish or lessen our relish of more divine and intellectual pleasures ; which doth also in- fer a resoluteness to undergo all those hardships he may meet with in the performance of his duty. So that not only chastity and temper- ance, but also Christian courage and magna- nimity may come under this head. ``` Humility imports a deep sense of our own ``` weakness, with a hearty and affectionate ac- knowledgment of our owing all that we are to the divine bounty ; which is always accompa- nied with a profound submission to the will of God, and great deadness towards the glory of the world, and applause of men. ``` These are the highest perfections that either ``` men or angels are capable of; the verv founda- tion of heaven laid in the soul. x\nd he who hath attained them, needs not desire to prv into the hidden rolls of God's decrees, or search the volumes of heaven, to know what is deter- mined about his everlasting condition ; but he may find a copy of God's thoughts concerning him written in his own breast. His love to God may give him assurance of God's favor to ``` him ; and those beginnings of happiness which ``` he feels in the conformity of the powers of his soul to the nature of God, and compliance with his will, are a sure pledge that his felicity shall be perfected, and continued to all eternity. And it is not without reason that one said, "I had rather see the real impressions of a God- like nature upon my own soul, than have a vision from heaven, or an angel sent to tell me that my name was enrolled in the book of life." RELIGION BETTER UNDERSTOOD BY ACTIONS ``` THAN BY WORDS. ``` ``` "\"\ 7'HEN we have said all that we can, the ``` ``` secret m3'steries of a new nature and di- ``` ``` vine life can never be sufficiently expressed ``` ``` ; ``` language and words cannot reach them : nor can they be truly understood but by those souls that are enkindled within, and awakened unto the sense and rehsh of spiritual things. The7'e is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the Al- mighty giveth him tindei'standing. The power and life of religion may be better expressed in actions than in words ; because actions are more lively things, and do better represent the in- ward principle whence they proceed ; and there- fore we may take the best measure of those gracious endowments from the deportment of those in wiiom they reside ; especially as they ``` are perfectly exemplified in the holy life of our ``` blessed Saviour ; a main part of whose busi- ``` ness in this world, was, to teach by his practice ``` ``` what he did require of others, and to make his ``` ``` own conversation an exact resemblance of those ``` ``` unparalleled rules which he prescribed : so that ``` ``` if ever true goodness was visible to mortal eyes, ``` ``` it w^as then when his presence did beautify and ``` ``` illustrate this lower world. ``` ``` DIVINE LOVE EXEMPLIFIED IN OUR SAVIOUR: ``` ``` His diligence in doing God's ivill, and His patience in ``` ``` bearing it. ``` ``` "^ I ^HAT sincere and devout affection where- ``` ``` with his blessed soul did constantly burn ``` ``` towards his heavenly Father, did express itself ``` ``` in an entire resignation to his will. It was his ``` ``` very meat^ to do the zuill, and finish the work ``` ``` of hivi that sent him. This was the exercise of ``` ``` his childhood, and the constant employment ``` ``` of his riper age. He spared no travail or pains ``` ``` while he was about his Father's business, but ``` ``` took such infinite content and satisfaction in the ``` ``` performance of it, that when, being faint and ``` ``` weary with his journey, he rested himself on ``` Jacob's well, and entreated water of the Sama- ``` ritan woman ; the success of his conference ``` ``` with her, and the accession that was made to ``` the kingdom of God, filled his mind with such ``` delight, as seemed to have redounded to his very ``` body, refreshing his spirits, and making him forget the thirst whereof he complained before, ``` and refuse the meat which he had sent his dis- ``` ``` ciples to buy. Nor was he less patient and ``` ``` submissive in suffering the will of God, than ``` ``` diligent in doing of it. He endured the sharp- ``` est afflictions and extremest miseries that ever were inflicted on any mortal, without a repining thought, or discontented word. For though he was far from a stupid insensibility, or a fan- tastic or Stoical obstinacy, and had as quick a sense of pain as other men, and the deepest apprehension of what he was to suffer in his soul, (as his bloody szvcat, and the sore amaze- ment and sorrozv which he professed, do abun- dantly declare) ; yet did he entirely submit to that severe dispensation of Providence, and ``` willingly acquiesced in it. ``` ``` And he prayed to God, that (f it werepossi- ``` ``` ble^ (or, as one of the Evangelists hath it, if he ``` ``` were zvilling,) that cup anight be removed; ``` yet he gendy added. Nevertheless, not my zvill, but thine be done. Of what strange ``` importance are the expressions, fohn xii. 27, ``` ``` where he first acknowledgeth the anguish ``` ``` of his spirit, Novj is my soul troubled; which ``` ``` would seem to produce a kind of demur. And ``` ``` what shall I say f and then he goes on to ``` deprecate his sufferings, Father^ save mefrom this hour; which he had no sooner uttered, but he doth, as it were, on second thoughts, recall it in these words, But for this cause catne I into the world; and concludes, Father, glo- rify thy name. Now, we must not look on this as any levity, or blamable weakness in the blessed Jesus. He knew all along what he was to suffer, and did most resolutely undergo it. But it shows us the inconceivable weight and pressure that he was to bear ; which, being so afflicting, and contrary to nature, he could not think of without terror ; yet, considering the will of God, and the glory w^hich was to redound to him from thence, he was not only content but desirous to suffer it. ## OUR SAVIOUR'S CONSTANT DEVOTION. ``` A NOTHER instance of his love to God, ``` ``` w^as, his delight in conversing with him ``` by prayer ; w^hich made him frequently retire from the world, and with the greatest devotion and pleasure spend whole nights in that heav- ``` enly exercise, though he had no sins to confess, ``` ``` and but few secular interests to pray for ; which, ``` ``` alas! are almost the only things that are w^ont ``` ``` to drive us to our devotions. Nay, we may ``` ``` say his w^hole life w^as a kind of prayer, a con- ``` ``` stant course of communion with God ; if the ``` ``` sacrifice was not always offering, yet was the ``` ``` fire still kept alive : nor was ever the blessed ``` Jesus surprised with that dulness or tepidity of ``` spirit which we must many times wrestle with, ``` ``` before we can be fit for the exercise of devo- ``` tion. ## OUR SAVIOUR'S CHARITY TO MEN. ``` TN the second place, I should speak of his ``` ``` love and charity towards all men. But he ``` who would express it, must transcribe the his- ``` tory of the gospel, and comment upon it : for ``` ``` scarce anv thino; is recorded to have been done ``` or spoken by him, which was not designed for the good and advantage of some one or other. ``` All his miraculous works were instances of his ``` goodness, as well as his power; and they ben- efited those on ^Yhom they were wrought, as well as they amazed the beholders. His char- ity was not confined to his kindred or relations ; nor was all his kindness swallowed up in the endearments of that peculiar friendship which he carried towards the beloved disciple, but every one was his friend who obeyed his holy commands^ John xv. 14; 'dndizuhosoever did the will of his leather, the same was to him as his brotheri and sister, and mother. ``` Never was any unwelcome to him who came ``` with an honest intention ; nor did he deny any request which tended to the good of those that asked it. So that what was spoken of that Roman Emperor, whom for his goodness they called the darling of mankind, was really per- formed by him ; that never any departed from him with a heavy countenance, except that rich youth, Mark x. who was sorry to hear that the kingdom of heaven stood at so high a rate, and that he could not save his soul and his money too. And certainly it troubled our Sav- iour, to see that when a price was in his hand to get wisdom, yet he had no heart to it. The ingenuity that appeared in his lirst address, had already procured some kindness for him ; for it is said, avd ycstis belwldiiig hivi, loved him. But must he for his sake cut out a new way to heaven, and alter the nature of things, which make it impossible that a covetous man should be happy? ``` And what shall I speak of his meekness, ``` who could encounter the monstrous ingratitude and dissimulation of that miscreant who be- trayed him, in no harsher terms than these, ``` yudas, hetraycst thoit the Son of man zuifh a ``` kiss f What further evidence could we desire of his fervent and unbounded charity, than that ``` he willingly laid down his life even for his most ``` bitter enemies ; and, mingling his prayers with ``` his blood, besought the Father that his death ``` ``` might not be laid to their charge, but might be- ``` ``` come the means of eternal life to those very ``` ``` persons who procured it? ``` ### T ## OUR SAVIOUR'S PURITY. ``` HE third branch of the divine life is ``` ``` ptirity ; which, as I said, consists in a ``` neglect of worldly enjoyments and accommo- dations, and a resolute enduring of all such troubles as we meet with in the doing of our duty. Now, surely, if ever any person was wholly dead to all the pleasures of the natural life, it was the blessed Jesus, who seldom tasted them when they came in his way ; but never stepped out of his road to seek them. He allowed others the comforts of w-edlock, and honored marriage with his presence ; and supplied the want of wine with a miracle, yet he would not work one for the relief of his own hunger in the w^ilderness : so gracious and divine w^as the temper of his soul, in allowing to others such lawful gratifications as himself thought good to abstain from, and supplying not only their more extreme and pressing ne- cessities, but also their smaller and less consid- erable w^ants. We many times hear of our Saviour's sighs, and groans, and tears ; but never that he laughed, and but once that he rejoiced in spirit; so that through his w-hole life he did exactly answer that character given of him by the prophet of old, that he w'as a man of sorrows^ and acquainted zvith g')'ief. Nor were the troubles and disaccommodations of his life other than matters of choice. For never did there any appear on the stage of the world with greater advantage to have raised himself to the highest secular felicity. He who could bring together such a prodigious number of fishes into his disciples' net, and, at another time, receive that tribute from a fish which he was to pay to the temple, might easily have made himself the richest person in the world. Nay, without any money he could have main- tained an army powerful enough to have jostled ``` CcBsar out of his throne ; having oftener than ``` once fed several thousands with a few loaves and small fishes. But, to show how small esteem he had of all the enjoyments in the world, he chose to live in so poor and mean a condition, that though the foxes had holes ``` ^ ``` and the birds of the air had nests., yet he who ``` was lord and heir of all things, had 7iot ``` whereon to lay his head. He did not frequent the courts of princes, nor afiect the acquaint- ``` ance or converse of great ones ; but, being ``` ``` reputed the son of a carpenter, he had fisher- ``` ``` men and such other poor people for his com- ``` ``` 3 ``` ``` panions, and lived at such a rate as suited with ``` ``` the meanness of that condition. ``` ## OUR SAVIOUR'S HUMILITY. ``` A ND thus I am brought unawares to speak ``` ``` of his humility^ the last branch of the ``` ``` divine life ; wherein he was a most eminent ``` ``` pattern to us, that we might learn ofhim to he ``` ``` meek and lozvly in heart. I shall not now ``` ``` speak of that infinite condescension of the ``` ``` eternal Son of God, in taking our nature upon ``` him ; but only reflect on our Saviour's lowly ``` and humble deportment while he was in the ``` ``` world. He had none of those sins and im- ``` perfections which may justly humble the best of men ; but he was so entirely swallowed up with a deep sense of the infinite perfections of God, that he appeared as nothing in his own eyes, I mean, so far as he was a creature. He considered those eminent perfections which shined in his blessed soul, as not his own, but the gifts of God ; and therefore assumed noth- ing to himself for them, but with the pro- foundest humility renounced all pretences to them. Hence did he refuse that ordinary com- ``` pellation of good master, when addressed to ``` ``` his human nature, by one whom it seems was ``` ``` ignorant of his divinity : Why callest thou me ``` good P there is none good, but God only: As ``` if he had said, The goodness of any creature ``` ``` (and such only thou takest me to be) is not ``` ``` worthy to be named or taken notice of; it is ``` ``` God alone who is originally and essentially ``` ``` good. He never made use of his miraculous ``` ``` power for vanity or ostentation. He would ``` ``` not gratify the curiosity of the Jews with a ``` ``` sign from heaven, some prodigious appearance ``` ``` in the air : nor would he follow the advice of ``` ``` his countrymen and kindred, who would have ``` ``` had all his great works perlbrmed in the eyes ``` ``` of the world, for gaining him the greater fame. ``` ``` But when his charity had prompted him to the ``` ``` relief of the miserable, his humility made him ``` ``` many times enjoin the concealment of the mir- ``` ``` acle ; and when the glory of God, and the ``` ``` design for which he came into the world, re- ``` ``` quired the publication of them, he ascribed the ``` honor of all to his Father, telling them, that of himself he was able to do 7iothing. ``` I cannot insist on all the instances of hu- ``` mility in his deportment towards men ; his withdrawing himself when they would have made him a king, his subjection, not only to his blessed mother, but to her husband, during his younger years ; and his submission to all the indignities and affronts which his rude and malicious enemies did put upon him. The history of his holy life, recorded by those who conversed with him, is full of such passages as these. And indeed the serious and attentive study of it, is the best way to get right meas- ures of humility, and all the other parts of religion which I have been endeavoring to de- scribe. ``` But now, that I may lessen your trouble of ``` reading a long letter, by making some pauses in it, let me here subjoin a prayer that might be proper when one who had formerly enter- tained some false notions of religion, begins to discover what it is. ## A PRAYER. ``` " TNFINITE and eternal Majesty, author and ``` ``` fountain of being and blessedness, how ``` ``` little do we poor sinful creatures know of thee, ``` ``` or the way to serve and please thee! We talk ``` ``` of religion, and pretend unto it: but alas I how ``` ``` few are there that know and consider what it ``` ``` means! How easily do we mistake the affec- ``` ``` tions of our nature, and the issues of self-love ``` ``` for those divine graces which alone can render ``` ``` us acceptable in thy sight I It may justly ``` ``` grieve me, to consider, that I should have ``` ``` wandered so long, and contented myself so ``` ``` often with vain shadows and false images of ``` ``` pietv and religion : yet I cannot but acknowl- ``` ``` edge and adore thy goodness, who hast been ``` ``` pleased in some measure to open mine eyes, ``` ``` and let me see what it is at which I ought to ``` ``` aim. I rejoice to consider what mighty im- ``` provements my nature is capable of, and what a divine temper of spirit doth shine in those whom thou art pleased to choose, and causest to approach unto thee. Blessed be thine in- finite mercy, who sentest thine own Son to dwell among men, and to instruct them by his example as well as his laws, giving them a perfect pattern of what they ought to be. Oh that the holy life of the blessed Jesus may be always in my thoughts, and before mine ``` eyes, till I receive a deep sense and impression ``` ``` of those excellent graces that shined so emi- ``` ``` nently in him ; and let me never cease my en- ``` ``` deavors, till that new and divine nature prevail ``` ``` in my soul and Christ be formed within me." ``` ``` THE EXCELLENXY AND ADVANTAGE OF ``` ``` RELIGION. ``` ``` A ND now, my dear friend, having discov- ``` ``` ered the nature of true religion, before I ``` ``` proceed any further^, it will not perhaps be ``` ``` unfit to fix our meditations a little on the excel- ``` ``` lency and advantages of it ; that we may be ``` ``` excited to the more vigorous and diligent prose- ``` ``` cution of those methods whereby we may at- ``` ``` tain so £ri*eat a felicitv. But alas! what words ``` ``` shall we find to express that inward satisfaction, ``` ``` those hidden pleasures which can never be ``` ``` righdy understood, but by those holy souls who ``` ``` feel them? A stranger intermeddleth not with ``` ``` their joy. Holiness is the right temper, the ``` ``` vigorous and healthful constitution of the soul. ``` ``` Its faculties had formerl}^ been enfeebled and ``` ``` disordered, so that they could not exercise their ``` ``` natural functions ; it had wearied itself w^ith ``` ``` endless tossings and rollings, and was never ``` ``` able to find any rest : now, that distemper ``` being removed, it feels itself well ; there is ``` a due harmony in its faculties, and a sprightly ``` vigor possesseth every part. The understand- ing can discern what is good, and the will can cleave unto it : the affections are not tied to the motions of sense, and the influence of external objects ; but they are stirred by more divine impressions, are touched by a sense of invisi- ble things. #### L ## THE EXCELLENCY OF DIVINE LOVE. ``` ET us descend, if you please, into a nearer ``` ``` and more particular view of religion, in ``` those several branches of it which were named before. Let us consider that love and affec- tion wherewith holy souls are united to God, that w^e may see what excellency and felicity is involved in it. Love is that powerful and prevalent passion, by which all the faculties and inclinations of the soul are determined, and on which both its perfection and happi- ness depend. The worth and excellency of a soul is to be measured by the object of its love. He who loveth mean and sordid things, ``` doth thereby become base and vile ; but a ``` ``` noble and well-placed affection, doth advance ``` ``` and nnprove the spirit into a conformit}^ with ``` the perfections which it loves. The images ``` of these do frequently present themselves unto ``` ``` the mind, and, by a secret force and energy, ``` ``` insinuate into the very constitution of the soul, ``` ``` and mould and fashion it unto their own like- ``` ``` ness. Hence we may see how easily lovers ``` ``` or friends do slide into the imitation of the per- ``` ``` sons w^hom they affect, and how, even before ``` ``` they are aware, they begin to resemble them, ``` ``` not only in the more considerable instances ``` ``` of their deportment, but also in their voice ``` ``` and gesture, and that which we call their mien ``` ``` and air. And certainly we should as well ``` transcribe the virtues and inward beauties of the soul, if they were the object and motive of our love. But now, as all the creatures we converse with have their mixture and al- loy, w^e are alwaj^s in hazard to be sullied and corrupted by placing our affections on them. Passion doth easily blind our eyes, so that we first approve, and then imitate the things that are blamable in them. The true way to im- prove and ennoble our souls, is, bv fixing our love on the divine perfections, that we may have them always before us, and derive an impression of them on ourselves, and behold- ing with ofen face^ as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, zue may be changed into the same image, from glory to glory. He who with a generous and holy ambition hath raised his e3^es towards that uncreated beauty and good- ness, and fixed his affection there, is quite of another spirit, of a more excellent and heroic temper than the rest of the world ; and cannot but infinitely disdain all mean and unworthy things ; will not entertain any low or base thoughts which might disparage his high and noble pretensions. Love is the greatest and most excellent thing we are masters of; and therefore it is folly and baseness to bestow it unworthily. It is indeed the only thing we can call our own. Other things may be taken from us by violence ; but none can ravish our love. If any thing, else be counted ours, by giving our love we give all, so far as we make over our hearts and wills, b}' which we pos- sess our other enjoyments. It is not possible to refuse him anv thincr, to whom bv love we have given ourselves. Nay, since it is the privilege of gifts to receive their value from the mind of the giver, and not to be measured by the event, but by the desire ; he who loveth may in some sense be said not only to bestow all that he hath, but all things else which may make the beloved person happy, since he doth heartily wish them, and would readily give them, if they were in his power. In which sense it is that one makes bold to say, That divine love doth in a manner give ``` God unto himsef by the complacency it takes ``` in the happiness and perfection of his nature. But though this may seem too strained an ex- pression, certainly love is the worthiest present we can offer unto God ; and it is extremely debased when we bestow it another way. ``` When this affection is misplaced, it doth ``` often vent itself in such expressions as point at its genuine and proper object, and insinuate where it ought to be placed. The flattering and blasphemous terms of adoration, wherein men do sometimes express their passion, are the language of that affection which was made and designed for God ; as he who is accustomed to speak to some great person, doth, perhaps, unawares, accost another with those titles he was wont to give to him. But certainly that passion which accounteth its object a Deity, ought to be bestowed on him who really is so. ``` Those unlimited submissions, which would ``` ``` debase the soul if directed to any other, will ``` ``` exalt and ennoble it when placed here. Those ``` ``` chains and cords of love are infinitely more ``` ``` glorious than liberty itself; this slavery is more ``` ``` noble than ail the empires in the world. ``` ## THE ADVANTAGES OF DIVINE LOVE. ``` \ GAIN, as div^ine love doth advance and ``` ``` ^ ^ elevate the soul, so it is that alone which ``` can make it happy. The highest and most ravishing pleasures, the most solid and substan- tial delights, that human nature is capable of, are those which arise from the endearments of a well-placed and successful affection. That which imbitters love, and makes it ordinarily a very troublesome and hurtful passion, is the placing it on those who have not worth enough to deserve it, or affection and gratitude to re- quire it, or whose absence may deprive us of the pleasure of their converse, or their miseries occasion our trouble. To all these evils are they exposed, whose chief and supreme affec- tion is placed on creatures like themselves : but the love of God delivers us from them all. ## THE WORTH OF THE OBJECT. ``` L^IRST, I say, love must needs be misera- ``` ``` ble, and full of trouble and disquietude, ``` ``` when there is not worth and excellency enough ``` ``` in the object to answer the vastness of its ca- ``` ``` pacity. So eager and violent a passion, can- ``` ``` not but fret and torment the spirit, where it finds ``` ``` not wherewith to satisfy its cravings. And, in- ``` ``` deed, so large and unbounded is its nature, that ``` it must be extremely pinched and straitened, when confined to any creature ; nothing below an infinite good can aftbrd it room to stretch itself, and exert its vigor and activity. What is a little skin-deep beauty, or some small degrees of goodness, to match or satisfy a pas- sion which was made for God, designed to em- brace an infinite good? No wonder lovers do so hardly suffer any rival, and do not desire that others should approve their passion by im- itating it. They know the scantiness and nar- rowness of the good which they love, that it cannot suffice two, being in effect too little for one. Hence love, which is strong- as death, ``` occasioneth jealousy which is cruel as the ``` grave; the coals whereof are coals of fire, ``` which hath a most violent flame. ``` ``` But divine love hath no mixture of this gall ``` ``` ; ``` ``` when once the soul is fixed on that supreme ``` ``` and all-sufficient good, it finds so much per- ``` ``` fection and goodness, as doth not only answer ``` ``` and satisfy its affection, but master and over- ``` ``` power it too : it finds all its love to be too faint ``` ``` and languid for such a noble object, and is only ``` ``` sorry that it can command no more. It wisheth ``` ``` for the flames of a serafh. and longs for the ``` ``` time when it shall be wholly melted and dis- ``` ``` solved into love : and because it can do so little ``` ``` itself, it desires the assistance of the whole crea- ``` ``` tion, that angels and men would concur with it ``` ``` in the admiration and love of those infinite per- ``` ``` fections. ``` ## THE CERTAINTY TO BE BELOVED AGAIN. ``` A GAIN, love is accompanied with trouble, ``` ``` when it misseth a suitable return of affec- ``` ``` tion : love is the most valuable thina" we can ``` ``` bestow, and by giving it, we do in effect give ``` ``` all that we have ; and therefore it needs must ``` ``` be afflicting to find so great a gift despised, ``` ``` that the present which one hath made of his ``` ``` whole heart, cannot prevail to obtain any re- ``` turn. Perfect love is a kind of self-dereliction, ``` a wandering out of ourselves ; it is a kind of ``` voluntary death, wherein the lover dies to him- ``` self, and all his own interest, not thinking of ``` them, nor caring for them an}^ more, and mind- ing nothing but how he may please and gratify the party whom he loves. Thus he is quite undone unless he meets with reciprocal aliec- tion ; he neglects himself, and the other hath no regard to him ; but if he be beloved, he is revived, as it were, and liveth in the soul and care of the person whom he loves ; and now he begins to mind his own concernments, not so much because they are his, as because the beloved is pleased to own an interest in them. He becomes dear unto himself, because he is so unto the other. ``` But why should I enlarge on so known a ``` matter? Nothing can be more clear, than that the happiness of love depends on the return it meets with. And herein the divine lover hath unspeakably the advantage, having placed his affection on him whose nature is love ; whose goodness is as infinite as his being ; whose mercy prevented us when we were his enemies, therefore cannot choose but embrace us when we are become his friends. It is utterly im- possible that God should deny his love to a ``` soul wholly devoted to him, and which desires ``` ``` nothing so much as to serve and please him. ``` ``` He cannot disdain his own image, nor the heart ``` ``` in which it is engraven. Love is all the trib- ``` ``` ute which we can pay him, and it is the sacri- ``` ``` fice which he will not despise. ``` ``` THE PRESENXE OF THE BELOVED PERSON. ``` ``` A XOTHER thing which disturbs the pleas- ``` ``` ure of love, and renders it a miserable ``` ``` and unquiet passion, is absence and separation ``` ``` from those we love. It is not without a sensi- ``` ``` ble affliction that friends do part, though for ``` ``` some little time. It is sad to be deprived of ``` ``` that society which is so delightful ; our life be- ``` ``` comes tedious, being spent in an impatient ex- ``` ``` pectation of the happy hour wherein we may ``` ``` meet again. But if Death hath made the sep- ``` ``` aration, as sometime or other it must, this occa- ``` ``` sions a grief scarce to be paralleled by all the ``` ``` misfortunes of human life, and wherein we pay ``` ``` dear enough for the comforts of our friendship. ``` ``` But oh how happy are those who have placed ``` ``` their love on him who can never be absent from ``` ``` them! They need but open their eyes, and ``` ``` they shall everywhere behold the traces of his ``` ``` presence and glory, and converse with him ``` ``` whom their soul loveth. And this makes the ``` ``` darkest prison, or the wildest desert, not only ``` ``` supportable, but delightful to them. ``` ## THE DIVINE LOVE MAKES US PARTAKE OF ## AN INFINITE HAPPINESS. TN fine, a lover is miserable if the person ``` whom he loveth be so. They who have ``` made an exchange of hearts by love, get thereby an interest in one another's happiness and misery : and this makes love a troublesome ``` 4 ``` ``` passion when placed on earth. The most for- ``` ``` tunate person hath grief enough to mar the ``` ``` tranquiUity of his friend ; and it is hard to hold ``` ``` out, when we are attacked on all hands, and ``` ``` suffer not only in our own person but in anoth- ``` ``` er's. But if God were the object of our love, ``` ``` we should share in an infinite happiness, with- ``` out any mixture or possibility of diminution ; ``` we should rejoice to behold the glor}" of God, ``` ``` and receive comfort and pleasure from all the ``` praises wherewith men and angels do extol him. ``` It should delight us beyond all expression, to ``` consider, that the beloved of our souls is in, finitely happy in himself, and that all his ene- mies cannot shake or unsettle his throne ; that our God is in the heavens^ and doth whatsoever he fleascth. ``` Behold, on what sure foundations bis happi- ``` ness is built, whose soul is possessed with di- vine love ; whose will is transformed into the will of God, and whose greatest desire is, that his Maker should be pleased. Oh the peace, the rest, the satisfaction that attendeth such a temper of mind! ## HE THAT LOVETH GOD FINDS SWEETNESS IN ## EVERY DISPENSATION. T^T'HAT an infinite pleasure must it needs ``` be, thus, as it were, to lose ourselves ``` in him, and, being swallowed up in the over- coming sense of his goodness, to offer our- selves a living sacrifice, always ascending unto him in flames of love I Never doth a soul know what solid joy and substantial pleasure is, till, once being weary of itself, it renounces all property, gives itself up to the author of its being, and teels itself become a hallowed and devoted thing; and can say, from an inward sense and feeling, My beloved is jiime, (I account all his interest mine own) and I am his : I am content to be any thing ``` for him, and care not for myself, but that I ``` may serve him. A. person moulded into this temper, would find pleasure in all the dispen- sations of providence. Temporal enjoyments ``` would have another relish, when he should ``` taste the divine goodness in them, and con- ``` sider them as tokens of love sent by his dear- ``` ``` est Lord and master. And chastisements, ``` ``` though they be not joyous but grievous, ``` ``` would hereby lose their sting : the rod as ``` ``` well as the staff would comfort him : he ``` ``` would snatch a kiss from the hand that was ``` ``` smiting him, and gather sweetness from that ``` ``` severity. Nay, he would rejoice, that though ``` ``` God did not the will of such a worthless and ``` ``` foolish creature as himself, yet he did his own ``` ``` will, and accomplished his own designs, which ``` ``` are infinitely more holy and wise. ``` ## THE DUTIES OF RELIGION ARE DELIGHTFUL ## TO HIM. ``` ^ I ^HE exercises of religion, which to others ``` ``` are insipid and tedious, do yield the ``` ``` highest pleasure and delight to souls pos- ``` ``` sessed with divine love. They rejoice when ``` ``` they are called to go up to the house of the ``` ``` Lo7'd, that they may see his -power and his ``` glory^ as they have formerly seen it in his ``` sanctuary. They never think themselves so ``` ``` happy as when, having retired from the ``` world, and gotten free from the noise and hurry of affau's, and silenced all their clamor- ous passions, (those troublesome guests with- in,) they have placed themselves in the pres- ence of God, and entertain fellowship and communion with him. Thev deligrht to adore his perfections, and recount his favors, and to protest their affection to him, and tell him a thousand times that they love him ; to lay out their troubles or wants before him, and dis- burden their hearts in his bosom. Repent- ance itself is a delightful exercise, when it floweth from the principle of love : there is a secret sweetness \A'hich accompanieth those tears of remorse, those meltings and relent- ings of a soul returning unto God, and la- menting its former unkindness. ``` The severities of a holy life, and that con- ``` stant watch which we are obliged to keep over our hearts and ways, are very trouble- some to those who are overruled and acted by. an external law, and have no law in their minds inclining them to the performance of their duty. But where divine love possesseth the soul, it stands as sentinel to keep out every thing that may offend the beloved, and doth disdainfully repulse those temptations which assault it. It complieth cheerfulh^ not only with explicit commands, but with the most ``` secret notices of the beloved's pleasure ; and ``` is ingenious in discovering what will be most ``` grateful and acceptable unto him. It makes ``` ``` mortification and self-denial change their ``` ``` harsh and dreadful names, and become easy, ``` ``` sweet, and dehghtful things. ``` ``` But I find this part of my letter swell bigger ``` ``` than I desi^jned : indeed who would not be ``` ``` tempted to dwell on so pleasant a theme? I ``` ``` shall endeavor to compensate it by brevity in ``` ``` the other points. ``` ``` THE EXCELLE^XY OF CHARITY. ``` ``` 'T^HE next branch of the divine life is an ``` ``` universal charity and love. The excel- ``` ``` lency of this grace will be easily acknowl- ``` ``` edged. For what can be more noble and ``` ``` generous than a heart enlarged to embrace ``` ``` the whole world, whose wishes and designs ``` ``` are levelled at the good and welfare of the ``` ``` universe, which considereth every man's inter- ``` ``` est as its own? He who loveth his neighbor ``` ``` as himself can never entertain any base or ``` ``` injurious thought, or be wanting in expres- ``` ``` sions of bounty : he had rather suffer a thou- ``` ``` sand wrongs, than be guilty of one ; and never ``` ``` accounts himself happy, but when some one ``` ``` or other hath been benefited by him. The ``` ``` malice or ingratitude of men is not able to ``` ``` resist his love : he overlooks their injuries, ``` and pities their folly, and overcomes their evil with good ; and never designs any other revenge against his most bitter and malicious enemies, than to put all the obligations he can upon them, whether they will or not. Is it any wonder that such a person be reverenced and admired, and accounted the darling of mankind? This inward goodness and benig- nity of spirit reflects a certain sweetness and serenity upon the very countenance, and makes it amiable and lovely. It inspireth the soul with a noble resolution and courage, and makes it capable of enterprising and effecting the highest things. Those heroic ``` actions which we are wont to read with admi- ``` ``` ration, have for the most part been the effects ``` ``` of the love of one's country, or of particular ``` ``` friendships ; and certainly a more extensive ``` ``` and universal affection must be much more ``` powerful and efficacious. ## THE PLEASURE THAT ATTENDS CHARITY. ``` A GAIN, as charity flows from a noble and ``` ``` excellent temper, so it is accompanied ``` with the greatest satisfaction and pleasure. It delights the soul to feel itself thus enlarged, and to be delivered from those disquieting as well as deformed passions, malice, hatred, and envy ; and become gentle, sweet, and benign. Had I m}^ choice of all things that might tend to my present felicity, I would pitch upon this, to have my heart possessed with the greatest kindness and aflection to- wards all men in the world. I am sure this would make me partake in all the happiness of others ; their inward endowments, and out- ward prosperity : every thing that did benefit ``` in the Soul of Man. 57 ``` ``` and advantage them, would afford me com- ``` ``` fort and pleasure. And though I should fre- ``` ``` quenth^ meet with occasions of grief and ``` ``` compassion, yet there is a sweetness in com- ``` ``` miseration, which makes it infinitely more ``` ``` desirable than a stupid insensibility : and the ``` ``` consideration of that infinite goodness and ``` ``` wisdom which governs the world, might re- ``` ``` press any excessive trouble for particular ``` ``` calamities that happen in it: and the hopes ``` ``` or possibility of men's after-happiness, might ``` ``` moderate their sorrow for their present mis- ``` ``` fortunes. Certainly, next to the love and ``` ``` enjoyment of God, that ardent charity and ``` ``` affection wherewith blessed souls do embrace ``` ``` one another, is justly to be reckoned as the ``` ``` greatest felicity of those regions above : and ``` did it universally prevail in the world, it would anticipate that blessedness, and make us taste of the joys of heaven upon earth. ## THE EXCELLENCY OF PURITY. 'HPHAT which I named as a third branch ``` of rehgion, was purity : and you may ``` remember I described it to consist in a con- tempt of sensual pleasures, and resoluteness to undergo those troubles and pains we may meet with in the performance of our dut}^. Now, the naming of this may suffice to recommend it as a most noble and excel- lent quality. There is no slavery so base, as that whereby a man becomes a drudge to his own lusts ; nor any victory so glorious, as that which is obtained over them. Never ``` can that person be capable of any thing that ``` is noble and worth}', who is sunk in the gross ``` and feculent pleasures of sense, or bewitched ``` ``` with the light and airy gratifications of fancy. ``` ``` But the religious soul is of a more sublime ``` ``` and divine temper ; it knows it was made for ``` ``` higher things, and scorns to step aside one ``` ``` foot out of the way of holiness, for the obtain- ``` ``` ing any of these. ``` ## THE DELIGHT AFFORDED BY PURITY. ``` A ND this purity is accompanied with a ``` ``` great deal of pleasure : whatsoever ``` defiles the soul disturbs it too ; all impure delights have a sting in them, and leave smart and trouble behind them. Excess and intemperance, and all inordinate lusts, are so much enemies to the health of the body, and the interests of this present life, that a little consideration might oblige any rational man to forbear them on that very score : and if the religious person go higher, and do not only abstain from noxious pleasures, but neglect those that are innocent, this is not to be looked upon as any violent and uneasy restraint, but ``` as the effect of better choice, that their minds ``` ``` are taken up in the pursuit of more sublime ``` ``` and refined delights, so that they cannot be ``` ``` concerned in these. Any person that is en- ``` ``` gaged in a violent and passionate affection, ``` ``` will easily forget his ordinary gratifications, ``` ``` will be little curious about his diet, or his ``` bodily ease, or the divertisements he was wont to delic^ht in. No wonder then if souls overpowered with divine love, despise inferior pleasures, and be almost ready to grudge the body its necessary attendance for the common accommodations of life, judging all these im- pertinent to their main happiness, and those ``` higher enjoyments they are pursuing. As for ``` the hardships they meet with, they rejoice in ``` them, as opportunities to exercise and testify ``` ``` their affection : and since they are able to do ``` ``` so litde for God, they are glad of the honor to ``` ``` suffer for him. ``` ## THE EXCELLENCY OF HUMILITY. ## 'T^HE last branch of religion is Juimility ``` ; ``` ``` and however to vulgar and carnal eyes ``` ``` this may appear an abject, base, and despica- ``` ``` ble quality, yet really the soul of man is not ``` ``` capable of a higher and more noble endow- ``` ``` ment. It is a silly ignorance that begets pride : ``` ``` but humility arises from a nearer acquaintance ``` ``` with excellent things, which keeps men from ``` ``` doating on trifles, or admiring themselves be- ``` ``` cause of some pretty attainments. Noble and ``` ``` well educated souls have no such high opinion ``` ``` of riches, beauty, strength, and other such like ``` ``` advantages, as to value themselves for them, ``` ``` or despise those that want them : and as for ``` ``` inward worth and real goodness, the sense they ``` ``` have of the divine perfections makes them ``` ``` think very meanlv of any thing they have ``` ``` hitherto attained, and be still endeavorin