that drowned the old world, burnt Sodom, and will set the whole world in a flame at the last day? is it not sin only that provoketh the eyes of God's glory, grieveth his Spirit, breaketh his laws, and bringeth swift destruction on impenitent sinners? Nay, O my soul, consider, was it not sin that betrayed, arraigned, accused, condemned, crucified and buried the Lord of life and glory? Oh then, who would have any thing to do with unprofitable, pernicious works of darkness? what fruit hast thou, poor soul, from sin, but shame, and grief, and death? Oh what hurt hath it done thee! what grief, and tears, and sorrows, and pangs hath it cost thee! and all these better than the proper product of it, even eternal damnation.

my soul, God hates nothing but sin! hate sin, then, with a perfect hatred, or with respect unto it, sin no more, lest thou offend a good God, gratify Satan, and damn thy soul for ever.

13. Think much on the vanity of the world, and the uncertainty of all things here below; read to yourselves sometimes, lectures on the instability of all worldly excellencies, and take off your own fingers from playing with them, lest God use some severer course to loosen your hearts from things below. Thus think, O my grovelling soul: What is it that thou seest in this garish strumpet to allure and entangle thy affection? how comest thou to dote upon her painted beauty? what real good, what solid comfort hast thou ever found therein? what are the profits of it, but a little white and yellow earth, of the same nature and origin with thy vile and perishing body, and far inferior to thy noble soul? what are the sorry honours of the world but bubbles, dependent on the slippery tongues and ears of mutable men, that can kiss and kill with a breath or beck? and,

what are the sordid pleasures here below, but swinish epicurism, that debase the best part of human nature, transform men into beasts, and leave a stinging guilt behind them? Alas, my soul, why wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? what will riches avail thee in the day of wrath? where is the hope of the hypocrite, though he hath gained the whole world, when God taketh away his soul? what was Cain better for all his fair cities, or Nimrod for his large dominions, or Absalom for his beauty, or Ahithophel for his policy, or Judas for his bags, or Dives for his delicate fare? Hell-fire burns up all these, and heaven cannot be purchased with them. Alas, the fashion of the world passeth away, and when it is gone, what is a man better for being a gentleman, knight, lord, or prince? Mors sceptra ligonibus æquat.*

14. Let your thoughts be exercised about the the present, and final state of all the children of men, the vast difference betwixt the good and bad, the godly and the wicked, in this world and the world to come, and thus let your hearts be musing: Admitting that the wicked flourish like a green baytree, and do enjoy the world at will, that they are not in trouble as other men, but eat and drink, and laugh and play, and change their sports for more delight, and wash their steps with butter, and have more than heart can wish. In the mean time, the godly are daily afflicted by God, tempted by Satan, persecuted by the world, they are chastened every morning, and lie down with sorrow every evening, they eat their bread, and water their beds, with tears. Oh the bitter, heart-breaking griefs, by reason of the withdrawings of God, the unkindness of men, but especially from corruptions within! Well now, Death levels sceptres and ploughshares.

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my soul, wilt thou call this the only wretched man and the former the only happy person? God forbid, so shouldest thou offend against the generation of God's children; thou must not acquit the wicked nor condemn the righteous. No, my soul, look not with carnal but with spiritual eyes, judge righteous judgment," he is not happy that hath the world at will, but he only is happy "whose God is the Lord." Search the Scriptures, and see there who is called, and who is accounted happy. "Mark the perfect man, the end of that man is peace," whatever be his trouble in the way; observe the wicked, it "cannot be well with him" in the end; Croesus, at last, found Solon's words true, "There is no man happy before death." O my soul, wisely consider the state of the godly and the wicked, and it will beget strange effects upon thee for thy encouragement and wonder.

15. Sometimes let your thoughts run out upon the state of the church and people of God, that you may joy or sorrow, pray or praise God, with, or for Zion, and the saints. Upon blessed Paul's heart lay the care of all the churches, and shall we cast away the thoughts thereof? Well, then, my soul, art thou a member of the church, and wilt thou not spend some thoughts on it, and for it? Let me feel the pulse of Christ's mystical body, how fares it with her? is she in health, or is she sick? what diseases is she labouring under? do her sacred lungs move fast in prayer to God? doth she flourish in her pure and powerful administration of divine institutions? is she fair as the moon in the holiness of her members? clear as the sun in the soundness of her doctrine, especially in that fundamental point of justification by Christ's righteousness imputed? (hence, the woman, the church, is to be "clothed with the sun,") and is she terrible as an army

with banners, in the due administration of wholesome discipline, and execution of censures? do the lights shine clear in the candlesticks? are ministers in their places burning and shining lights, and do the faithful "walk in the light of the Lord?" have the saints communion in all ordinances, walking together in mutual edification? or, are they broken in pieces by persecu tions or separations? How is it with this militant church? O my soul, take a full view thereof, that thou mayest rejoice with her, or mourn for her.

16. Think, O think often upon death, your own death; O that you were wise to consider your latter end; amongst all your thoughts, spend some upon your dying day, set a death's head before your eyes, and think to this purpose: Oh what a dying, fading creature am I ! I dwell in a tottering tabernacle, in a house of clay, that is ready to be crushed every moment like a moth; this vile body of mine is made of perishing ingredients, and my life is like a vapour. O my soul, thou lodgest in a brittle case, how certainly shall, how suddenly may it be broken! and then thou launchest forth into the vast ocean of eternity; death will shortly loose the knot betwixt these old companions, soul and body-nature abhors a dissolution, but what saith grace? is the sting of death plucked out by the death of Christ? hath the Lord of life warmed and perfumed the grave for thee? Canst thou, O my soul, look beyond death at glory, and own it as thy Father's porter, or attendant, that takes thee by the hand to lead thee into his palace and presence-chamber? Surely, if thou have a grounded sense of God's love, thou wilt, with the wearied traveller, long to be at home, and go to bed to take thy thy rest, thou wilt desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is best of all? Only be sure, poor soul, that thy work be not to do when thy time is done. Get

ready for that fatal stroke, it is a solemn business to die, it is but once to be done, and it must be well done, or thou art undone for ever. Look upon every day as the last day, defer not another day to repent and make thy peace with God, that thou mayest be found of him

in peace.

17. Pass on a little further in thy meditations, and let thy thoughts thus be exercised about the great things of the resurrection of the dead, and the solemn day of judgment: O my soul, consider what an illustrious day that will be, when the great trumpet shall sound, the graves shall be opened, the dead shall be raised, and the living shall be changed, the holy angels shall gather from the ends of the earth, the scattered bodies and bones of all the saints, from righteous Abel, to the last convert on earth, and again marry the blessed pair of soul and body together, and convoy them up to meet their "blessed Saviour in the air," that they may with him judge the world of ungodly sinners. Methinks I hear on the contrary, the wretched howlings of despairing souls, whose bodies, will they, nill they, are dragged out of their cursed holes, and are forced to come trembling before the just Judge; fain would they skulk in darkness, and not appear, being convicted in their consciences, and not able to stand in judgment, but appear they must, and yet they dare not. Methinks I see the Judge set, the books opened, and myriads of rational creatures attending the righteous Judge to receive their final sentence. On the right hand stand, the blessed saints in white raiment, lifting up their heads before their beloved husband, who absolves them, saying, "Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you,” welcome home from a weary world-here are mansions