HEAVEN UPON EARTH;

OR,

OF TRUE PEACE OF MIND.

SECT. I-Censure of Philosophers.

 

            WHEN I had studiously a'ead over the writings of some wise heathens, I must confess, I found a little envy and pity. I envied nature in them, to see her so witty in de­vising such plausible refuges for doubting and troubled minds: I pitied them, to see that their careful disquisi­tion led them in the end but to mere unquietness. If Seneca could have had grace to his wit, what wondors would he have done in` this kind? As he was, this he gained: never any heathen wrote more divinely: never any philosopher more probably. Neither would I ever desire a better master, if to this purpose I needed no other mistress than nature. But this in truth is a task, which nature has never without presumption undertaken, and never performed without much imperfection. And if she could have effected it alone, I know not what em­ployment she could have left for grace, nor what privilege it could have been here below to be a Christian, since this that we seek is the noblest work of the soul; the sum of all human desires; which when we have attained, then only we begin to live, and are sure that we cannot thence­forth live mis, rably. No marvel then if all the heathen have diligently sought after it, many wrote of it, none attained it. Not Athens must teach this lesson, but Jeru­salem.

 

SECT. 2

What Tranquility is, and wherein it consists.

 

            YET something grace scorneth not to learn of nature, as Moses may take good counsel of a Midianite. Nature has ever had more skill in the end, than in the way to it; and whether she has discoursed of the good estate of the mind, which we call Tranquility, or the best, which is Happiness, has more happily guessed at the general definition of them, than at the means to attain them. She teacheth us, therefore, that the tranquility of the mind is, as of the sea and weather, when no wind stirreth, when the waves do not tumultuously rise and fall upon each other; but when the face both of the heaven and waters is still, fair, and equable. And this composedness of mind we require; not for some short fits, but with the condition of perpetuity. So then the calm mind must be settled in an habitual rest; not then firm when there is nothing to shake it, but then least shaken, when, it is most assailed.

 

SECT. 3

Insufficiency of Human Precepts.

 

            WHENCE easily appears how vainly true peace of mind has been sought either in such a constant state of out­ward things, as should give no distaste to it, while all earthly things vary with the weather, and have no stay but in uncertainty, or in the natural temper of the soul, so ordered by human wisdom, as that it should not be affected with any events, since that cannot by natural power be kept the same; but one while is cheerful; another while drowsy, dull, or comfortless. In both which, since the wisest philosophers have grounded all the rules of their tranquility, it is plain they saw it afar, off, as they did heaven itself, with desire and admiration, but knew not the way to it. Whereupon, alas, how slight and impotent are the remedies they prescribe for unquiet­ness! Seneca's rules are these: " We should ever be employing ourselves in some public affairs, choosing our business according to our inclination, and prosecuting what we have chosen: wherewith being at last cloyed, we should retire to private studies: that in respect of patrimony, we should be but carelessly affected, so draw­ing it in as it may be least for show, most for use; re­moving all pomp, bridling our hopes, cutting off super­fluities; for crosses, to consider that custpm will abate them; that the best things are but chains and burdens to those that have them; that the worst things have some mixture of comfort. Next he advises a man to account himself as a tenant at will: to fore-imagine the worst in all casual matters: to avoid all idle and impertinent busi­nesses; not to fix ourselves upon any one state, so as to be impatient of a change.; to call back the mind from outward things, and draw it home into itself: to laugh at others' misdemeanors: not to depend upon others' opinions, but to stand upon our own bottoms: to make much of ourselves, cheering up our spirits with variety of recreations, with plenty of meat and drink, and all other bodily indulgences." All these in their kinds please well, but are unable to effect that for which they are propounded. Nature teacheth thee all these should be done; she cannot teach thee to do them: and yet do all these and no more, let me never have rest if you have it. For neither are here the greatest enemies of our peace so much as descried afar off, nor are those that are noted hereby so prevented, that we can promise ourselves any security. Whoso, thus only instructed, challenges all sinister events, is like to some skilful fencer who stands- upon his usual wards, and plays well; but if there come an unwonted blow, is put beside the rules of his art, and with much shame overtaken: and for those that are known, believe me, the mind of man is too weak to bear it out. It must be, it can be none but a Divine power, that can uphold the mind against the rage of great afflictions; and yet the greatest crosses are not the greatest enemies to inward peace. Let us therefore look up above ourselves, and from the rules of an higher art, supply the defects of natural wisdom, giving such infal­lible directions for tranquility, that whosoever shall follow, cannot but live sweetly. To which purpose it shall be requisite, first to remove all causes of unquietness, and then to set down the grounds of our happy rest.

 

SECT. 4

Enemies of inward Peace divided into their Banks.

 

            I FIND two universal enemies of tranquility; con­science of evil done, sense or fear of evil suffered, or to be suffered. The former in one word, we call sins; the latter, crosses. The first of these must be taken away, the second duly tempered ere the heart can be at rest. For first, how can that man be at peace, that is at variance with God and himself? How should peace be God's gift, if it could be without him, if it could be against him? Sin is a perpetual make-bate between God and man, between a man and himself. And this enmity, though it do not continually skew itself for the conscience is not always clamorous, yet does evermore work secret unquietness to the heart. The guilty man may have a seeming truce, a true peace he cannot have. Alas, what avails it to seek outward reliefs, when you has thine executioner within thee? If you couldst shift from thyself, you might have some hope of ease; you shall never want furies so long as you has thyself. Yea, what if you wouldst run from thyself? Thy soul may fly from thy body, thy conscience will not fly from thy soul, nor thy sin from thy conscience. Some men indeed, in the bitterness of these pangs of sin, have leaped out of this private hell that is in themselves, into the common pit, choosing to venture upon the future pains they feared, rather than to endure the present horrors they felt: wherein what have they gained, but to that hell which was within them, a second hell without? The conscience leaves not where the fiends begin, but both join together in torture. But there are some firm and obdurate foreheads, whose reso­lution can laugh their sin out of countenance. Believest you that such a man's heart laughs with his face?~ Will not he dare to be an hypocrite, that durst be a villain? Knows you not that there are those who count it no shame to sin, yet count it a shame to be checked with remorse, especially so as others' eyes may descry? To whom repentance seems base-mindedness, unworthy of him that professes valor. Such a man can grieve when none sees it, but himself can laugh when others see it. Assure thyself that man's heart bleedeth, when his face counterfeits a smile. Or, if perhaps custom has bred carelessness in him, as usual’whipping makes the chi',d not care for the rod, yet an,unwonted extremity of the blow shall fetch blood of the soul, and make the back that is most hardened, sensible of smart. And the further the blow is fetched through intermission of remorse, the harder it must needs alight. Therefore, I may confidently tell the careless sinner, as that bold tragedian said to Pompey, " The time shall come wherein you shall fetch deep sighs, and therefore shall sorrow desperately, because you sorrowedst not sooner."

 

SECT. 5

The Remedy of an unquiet Conscience.

 

            THERE can be therefore no peace without reconcilia­tion; you can not be friends with thyself, till with God. For thy conscience, which is thy best friend while you sinnest not, like an honest servant, takes his master's part against thee, when you have sinned. There can be no reconciliation without remission. God can neither forget the injury of sin, nor dissemble hatred. There can be no remission without satisfaction; neither dealeth God with us, as we men with some desperate debtors, whom we altogether let go for disability, or at least dis­miss them upon an easy composition. All sins are debts; all God's debts must be discharged. It is a bold word, but a true one; God could not be just, if any of his debts should pass unsatisfied. The conceit of the profane vulgar makes him a God of all mercies; and thereupon hopes for pardon without payment. Fond and ignorant presumption, to disjoin mercy and justice in him in whom they are both essential; to make mercy exceed justice in him, in whom both are infinite. Darest you hope God can be so kind to thee, as to be unjust to himself? God will be just. Go you on to presume and perish. There can be no satisfaction by any recompense of ours. An infinite justice is offended, an infinite punishment is de­served by every sin, and every man's sins are as near to infinite, as number can make them. Our best endeavor is finite, imperfect, and faulty. If it could be perfect, we owe it all at present; what we are bound to do at present, cannot make amends for what we have done in time past. And where shall we then find a payment of infinite value, but in him who is only and all infinite? The dignity of whose person being infinite, gave such worth to his satisfaction, that what he suffered in a short time, was proportionable to what we should have suffered beyond all times. He did all, suffered all, payed all, for us.

            Where shall I begin to wonder at thee, O you Divine eternal peace-maker, the Savior of men, the Anointed of GOD, Mediator between God and man, in whom there is nothing which does not exceed, not only the con­ception, but the very wonder of angels, who saw thee in thy humiliation with silence, and adore thee in thy glory with perpetual praises! You wast for ever of thyself, as God; of the Father, as the Son; the eternal Son of an eternal.Father; riot later in being, not less in dignity, nor other in substance. Begotten without diminution of him that begot thee, while he communicated that wholly to thee, which he retained wholly in himself, because both were infinite without inequality of nature, without division of essence; when being in this state, thine in­finite love and mercy to desperate mankind, caused thee, O Savior, to empty thyself of thy glory, that you might put on our shame and misery. Wherefore, not ceasing to be GOD, you didst begin to be man; to the end that you might be a perfect. Mediator between God and man, who wast both in one person; GOD, that you might satisfy; man, that you might suf­fer: that since man had sinned, and God was offended, You, who vast God and man, might satisfy God for man. None but thyself, who art the Eternal Word, can express the depth of this mystery, that God should be clothed with flesh, come down to men, and become man, that man might be exalted into the highest heavens; and that our nature might be taken into the fellowship of the Deity. That he, to whom all powers in heaven bowed, and thought it their honor to be serviceable, should come down to be a servant to his slaves, a ransom for his enemies; together with our nature taking up our infirmities, our shame, our torments, and bearing our sins without sin. That You, whom the heavens were too strait to contain, should lay thyself in an obscure manger! You, who wast attended of angels, should be derided of men, rejected of thine own, persecuted by tyrants, tempted with devils, betrayed of thy servant, crucified among thieves, and, (which is worse than all these,) for the time as forsaken of thy Father! That You, whom our sins had pierced, should for our sins, both sweat drops of blood in the garden, and pour out streams of blood upon the cross! O the invaluable pur­chase of our peace! O ransom enough for more worlds You, who wast in the council of thy Father, the Lamb slain from the beginning of time, tamest now infulness of time to be slain by man, for man; being at once the sacrifice offered, the priest that did offer, and the God to whom it was offered. How graciously didst you pro­claim our peace, as a prophet in the time of thy life upon earth, and purchase it by thy blood as a priest at thy death, and now confirmest and appliest it as a king in heaven! By thee only it was procured, by thee it is proffered. O mercy without example, without measure! God offers peace to man, the holy seeks to the unjust, the potter to the clay, the king to the traitor. We are unworthy that we should be received to peace though we desired it; what are we then that we should have peace offered for the receiving? An easy condition of so great a benefit: he requires us not to earn it, but to accept it of him. What could he give more? What could he require less of us?

 

SECT. 6.

Peace offered must be received by Faith.

 

            THE purchase therefore was paid at once, yet must be severally reckoned to every soul whom it shall benefit. If we have not an hand to take what CHRIST's hand does either hold or offer, what is sufficient in him, cannot be effectual to us. The spiritual hand, whereby we appre­hend the sweet offer of our Savior, is Faith, which, in short, is no other than an affiance in the Mediator. Re­ceive peace, and be happy: believe, and you have re­ceived. Thus it is that we have an interest in all that God has promised, or CHRIST has performed. Thus have we from God both forgiveness and love, the ground of all, whether peace or glory. Thus, of enemies, we become more than friends, sons: and as sons, may both expect and challenge not only careful provision and safe protection on earth, but an everlasting patrimony in heaven. This field is so spacious, that it were easy for a man to lose himself in it. And if I should spend all my pilgrimage in this walk, my time would sooner end than my way.

            Behold now, after we have sought heaven and earth, where only the wearied dove may find an olive of peace. The apprehending of this all-sufficient satisfaction, makes it ours. Upon our satisfaction, we have remission; upon remission, follows reconciliation; upon our reconciliation, peace. When therefore thy conscience shall arrest thee upon God's debt, let thy only plea be, "That CHRIST has already paid it:- bring forth that bloody acquittance sealed to thee from heaven upon thy true faith, straight­way you shall see the fierce and terrible look of thy conscience changed into friendly smiles; and that rough and violent hand, that was ready to drag thee to prison, shall now lovingly embrace thee, and fight for thee against all the wrongful attempts of any spiritual adversary.

            O heavenly peace, and more than peace, friendship! whereby alone we are leagued with ourselves, and God with us, which, whoever wants, he shall find a sad re­membrance in the midst of his dissembled jollity. O pleasure, worthy to be pitied, and laughter, worthy of tears, that is without this! Ah! fool, thy soul festereth within, and is affected so much more dangerously, by how much less it appeareth. You may amuse thyself with variety, you can not ease thee. Sin owes thee a spite, and will pay it thee, perhaps when you art in worse case to sustain it. This flitting does but provide for a further violence at last.

            I have seen a little stream of no noise, which upon its stoppage has swelled up, till with a loud gush, it has borne down whatsoever has stopped it. Thy death-bed shall smart for these wilful adjournings of repentance; whereon how many have we heard raving of their old neglected sins, and fearfully despairing when they have had most need of comfort? In sum, there is no way but this: thy conscience must have either satisfaction or torment. Discharge thy sin betimes, and be at peace.

 

SECT. 7

Solicitation of Sin remedied.

 

            NEITHER can it suffice for peace, to have crossed the old scroll of our sins, if we prevent not the future; yea, the present importunity of temptation, breeds unquiet­ness. Sin, where it has had power and prevailed, if, it be not strongly repelled, does nearly as much vex us with soliciting us, as with our yielding. Suitors are drawn on with an easy repulse; counting that as half granted, which is but faintly denied. Peremptory answers can only put sin out of heart for any second attempts. It is ever impudent when it meets not with a bold heart; hoping to prevail by wearying us, and wearying us by entreaties. Let all suggestions therefore find thee reso­lute; so shall thy soul find itself at rest; for as the devil, so sin, his natural brood, flies away with resistance. To which purpose, all our disordered affections, which are the secret factors of sin and SATAN, must be restrained by a strong and yet temperate command of reason and religion. Reason alone is too weak: only Christianity has this power; which, with our second birth, gives us a new nature: so that, if excess of passions be natural to us as men, the order of them is natural to us as Christians. Reason bids the angry man say over his alphabet ere he give his answer; hoping by this intermission of time, to gairPthe mitigation of his rage. He was never throughly angry, that could endure the recital of so many idle letters. Christianity gives not rules, but power to avoid this short madness.

            It was a wise speech that is reported of our best and last cardinal; who when a skilful astrologer, upon the calculation of his nativity, had foretold his future state, answered, " Such perhaps I was born, but since that time, I have been born again, and my second nature has crossed my first." The power of nature is a good plea for those that acknowledge nothing above nature. But for a Christian to excuse his intemperateness by his na­tural inclination, and to say, " I was born choleric," is an apology worse than the fault. Wherefore serves reli­gion, but to subdue nature? We are so much Christians, as we can rule ourselves; the rest is but form and specu­lation. The unregenerate mind is not capable of this, and therefore through the continual mutinies of passion, cannot but be subject to perpetual unquietness. There is neither remedy nor hope in this state. But the Christian soul, by only looking up to CHRIST, cureth the burning venom of these fiery serpents that lurk within him a Mast you nothing but nature? Look for no peace. God is not prodigal to cast away his best blessings on so un­worthy subjects. Art you a Christian? Do but re­member the faith; and then, if you darest, if you can; yield to the excess of passion.

 

SECT 8.

The second main Enemy to Peace, Crosses.

 

            THUS far of the most dangerous enemy of our peace; which if we have once mastered, the other field shall be fought and won with less blood. Crosses disquiet us; either in their present feeling, or their expectation; both of them, when they meet with weak minds, so extremely distempering then, that the patient for the time is not himself. How many, weary of their pain, weary of their lives, have, made their own hands their executioners? How many, meeting with a head-strong grief, have been carried quite out of their senses? How many millions rub out their lives in perpetual discontent, therefore, living because they cannot yet die? If there could be any human receipt prescribed to avoid evils, it would be pur­chased at an high rate but it is impossible that earth should redress that which is sent from heaven: and if it could be done, even the want of miseries would prove miserable: for the mind would grow a burden to itself. Summer is the sweetest season, yet, if it were not re­ceived with interchanges of cold frosts and piercing" winds, who could live? Summer would be no summer, if winter did not both lead it in, and follow it. We may not therefore hope or strive io escape all crosses; some we may. What you can, flee from; what you can not, allay and mitigate. In crosses universally, let this be thy rule, Make thyself none, escape some, bear the rest, sweeten all.

 

SECT 9

Of Crosses that arise from Conceit.

 

            APPREHENSION gives life to crosses; and most are as they are taken. I have seen many who have framed themselves crosses out of imagination, and have found that insupportable for weight which in truth never existed: others again laughing out heavy afflictions, for which they were bemoaned of the beholders. One receives a deadly wound, and looks not so much as pale at the smart. Greenham, that saint of ours, (whom it cannot disparage that he was reserved for our loose age,) can he quietly upon the form, looking for the surgeon's knife, binding himself as fast with a resolved patience as others with the strongest cords, abiding his flesh carved, and his bowels rifled, and not stirring more than if he felt not; while others tremble to expect, and shrink to feel but the pricking of a vein. There can be no remedy for imaginary crosses but wisdom, which will teach us to esteem all events as they are; like a true glass, repre­senting all things to our minds in their due proportion. So that crosses may not seem to be which are not, nor little ones seem great and intolerable, give thy mind good counsel, thine. ear to thy friend, and these fantastical evils shall vanish away.

 

SECT 10

Of true and real Crosses.

 

            IT were idle advice, to bid men avoid evils. Nature has taught this, even to brute creatures: and self-love, making the best advantage of reason, will easily make us wise. It is more worth our labor, since our life is so open to calamities, to teach men to bear what evils they cannot avoid. Wherein it is hardly credible how much good resolution will avail us. I have seen one man, by the help of a little engine, lift up that weight alone, which forty bands, by their clear strength, might have endeavored to do in vain. We live here in an ocean of troubles, wherein we can see no firm land; one wave falling upon another. So many good things as we have, so many evils arise from their privation; besides no fewer real and positive evils that afflict us. If I were to prescribe receipts to every particular cross, I doubt whether a life would not be too little to write, and but enough to read them.

 

SECT 11

The fast Remedy of Crosses before they come.

 

            THE same medicines cannot help all diseases of the body; of the soul they may. In the first whereof, I would prescribe expectation, that either killeth or abateth evils. Evils will come never the sooner because you lookest for them, but they will come the easier. It is a labor well lost, if they come not; and well bestowed, if they do come. We are sure the worst may come, why should we be secure that it will not? Suddenness finds weak minds secure, makes them miserable, leaves them desperate. If you wilt not therefore be oppressed with, evils, expect and exercise. Expect the evils themselves; yea, exercise thyself in expectation: so while the mind pleases itself in thinking, "Yet I am not thus," it pre­pareth itself against, "It may be so."

 

SECT 12

The next Remedy of Crosses, when they are come, from their Author.

 

            NEITHER does it a little blunt the edge of evils, to con­sider that they come from a Divine hand, whose almighty power is guided by a most wise providence, and tempered with a fatherly love. Even the savage creatures will be smitten by their keeper, and repine not; if by a stranger, they tear him in pieces. He strikes me that made me, that moderates the world: why struggle I with him? why with myself? Am I a fool,. or a rebel? A fool, if I be ignorant whence my crosses come: a rebel, if I know it, and be impatient. My sufferings are from a GOD, from my God; he has sent me every dram of sorrow that I now feel: Thus much shall you abide, and here shall thy miseries be stinted. All worldly helps cannot abate them; all the powers of hell cannot add one scruple to their weight. I must therefore either blas­pheme God in my heart, detracting from his infinite justice, wisdom, power, mercy, which all shall stand in­violable, when millions of such worms as I am are gone to dust; or else confess that I ought to be patient. And if I profess I should be what II am not, I bewray miserable impotency. But (as impatience is full of excuse,) it says, "It was thine own rash improvidence, or the spite of thine enemy, that impoverished, that defamed thee." " It was the malignity of some unwholesome dish, or some gross, corrupt air, that has distempered thee." Whydost thoubiteat the stone, which could never havehurt thee, but from the hand that threw it? If I wound thee, what matters it, whether with my own sword, or thine, or another's? God strikes some immediately from heaven with his own arm, or with the arm of angels others he buffets with their own hands; some by the revenging sword of an enemy; others with the fist of his dumb creatures. God strikes in all; his hand moves theirs. If you see it not, blame thy carnal eyes. Why dost you censure the instrument, while you knows the Agent? Even the dying thief pardons the execu­tioner, while he exclaims on the unjust judge, or his malicious accusers. Either then blame the first Mover, or discharge the means: which as they could not have touched thee but as from him; so from him they have afflicted thee justly; wrongfully perhaps in themselves.

 

SECT. 13

The third Antidote on Crosses.

 

            BUT neither seems it enough to be patient in crosses, if we are not thankful also. Good things challenge more than bare contentment. Crosses, (unjustly termed evils,) as they are sent of Him that is all goodness, so they are sent for good. What greater good can be to the diseased man, than fit and proper physic to cure him? Crosses are the only medicines of sick minds. Thy sound body carries within it a sick soul; you feelest it not perhaps so much more art you sick, and so much more dan­gerously. It is a rare soul that has not some notable disease: only crosses are thy remedies. What if they be unpleasant? they are physic. It is enough if they be wholesome. Not the pleasant taste, but the secret virtue commends medicines. If they cure thee, they shall please thee, even in displeasing; or else you loves thy palate above thy soul. What madness is this? When you complainest of a bodily disease, you sendest to the physician, that he may send thee not savoury, but whole­some potions: you receivest them, in spite of thine abhorring stomach, and withal both thankest and re­wardest the physician. Thy soul is sick; thy heavenly Physician sees it, and pities thee ere you pity thyself;, and unsent to, sends thee not a plausible, but a sovereign remedy. You loathest the savour, and rather wilt hazard thy life, than offered thy palate; and instead of thanks, repinest at, revilest the physician.

            How comes it, that we love ourselves so little, (if at; least we count our souls the best, or any part,) as that we had rather undergo death than pain; choosing rather willful sickness than a harsh remedy? Surely we men are mere fouls in the estimating of our own good. Like children, our choice is led altogether by chew; no whit by substance. We cry after every well-looking toy, and put from us solid proffers of good things. The wise Arbitrator of all things sees our folly, and corrects it, with­holding our idle desires, and forcing upon us the sound good we refuse. It is a second folly in us, if we thank him not. The foolish babe cries for his father's bright knife, or gilded pills. The wiser father knows they can but hurt him; and therefore withholds them, after all his tears. The child thinks he is used unkindly. Every wise man, and himself at more years, can say, “ It was but childish folly in desiring it, in complaining that he missed it." The loss of wealth, friends, health, is some­times gain to us. Thy body, thy estate is worse; thy soul is better: why complainest thou?

 

Sect. 14

The Remedy of the last and greatest Preach of Peace, arising from Death.

 

            WHEN even the great adversary, death, like a proud giant, comes stalking out in his fearful shape, and insults over our frail mortality; while a host of worldlings flee for fear, the true Christian (armed with confidence of future happiness,) dares boldly encounter him, and can wound him in the forehead; and trampling upon him, can cut off his head with his own sword, and victoriously returning, sing in triumph, `O death, where is thy sting?' An happy victory! we die, and are not foiled; yea, we are conquerors in dying: we could not overcome death, if we died not. That dissolution is well bestowed, that parts the soul from the body, that _it may unite both to God.

            How advantageous is that death that determines this false and dying life, and begins a true one, above all the titles of happiness! The epicure dares not die, for fear of not being. The worldling dares not die, for fear of being miserable. The half Christian dares not die, because he knows not whether he shall be miserable, or not be at all. The real Christian dares, and would die, because he knows` he shall be happy; and looking towards heaven, (the place of his rest,) can unfeignedly say, I desire to be dissolved: I see thee, my home, (a sweet and glorious home, after a weary pilgrimage!) I see thee; and now, after many lingering hopes, I aspire to thee. How oft have I looked up at thee with ravishment of soul! and by the goodly beams that I have seen, guessed at the glory that is above them! How oft have I scorned these dead pleasures of earth, in comparison of thine! I come now to possess you: I come through pain and death; yea, if hell itself were in the way between you and’me, I would pass through hell itself to enjoy you. An Italian said, " My death is sharp, my fame shall be everlasting." The voice of a Roman, not of a Christian. " My fame shall be eternal!" An idle comfort. My fame shall live; not my soul live to see it! What will it avail thee to be talked of, while you art not? Then fame only is pre­cious, when a man lives to enjoy it. The fame that survives us is useless. Yet even this hope cheered him against the violence of his death. What good should it do us, that (not our fame,. but) our life, our glory after death, cannot die? He that has Stephen's eyes to look into heaven, cannot but have the tongue of the saints, "Come, Lord! how long?" Such a man, seeing the glory of the end, cannot but contemn the hardness of the way. But whoso wants those eyes] if he say and swear that he fears not death, believe him not. If he protest he has this tranquility, and yet fears death, believe..him not: believe him not, if he say he is not miserable.

 

SECT. 15

The second Bank of the Enemies of Peace.

 

            THE former are enemies on the left hand. There want not some on the right, which, with less profession of hostility, hurt no less; but are not so easily perceived, because they distemper the mind; not without some kind of pleasure. Surfeit kills more than famine. These are the over-desiring of, and over-r joicing in, these earthly things. He that desires, wants as much as he that has nothing. Hence are the studies, cares, fears, jealousies, hopes, griefs, envies, wishes, and a thousand such like things; whereof each is enough to make life trouble­some.

            One perhaps is sick for his neighbor's field. What he has is not regarded, for the want of what he cannot have. Another feeds on crusts, to purchase what he must leave (perhaps) to a fool; or, (which is ndt much better,) to a prodigal.. One cares not what attendance he dances at all hours, what vices he sooths, what de­formities he imitates, what servile offices he doth, in hopes to rise. Another is vexed at the covered head and stiff knee of his inferior; angry that other men think him not so good as he thinks himself. Another eats his own heart with envy at the richer furniture and better estate, or more honor of his neighbor; thinking his own not good, because another has better.

            For the avoiding of all which inconveniences, the mind must be settled in a persuasion of the worthlessness of these outward things. Let it know that these riches have made many prouder, none better: that as never man was, so never any wise man thought himself, better for enjoying them. Would that wise prophet have prayed as well against riches as poverty? Would so many great men (whereof our little island has yielded nine crowned kings, while it was held of old by the Saxons,) after they had continued their life on the throne, have ended it in the cell, and changed their sceptre for a book, if they could have found as much felicity in the highest estate, as security in the lowest? I hear Peter and John (the eldest and dearest apostles,) say, " Gold and silver I have none." I hear the devil say, "All these will I give thee; and they are mine to give." Which shall I desire to be in, the state of these saints, or of that devil? He was a better husband than a philosopher, that first termed riches goods. And he mended the title well, that called them goods of fortune; false goods, ascribed to a false patron. There is no fortune to give or guide riches there is no true goodness in riches to be guided. In sum, who would account those riches as goods, which hurt the owner, and disquiet others? Which the worst have; which the best have not; which those that have not, want not; which those want that have them: which are lost in a night; and a man is not worse, when he has lost them? It is true of them, that we say of fire and water, They are good servants, ill masters. Make them thy slaves, they shall be goods indeed; in use, if I not in nature; good to thyself, good to others by thee. But if they be thy masters, you have condemned thyself to thine own galleys.

 

SECT. 16

The second Enemy an the right hand, Honor.

 

            HONOR, perhaps, is yet better; such is the confused opinion of those that know little: but it is hard to define in what point the goodness thereof consisteth. Is it in high descent of blood? I would think so, if nature were tied by any law to produce children like their parents.  Either greatness must show some charter, wherein it is privileged with succession of virtue; or else the goodness of honor cannot consist in blood. Is it then in the admiration others have conceived of thee, which draws all dutiful respect from them? O fickle good, that is ever in the keeping of others! especially of the unstable vulgar, that beast with many heads; whose divided tongues, as they never agree with each other, so seldom agree long with themselves. There only is true honor, where blood and virtue meet together. Rejoice, ye great men, if your blood is ennobled with the virtues and deserts of your ancestors. This only is yours; this only challengeth respect of your inferiors. Count it praise­worthy, not that you have, but' that you deserve honor. Blood may be tainted; the opinion of the vulgar cannot be constant; only virtue is ever like itself, and wins reverence even of those that hate it. without which, greatness is as a beacon of vice, to draw men's eyes the more to behold it: and those that see it, dare loathe it, though they dare not censure it.

 

SECT. 17

The Vanity of Pleasure; the third Enemy on the right Hand.

 

            BUT, if there be any sorceress upon earth, it is plea­sure: which so enchanteth the minds of men, and worketh the disturbance of our peace with secret delight, that foolish men think this want of tranquility, happiness. She turneth men into swine, with such sweet charms, that they would not change their brutish nature for their former reason. You fool, thy pleasure contents thee how much? how long? If she have not more befriended thee than ever she did any earthly favorite; yea, if she have not given thee more than she has herself, thy best delight has had some mixture of discontent.

            See how that great king, who never had any match for wisdom, scarce ever any superior for wealth, traversed all this world with diligent inquiry to find out that goodness of the children of men which they enjoy under the sun; abridging himself of nothing that either his eyes or his heart could suggest to him: (as what was it that he could not either know or purchase?) and now coming home to himself, (after the disquisition of all things,) he complains, "Behold, all is not only vanity, but vexation." Go then, you wise scholar of experience, and make a more accurate search for that which he sought, and missed. Perhaps, somewhere (between the tallest cedars of Lebanon, and the shrubby hyssop upon the wall,) pleasure shrouded herself, that she could not be descried of him; whether through ignorance or negli­gence. Thine insight may be more piercing, thy success happier. If it were possible for any man to entertain such hopes, his vain experience could not make him a greater fool: it could but teach him what he is, and knows not. And yet so imperfect as our pleasures are, they have their satiety: and as their continuance is not good, so their conclusion is worse. Look to the end, and see how sudden, how bitter it is.

            Sorrow and repentance are the best end of pleasure; pain is yet worse: but the worst is despair. If thou miss of the first of these, one of the latter shall find thee; perhaps both. How much better is it for thee to want a little honey, than to be swollen up with a venomous sting?

            Thus, then, the mind, being resolved that these earthly things, honor, wealth, pleasure, are casual, unstable, de­ceitful, imperfect, dangerous, must learn to use them without trust, and to want them without grief; thinking still, "If I have them, I have some benefit with a great charge: if I have them not, I have much security and ease:" which once obtained, we. cannot fare amiss in either state: and without which, we cannot but miscarry in both.

 

SECT. 18

Positive Rules of our Peace.

 

            ALL the enemies of our inward peace are thus dis­comfited. Which done, we have enough to preserve us from misery. But since we seek to live happily, there yet remain those positive rules, whereby our tranquility may be both had, continued, and confirmed. In order to this, we must cast our anchor in heaven, while it can find no hold on earth. All earthly things are full of variableness; and therefore, having no stay in themselves, can give none to us. He that will have right

tranquility, must find in himself a sweet fruition of GOD, and a feeling apprehension of his presence; that, when he finds manifold occasions of vexation in earthly things, he may find in him such matter of contentment, that he may pass over all these petty grievances with contempt.

            What state is there wherein this heavenly stay shall not afford me not only peace, but joy? Am I in prison? or in the hell of prisons; in some dark, low, and desolate dungeon? Lo, there Algerius, that sweet martyr, finds more light than above; and pities the darkness of our liberty. We have but a sun to enlighten our world, which every cloud dimmeth, and hideth from our eyes but the Father of lights shines into his pit, and the pre­sence of his glorious angels makes that an heaven to him which the world purposed to be as an hell. What walls can keep out that infinite Spirit, which fills all things? What darkness can be where the God of this sun dwells!  What sorrow where he comforts? Am I wandering in banishment? Can I go where God is not? What sea can divide between him and me? Then would’ I fear exile, if I could be driven away as well from God as my country. But he alone is a thousand companions; he alone is a world of friends. That man never knew what it is to he familiar with GOD, that complains of the want of a home, of friends, of companions, while God is with him. Am I contemned of the world? It is enough for me that I am honored of God: of both I cannot. The world would love me more, if I were less in friendship with God.

            I am weak and diseased: he cannot miscarry, who has his Maker for his physican. Yet my soul (the better part,) is sound; for that cannot be weak, whose strength God is. Let me know that God favors me, then I have liberty in prison, home in banishment, honor in contempt, wealth in losses, health in infirmity, life in death; and in all these, happiness. And surely, if our perfect fruition of God be our complete heaven, it must needs be that our thus conversing with him is the en­trance into heaven: which differs from this, not in the kind of it, but in the degree. For the continuation of which happy society on our part, there must he a daily renewing of heavenly familiarity, by talking with God in our secret invocations; by hearing his conference with us; and by mutual entertainment of each other in the sweet discourses of our daily meditations.

            He is a sullen, unsociable friend, that wants words. The heart that is full of love, cannot but have a busy tongue. All our talk with God is either suits or thanks. In them the Christian heart pours out itself to his Maker, and would not change his privilege for a world. All his wants, all his dislikes are poured into the bosom of his invisible Friend; who likes us still so much more as we ask more, as we complain more. Oh, the easy and happy recourse that the poor soul has to the high throne of heaven! We stay not for the holding out of a golden sceptre, before which our presence should be presumption and death. No hour is unseasonable, no person too base, no words too homely, no importunity too great. We speak familiarly; we are heard, answered, comforted. Another while, God interchangeably speaks unto us by the secret voice of his Spirit, or by the audible sound of his Word; we hear, adore, answer him. By both which, the mind so communicates itself unto GOD, and has God so plentifully communicated unto it, that hereby it grows to such an habit of heavenliness, as that now it wants nothing, but dissolution, of full glory.

            I HAVE seldom seen the son of an excellent and famous man excellent; but that an ill bird has an ill egg, is not rare: children possessing, as the bodily diseases, so the vices of their parents. Virtue is not pro­pagated, vice_ is; even in them which have it not reigning in themselves. The grain is sown pure, but comes up with chaff and husk. Have you a good son? He is God's, not thine. Is he evil, nothing but his sin is thine. Help by thy prayers and endeavors to take away that, which you has given him, and to obtain from God that which you hast, and can not give.

            2. These things are comely and pleasant to see, and worthy of honor from the beholder: A young saint, an old martyr, a religious soldier, a conscientious statesman, a great man courteous, a learned man humble, a child understanding the eye of his parent, a friend not changed with honor, a sick man cheerful, a soul departing with comfort and assurance.

            3. You shall rarely find a man eminent in sundry faculties of mind, or manual trades. If his memory be excellent, his fancy is but dull: if his fancy be quick, his judgment is but shallow: if his judgment be deep, his utterance is harsh; which also holds no less in the acti­vities of the hand. And if it happen that one man is qualified with skill in divers trades, and practice this variety, you will seldom find such one thriving in his state. With spiritual gifts it is otherwise; which are so

chained together, that he who excels in one, has some eminency in more, yea, in all. Look upon faith, it is attended with a bevy of graces. He that believes cannot

but have hope; if hope, patience. He that believes and hopes, must needs find joy in God: if joy, love of God. He that loves God cannot but love his brother. His love to God produces piety and care to please, sorrow for offending, fear to offend. His love to men, fidelity and Christian beneficence: Vices are seldom single; but vir­tues go ever in troops. They go so thick, that sometimes some are hid in the crowd; which yet are, but appear not. They may be shut out from sight; they cannot be severed from each other.

            4. I have seen the worst natures, and most depraved minds, not affecting all sins: but still some they have condemned in others and abhorred in themselves. One exclaims on covetousness, yet he can too well abide riot. Another inveighs against drunkenness, not caring how cruel he he in oppression. One cannot endure a

rough disposition, yet gives himself over to uncleanness. Another hates all wrongs, save wrong to God. One is a civil Atheist, another a religious usurer, a third an honest drunkard, a fourth a chaste quarreller. I know not, whether every devil excel in all sins: I am sure some of them have denomination from some sins more special. Let no man applaud himself for those sins he wants, but condemn himself for that sin he has. You cen­surest another man's sin, he thine; God curseth both.

            5 A Christian in all his ways must have three guides truth, charity, wisdom. Truth to go before him and wisdom on either hand. If any of the three charity absent, he walks amiss. I have seen some do hurt by following a truth uncharitably. And others, while they would salve up an error with love, have failed in their wisdom, and offended against justice. A charitable untruth, and an uncharitable truth, and an unwise managing of truth or love, are all to be carefully avoidetr

by him, that would go with a right foot in the narrow way.

            6. A man must give thanks for what he may not pray for. It has been said of courtiers, that they must receive injuries, and give thanks. God cannot wrong his, but he will cross them; those crosses are beneficial; all benefits challenge thanks. Yet I have read, that God's children have with condition prayed against them, never for them. In good things, we pray both for them, and their good use: in evil, for their good use, not them­selves; yet we must give thanks for both.

            7. He that takes his full liberty in what he may, shall repent him; how much more in what he should not? I never read of a Christian that repented him of too little worldly delight. The surest course I have still found in all earthly pleasures, is to rise with an appetite, and to be satisfied with a little.

            8. There is a time when kings go not forth to war our spiritual war admits no intermission: it knows no night, no winter, no peace, no truce. This calls us not into garrison, where we may have ease and respite, but into pitched fields continually. We see our enemies in the face always, and are always seen and assaulted; ever resisting, ever defending, receiving, and returning blows. If either we be negligent or weary we die. What other hope is there while one fights, and the other stands still? We can never have safety and peace, but in glory. There must our resistance be courageous and constant, where both yielding is death, and all treaties of peace are mortal.

            9. In the choice of companions for our conversation, it is good dealing with men of good natures: for though grace exerciseth her power in bridling nature, yet, (since we are still men, at the best,) some swing she will have in the most mortified. Austerity, sullenness, or strange­ness of disposition, and whatsoever qualities may make a man unsociable, cleave faster to our nature than those which are absolutely sinful. True Christian love mar be separated from acquaintance, and acquaintance from ins timacy. These are not qualities to hinder our love, but our familiarity.

            1O. Where are divers opinions, they may be all false; there can be but one true; and that one truth oft-times must be fetched by piece-meal out of divers branches of contrary opinions. For it falls out not seldom, that truth is, through ignorance or rash vehemency, scattered into sundry parts; and like to a little silver, melted amongst the ruins of a burnt house, must be searched out from heaps of much superstitious ashes search of it.  There is much pains in the much skill in finding it; but the value of it once found, requites the cost of both.

            11. Our sensual hand holds fast whatsoever delight it apprehends; our spiritual hand easily remits; because appetite is stronger in us than grace; whence it is, that we so hardly deliver ourselves of earthly pleasures, which we have once entertained; and with such difficulty, draw ourselves to a constant course of faith, hope, and spiritual joy, or to the renewed acts of them once intermitted. Age is naturally weak, and youth vigorous; but in us the old man is strong; the new faint and feeble. The fault is not in grace, but in us. Faith does not want strength, but we want faith.

            12. God has, in nature, given every man inclinations to some one particular calling; which, if he follow, he excells; if he cross, he proves a non-proficient, and changeable. But all men's natures are equally indisposed to grace, and to the common vocation of Christianity. We are all born heathens. To do well in the first, nature must be observed and followed; in the other crossed and overcome.

            13. It is not good to be continual in denunciation of judgment. The noise to which we are accustomed, though loud, wakes us not; whereas a less, if unusual, stirreth us. The way to make threatenings contemned, is to make them common. It is a profitable rod that strikes sparingly, and affrights somewhat oftener than it smiteth.

            14. Want of use causes disability, and custom per­fection. Those that have not used to pray in their closet, cannot pray in public, except coldly and in a form. He that discontinues meditation, shall be long in recovering; whereas the man inured to these exercises who is not dressed till he have prayed, nor has supped till he have meditated, does both these well, and with ease. He that intermits good duties, incurs a double loss: of the bless­ing that~followeth good; of the faculty of doing it.

            15. It is a wonder how full of shifts nature is; ready to turn over all good purposes. If we think of death, she suggests secretly, "Tusk, it shall not come yet:­if of judgment for sin, "This concerns not thee; it shall not come at all:" address thyself to pray, " It is yet unseasonable; stay for a better opportunity:" to give alms, " You knows not thine own future wants:" to reprove, " What need have you to thrust thyself into willful hatred?" Every good action has its hindrance. He can never be good, that is not resolute.

            16. It is an argument of a good action not well done, when we are glad that it is done. To be affected with the comfort of the conscience of well performing it, is good: but merely to rejoice that the act is over, is carnal. He never can begin cheerfully that is glad he has ended.

            17. Words and diseases grow upon us with years. In age, we talk much, because we have seen much, and soon after shall cease talking for ever. We are most diseased, because nature is weakest; and death which is near, must have harbingers. Such is the old age of the world. No marvel if this last time be full of writing and weak discourse; full of sects and heresies; which are the sicknesses of this great and decayed body.

            18. With us vilest things are most common; but with God- the best things are most frequently given. Grace, which is the noblest of all God's favors, is impartially bestowed upon all willing receivers; whereas nobility of blood, and height of place, blessings of an inferior nature, are reserved for few. Herein the Christian follows his Father; his prayers, which are his richest portion, he communicates to all; his substance, according to his ability, to few.

            19. God therefore gives, because he has given; making, his former favors arguments for more. Man therefore shuts his hand, because he has opened it. There is no such way to procure more from GOD, as to urge him with what he has done. All God's blessings are profitable and excellent; not so much in themselves, as that they are inducements to greater.

            2O. God and man build in a contrary order. Man lays the foundation first, then adds the walls, the roof last. God began the roof first, spreading out this vast vault of heaven, ere he laid the base of the earth. Our thoughts must follow the order of his workmanship. Heaven must be minded first; earth afterward. A few miles give bounds to our view of earth; whereas we may nearly see half the heaven at once. He that thinks most, both of that which is most, seen, and of that which is not seen at all, is happiest.

            21. It argues the world full of Atheists, that those,offences which impeach human society, are entertained with hatred and rigour; those which immediately wrong the supreme majesty of God are turned over with scarce so much as dislike. If we conversed with God as we do with men, his right would be at least as precious to us as our own. All that converse not with God are without God: not only those that are against GOD, but those that are without God are Atheists. I fear not to say, that these our last times abound with honest Atheists.

            22. The best thing corrupted is worst. An ill man is the worst of all creatures; an ill Christian the worst of all men; an ill professor the worst of all Christians; an ill minister the worst of all professors.

            23. Death did not first strike Adam, the first sinful than; nor Cain, the first hypocrite; but Abelj the inno­cent and righteous. The first soul that met with death, overcame death: the first soul that parted from earth went to heaven. Death argues not displeasure; because he whom God loves best dies first; and the murderer is punished with living.

            24. In temporal good things, it is best to live in doubt; not making full account of that which we hold in so weak a tenure: in spiritual, with confidence; not fearing that which is warranted to us by an infallible promise and sure earnest. He lives most contentedly, that is, most secure for this world, most resolute for the other.

 

SOLOMON'S SONG

PARAPHRASED.

CHAP. 1

THE CHURCH TO CHRIST.

 

            I. LET him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for thy love is better than wine.  Oh, that he would bestow upon me the comfortable testimonies of his love, and that he would vouchsafe me yet a nearer conjunction with himself; as in glory hereafter, so for the mean time in his sensible graces! For thy love, O my Savior, and these fruits of it, are more sweet unto me than all earthly delicates can be to the bodily taste.

            2. Because of the savor of thy good ointment, thy name is as an ointment poured out: therefore the virgins love thee.-Yea, so wonderfully pleasant are the savours of those graces that are in thee, wherewith I desire to be endued, that all whom you has blessed with the sense thereof, make as high and dear account of thy gospel, whereby they are wrought, as of some precious ointment or perfume; the delight whereof is such, that (hereupon) the pure and holy souls of the faithful place their whole affection upon thee.

            3. Draw me, we will run after thee: the king has brought me into his chamber, we will rejoice and be glad in thee: Tve will remember thy love, more than wine: the righteous do love thee.-Pull me therefore out of the bondage of my sins. Deliver me from the world, and do you powerfully incline my will and affections towards thee! And in spite of all temptations give me strength to cleave unto thee! And then both I, and all those faithful children you has given me, shall all at once with speed and earnestness walk to thee, and with thee. Yea, when once my royal and glorious Husband has brought me, both into these lower rooms of his spiritual trea­sures on earth, and into his heavenly chambers of glory, then will we rejoice and be glad in none, but thee, who shall be all in all to us. Then will we celebrate and magnify thy love above all the pleasures we found upon earth; for all of us, thy righteous ones, both angels and saints, are inflamed with the love of thee.

            4. I am black, O daughters of Jerusalem, but comely; if I be as the tents of Kedar, yet, I am as the curtains of Solomon.-Never upbraid me, O ye foreign congrega­tions, that I seem, in outward appearances, discoloured by my infirmities, and duskish with tribulations. For whatsoever I seem to you, I am yet inwardly well­ favored in the eyes of him, whom I seek to please. And though I be to you black, like the tents of the Arabian shepherds; yet to him, and in him, I am glorious and beautiful, like the curtains of Solomon.

            5. Regard ye me not because I ant black: for the sun has looked upon me; the sons of nzy mother were angry with me: they made me keeper of the vines; but I kept not mine own vine.  Look not therefore disdainfully upon me, because I am blackish, and dark of hue. For this colour is not so much natural to me, as caused by that continual heat of afflictions wherewith I have been usually scorched: neither this, so much upon my own just desert, as upon the rage and envy of my false brethren, the world; who would needs force upon me the observation of their idolatrous religions and superstitious impieties; through whose wicked importunity, and my own weak­ness, I have not so entirely kept the sincere truth of God committed to me as I ought.

            6. show me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feedest, where you liest at noon. For why should I be as she that turneth aside to the flocks of thy companions?  Now, therefore, that I am some little started aside from thee, O you whom my soul notwithstanding dearly loves, show me, I beseech thee, where, and in what wholesome and divine pastures, you (like a good shep­herd,) feedest and restest thy flocks with comfortable refreshings, in, the extremity of these hot persecutions. For how can it stand with thy glory, that I should, through thy neglect, thus suspiciously wander up and down, amongst the congregations of them, that both command and practice the worship of false gods?

            7. If you know not, O you the fairest among women, get thee forth by the steps of the flock, and feed thy kids above the tents of the shepherds.-If you know not, O you my church, whom I both esteem, and have made most beautiful by my merits, and thy sanctification, stray not amongst these false worshippers, but follow the holy steps of those blessed patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, which have been my true and ancient flock; who have both known my voice, and followed me; and feed you my weak and tender ones with this their spiritual food of life, far above the reach of false teachers.

            8. I have compared thee, O my love, to the troops of horses in the chariots of Pharaoh.-Such is mine estima­tion of thee, O my love, that so far as the choicest Egyptian horses of Pharaoh, for comely shape, for honorable service, for strength and speed, exceed all others, so far you excellest all that may be compared with thee.

            9. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of stones, and thy neck with chains.-Those parts of thee, which both are the seats of beauty, and most conspicuous to the eye, are gloriously adorned with the graces of my sanctification; which are, for their worth, as so many precious borders of the goodliest stones, or chains of pearl.

            1O. We will make the borders of gold, with studs of silver.-And though you be already thus set forth; yet I and my Father have purposed a further ornament unto thee, in the more plentiful effusion of our Spirit upon thee: which shall be to thy former deckings, instead of pure gold, curiously wrought with specks of silver.

            11. While the king was at his repast, my spikenard gave the smell thereof.-Behold, O ye daughters, even now, whilst my Lord and King seems far distant from me, and sits in the throne of heaven amongst the com­panies of angels, (who attend around upon him,) yet now do I find him present with me in spirit. Even now the sweet influence of his graces, like to some precious ointment, spreads itself over my soul,' and returns a pleasant savour into his own nostrils.

            12. My beloved is as a bundle of myrrh unto me, lying between my breasts.-And though I be thus delightful to my Savior, yet nothing so much as he is unto me. For lo! as fragrant myrrh, laid between the breasts, sends up a most comfortable scent; so his love, laid close unto my heart, does still give me continual and unspeakable refreshings.

            13. My well-beloved is as a cluster of camphire unto me among the vines of Engeddi.-Or if any thing can be of more excellent virtue, such smell as the clusters of cam­phire, within the fruitfulest, pleasantest, and richest vineyards and gardens of Judea, yield unto the passen­gers; such, and more delectable, do I find the savor of his grace to me.

            14. My love, behold, you art fair, thine eyes are like the doves.-Neither dost You, on my part, lose any of thy love, O my dear church: for behold! in mine eyes, thus clothed, as you art, with my righteousness, oh, how fair and glorious you art! How above all comparison glorious and fair! Thine eyes, which are prophets, apostles, ministers, and those inward eyes, whereby thou seest him that is invisible, are full of grace, chastity, simplicity.

THE CHURCH.

 

            15. My well-beloved, behold you art fair and pleasant, also our bed is green.-Nay then, O my Savior and

Spouse, you alone art that fair and pleasant one indeed, from whosefulness I confess to have received all this little measure of my spiritual beauty. And behold, from this our mutual delight, and heavenly union, there arises a plentiful and flourishing increase of thy faithful ones in all places, and through all times.

            16. The beams of our house are cedars, our galleries are of fir.-And behold! the congregations of saints, the places where we sweetly converse and walk together, are both firm and durable, (like cedars amongst the trees,) not subject, through thy protecting grace, to corruption; and through thy favorable acceptation, (like to galleries pf sweet wood,) full of pleasure and contentment.

 

CHAP. 2

CHRIST.

 

            1. I am the rose of the field, and the lily of the vallies. - You have not, without just cause, magnified me, O my church: for, as the fairest and sweetest of all flowers, which the earth yieldeth, the rose and lilly of the vallies, excel for beauty, for pleasure, for use, the most base antiodious weeds that grow: so does my grace, to all them that have felt the sweetness thereof, surpass all worldly contentments.

            2. Like a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.-Neither is this my dignity alone: but You, O my spouse, (that you may be a fit match for me,) art thus excellent above the world, that no lilly can be more in goodly show beyond the naked thorn, than you in the glory you receivest from me, excellest all the assemblies of the unregenerate.

 

THE CHURCH.

 

            3. Like the apple-tree among the trees of the forest, so is my well-beloved among the sons of men. Under his shadow had I a delight, and sat down; and his fruit was sweet unto my mouth.-And, (to return thine own praises,) as some fruitful and well-grown apple-tree, in comparison of all the barren trees of the wild forest; so art You, O my beloved Savior, to me, in comparison of all men and angels., Under thy comfortable shadow alone, I find safe shelter against all my temptations and infirmities, against all the curses of the law, and dangers of judgment, and cool myself after all the scorching beams of thy Father's displeasure, and (besides) feed and satisfy my soul with the sovereign fruit of thy holy Word, unto eternal life.

            4. He brought me into the wine-cellar, and love was his banner over me.-He has graciously led me by his Spirit, into the midst of the mysteries of godliness; and has plentifully broached unto me the sweet wines of his Scriptures and sacraments. And look how soldiers are drawn by their colours from place to place, and cleave fast to their ensign; so his love, which he spread forth in my heart, was my only banner, whereby I was both drawn to him, directed by him, and fastened upon him.

            5. Stay me with flagons, and comfort me with apples for I am sick of love.-And now, O ye faithful evange­lists, apostles, teachers, apply unto me with all care and diligence, all the cordial promises of the gospel. These are the full flaggons of that.spiritual wine, which only can cheer my soul. These are the apples of that tree of life, in the midst of the garden, which can feed me to immortality. Oh! come and apply these unto my heart­for I am even overcome with a longing expectation and desire of my delayed glory.

            6. His left isand be under my head: and let his right hand embrace me and whilst I am thus spiritually lan­guishing in this agony of desire, let my Savior employ both his hands to relieve mine infirmity. Let him com­fort my head and my heart, (my judgment and affections, which both complain of weakness,) with his gracious embraces; and so let us sweetly rest together.

            7. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor waken my love, until he please.-In the mean time, I charge you, (O all ye that profess any friendship or affinity with me,) I charge you, by whatsoever is comely, dear, and pleasant unto you, take heed how you vex and disquiet my merciful Savior, and grieve his Spirit, and wrong his name; and do not dare, by the least provo­cation of your sin, to interrupt his peace.

            8. It is the voice of my well-beloved: behold, he cometh leaping by the mountain, and skipping by the hills.-Lo I have no sooner called, but he hears and answers me with his loving voice. Neither does he only speak to me afar off, but he comes to me with much willingness and swiftness; so willingly, that no human resistance can hinder him, neither the hills of my infirmities, nor the mountains of my sins, (repented of,) can stay his merciful pace towards me.

            9. My well-beloved is like a roe, or a young hart: to! he standeth behind our wall looking forth of the windows, spewing himself through the grates.-He is so swift, that no roe or hind can fully resemble him in this his speed. And to! even now, before I can speak it, is he come near unto me, close to the door and wall of my heart.

            And though this wall of my flesh hinder my full fruition of him, yet lo! I see him by the eye of faith, looking upon me. I see him as in a glass. I see him shining

gloriously, through the grates and windows of his wordand sacraments, upon my soul.

            1O. My well-beloved spoke, and said unto me, Arise, my love, my fair one, and come thy way.-And now, methinks, I hear him speak to me, and say, " Arise, O my church, rise up, whether from thy security, or fear.  Hide not thy head any longer, O my spouse, for danger of thine enemies, neither suffer thyself to be pressed with the dullness of thy nature, or the sleep of thy sins; but come forth into the comfortable light of my presence, and spew thyself cheerful in me."

            11. For behold, the winter is past, the rain is changed and gone away.-For behold, all the cloudy winter of thy afflictions is passed, all the tempests of temptations are blown over; the heaven is clear, and now there is nothing that may not give thee cause of delight.

            12. The flowers appear in the earth: the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.-Every thing now resembles the face of a spiritual spring. All the sweet flowers and blossoms of holy profession put forth, and spew themselves. Now is the time of that heavenly melody, which the cheerful saints and angels make in mine ears; while they sing songs of deliverance, and praise me with their hallelujahs, and say, " Glory to God on high, in earth peace, good­will towards men."

            13. The fig-tree has brought forth her young figs, and the vines with their small grapes have cast a savour arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.-What speak I of blossoms? Behold! those fruitful vines, and fig-trees of my faithful ones, whom my husbandry has carefully tended and dressed, yield forth both pleasant, though tender, fruits of obedience, and the comfortable savours of better desires. Wherefore now shake off all that dull security, wherewith you have been held, and come forth and enjoy me.

            14. My dove, you art in the holes of the rock, in the secret places of the cliffs. show me thy sight, let me hear thy voice: for thy voice is sweet, and thy sight comely.­

O my beautiful and chaste spouse, (which like some solitary dove, have long hid thine head in the secret clifts of the rocks, out of the reach and knowledge of thy persecutors,) however you art concealed from others, show thyself, in thy works and righteousness unto me and let me be ever plied with thy prayers and thanks­givings. For thy voice, though it be in mourning, and thy face, though it be sad, are exceeding pleasing unto me.

            15. Take us the foxes, the little foxes which destroy, the vines: for our vines have small grapes. And in the meantime, O ye that wish well to my church, do your utmost endeavor to deliver her from her secret enemies, not sparing the least, who, either by heretical doctrine, or profane conversation, hinder the course of the gospel, and pervert the faith of many; especially of those that have newly given up their names to Ine, and are but newly entered into the profession of godliness.

 

THE CHURCH.

 

            16. My well-beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.-Ally beloved Savior is mine, through

my faith; and I am his through his love; and we both are one, by virtue of that blessed union, whereby we enjoy each other. And how worthily is my love placed upon him, who leadeth me forth into pleasant pastures, and at whose right hand there is the fullness of joy for evermore!

            17. Until the day break, and de shadows flee away, return, my well-beloved, and be like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.-Come, therefore, O my Savior, (and till the day of thy glorious appearance shall shine forth to the world, wherein our spiritual marriage shall be consummated, and till all these shadows of ignorance, of infidelity, of troubles of conscience, and of outward tribulations, be utterly chased away,) come and turn thee to me again! You, who to the eyes of the world seemest absent, come quickly, and delay not! but, for the speed of thy return, be like some swift roe, or hind, upon those smooth hills of Gilead.

 

CHAP. 3

 

            1. In my bed by night I sought him whom my soul loved: I sought hint, but found hint not.  My security told me, that my Savior was near unto my soul; yea, with it, and in it. But when, by serious and silent medi­tation, I searched my own heart, I found that (for ought my own sense could discern,) he was far off from me.

            2. I will rise therefore now, and go about in the city by the streets, and by the open places, and will seek him that nzy soul loves: I sought him, but I found him not.­  Then thought I with myself, shall I he still contented with this want? No, I will stir up myself; and the help I cannot find in myself, I will seek in others. Of all that have been experienced is all kinds of difficulties, of all deep philosophers, I kill diligently inquire for my Savior. Amongst them I sought him, yet could receive no answer to my satisfaction.

            3. The watchmen that went about the city found me to whom I said, Have you seen hint whom my soul loves?-Missing him there, I ran to those wise and careful teachers, whom God has set as so many watch­men upon the walls of his Jerusalem; who sooner found me, than I could ask after them. To whom I said, (as thinking no man could be ignorant of my love,) Can you give me no direction where I might find him whom my

soul loves?

            4. When I had passed a little front them, then I found hint, whom my soul loves: I tools hold on hint, and left him not, till I had brought hint unto my mother's house, into the chamber of her that conceived me. Of whom, when I had almost left hoping for comfort, that gracious Savior, who would not suffer me to be tempted above my measure, presented himself to my soul. Lo then! by a new act of faith, I laid fast hold on him, and will not let him any more part from my joyful embraces, until I have brought him home fully into the seat of my con­science, and have won him to a full accomplishment of love, in that Jerusalem, which is above, which is the mother of us all.

 

CHRIST.

 

            5. I charge ye, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awaken my love, until she please.-Now, since my dis­tressed church has been all the night, because of my seeming absence, toiled in seeking me, I charge you, O all ye, that profess any friendship with me, I charge you, by whatsoever is comely, dear and pleasant unto you, that you trouble not her peace with any unjust or un­seasonable suggestions, with uncharitable contentions, with any novelties of doctrine; but suffer her to rest sweetly in that Divine truth, which she has received, and this true apprehension of me, wherein she rejoiceth.

            6. Who is she that cometh up out of the wilderness, like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense, and with all the chief of spices.-Oh! who is this? How admirable! how lovely! Who, but my church, that as­cends thus gloriously out of the wilderness of the world, wherein she has thus long wandered, into the blessed mansions of my Father's house, all perfumed with the graces of perfect sanctification, mounting right upward into her glory, like some straight pillar of smoke, that riseth from the most rich and pleasant composition of odors?

 

THE CHURCH.

 

            7. Behold his bed is better than Solomon's: three-score strong men are round about it, of the valiant men of Israel.-I am ascended; and lo! how glorious is this place, where I shall eternally enjoy the presence and love of my Savior! How far does it exceed the earthly magnificence of Solomon? About his bed attends a guard of threescore choicest men of Israel.

            8. They all handle the sword, and are expert in war. Every one has his sword upon his thigh, for the fear by night.-All stout warriors, able and expert to handle the sword; which for more readiness, each of them wears upon his thigh. But about this heavenly pavilion of my Savior, attend millions of angels, spiritual soldiers, mighty in power, ready to be commanded by him.

            9. King Solomon made himself a bed of the trees of Lebanon.-The bride-bed, that Solomon made, (so much admired of the world,) was but of the cedars of Lebanon.

            1O. He made the pillars thereof of silver, and the stead thereof of gold, the hangings thereof of purple, whose midst was in-laid with the love of the daughters of Jeru­salem.-The pillars but of silver, and the bedstead of gold; the canopy but of purple; the coverlet wrought with the curious and painful needle-work of the maids of Jerusalem. But this celestial resting-place of my God is not made with hands, nor of any corruptible metal, but is full of incomprehensible light, shining evermore with the glorious presence of God.

            11. Come forth ye daughters. of Sion, and behold King Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his marriage, and in the day of the gladness of his heart.-And as the outward state, so the majesty of his person, is above all comparison. Come forth, O ye daughters of Siorr, lay aside all private and earthly affections. Look upon King Solomon, as he sits solemnly crowned in the day of his greatest royalty and triumph, and compare his highest pomp, with the Divine magnificence of my Savior, in that day, when his blessed marriage shall be fully perfected above, to the eternal rejoicing of himself and his church; and see whether there be any proportion betwixt them.

 

CHAP. 4

CHRIST.

 

            1. Behold you art fair, my love, you art fair, thine eyes are like the doves within thy locks: thine hair is like a flock of goats which look down fionz the mountains of Gilead.-Oh! how fair you art and comely, my dear spouse! How inwardly fair with the gifts of my Spirit! How fair outwardly in thy comely administration and government! Thy spiritual eyes of understanding and judgment, are full of purity, chastity, simplicity; not wantonly cast forth, but modestly shining amidst thy locks. All thy gracious profession, and all thy ornaments of expedient ceremonies, are as comely to behold as a flock of well-fed goats, grazing upon the fruitful hills of Gilead.          

            2. Thy teeth like a flock of sheep in good order, which go up from the washing. Which every one bring out twins, and none is barren among them.-Those that pre­pare the heavenly food for thy soul, are of gracious sim­plicity, and of sweet accordance one with another; having all one heart and one tongue. Both themselves are sanctified and purged from their uncleanness, and are fruitful in their holy labors unto others; so that their doctrine is never in vain, but is still answered with plen­tiful increase of souls added to the church.

            3. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy talk is comely. Thy temples are within thy locks as a piece of pomegranate.-Thy speech, (especially in the mouth of thy teachers,) is both gracious in itself, and such as ad­ministers grace to the hearers; full of zeal and fervent charity; full of gravity and discretion. And tha