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dying! How can it grieve me to tread in thy steps to glory!

Our sin made death our last enemy; thy goodness hath made it the first friend that we meet with in our passage to another world: for as she that receives us from the knees of our mother, in our first entrance to the light, washeth, cleanseth, dresseth us, and presents us to the breast of our nurse, or the arms of our mother, challenges some interest in us when we come to our growth; so death, which, in our passage to that other life, is the first that receives and presents our naked souls to the hands of those angels who carry it up to her glory, cannot but think this office friendly and meritorious. What if this guide lead my carcase through corruption and rottenness, when my soul, in the very instant of her separation, knows itself happy! What if my friends mourn about my bed and coffin, when my soul sees the smiling face and loving embracements of Him that was dead and is alive! What care I who shuts these earthen eyes, when death opens the eye of my soul, to see as I am seen! What if my name be forgotten of men, when I live above with the God of spirits!

If death would be still an enemy, it is the worst part of me that he hath any thing to do with; the best is above his reach, and gains more than the other can lose. The worst part of the horror of death is the grave; and set aside infidelity, what so great misery is this? That part which is corrupted, feels it not; that which is free from corruption, feels an abundant recompence, and foresees a joyful reparation. What is here but a just restitution? We carry heaven and earth

wrapped up in our bosoms; each part returns homeward and if the exceeding glory of heaven cannot countervail the dolesomeness of the grave, what do I believe in? But if the beauty of that celestial sanctuary do more than equalize the horror of the bottomless pit, how can I shrink at earth like myself, when I know my glory? And if examples can move thee any whit, look behind thee, O my soul, and see which of the worthies of that ancient latter world, which of the patriarchs, kings, prophets, apostles, have not trod in these dark steps. Where are those millions of generations, which have hitherto peopled the earth? How many passing-bells hast thou heard for thy known friends! how many sick-beds hast thou visited! how many eyes hast thou seen closed! how many vain men hast thou seen, that have gone into the field to seek death, in hope to find an honour as foolish as themselves! how many poor creatures hast thou mulcted with death for thine own pleasure! and canst thou hope that God will make a by-way and postern for thee alone, that thou mayest pass to the next world, not by the gates of death, not by the bottom of the grave?

What then dost thou fear, O my soul? There are but two stages of death-the bed, and the grave: this latter, if it have senselessness, yet it hath rest the former, if it have pain, yet it hath speediness; and when it lights upon a faithful heart, meets with many and strong antidotes of comfort. The evil that is ever in motion, is not fearful that which both time and eternity finds standing where it was, is worthy of terror. Well may those tremble at death, who find more dis

tress within than without; whose consciences are more sick, and nearer to death, than their bodies. It was thy Father's wrath that did so terrify thy soul, O my Saviour, that it put thy body into a bloody sweat. The mention and thought of thy death ended in a psalm, but this began in an agony. Then didst thou sweat out my fears. The power of that agony doth more comfort all thine, than the angels could comfort thee. That very voice deserved an eternal separation of horror from death, when thou saidst, " My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Thou hadst not complained of being left, if thou wouldst have any of thine left destitute of comfort in their parting. I know not whom I can fear, while I know whom I have believed: how can I be discouraged with the sight of my loss, when I see so clear an advantage?

What discomfort is this, to leave a frail body, to be joined unto a glorious Head? to forsake vain pleasures, false honours, bootless hopes, unsatisfying wealth, stormy contentments, sinful men, perilous temptations, a sea of troubles, a galley of servitude, an evil world, and a consuming life, for freedom, rest, happiness, eternity? And if thou wert sentenced, O my soul, to live a thousand years in this body, with these infirmities, how wouldst thou be weary, not of being only, but of complaining! whilst, ere the first hundred I should be a child; ere the second, a beast; a stone, ere a third; and therefore should be so far from finding pleasure in my continuance, that I should not have sense enough left to feel myself miserable. And when I am once gone, what difference is there betwixt the eldest

only in what was; And if this body

of the first patriarchs and me, and the child that did but live to be born, save and that which was, is not ! had no weakness to make my life tedious, yet what a torment is it, that while I live I must sin! Alas, my soul, every one of thy known sins is not a disease, but a death. What an enemy art thou to thyself, if thou canst not be content that one bodily death should excuse thee from many spiritual! to cast off thy body, that thou mayest be stripped of the rags, yea, the fetters of thy sin, and clothed with the robes of glory! Yet these terms are too hard: thou shalt not be cast off, O my body; rather, thou shalt be put to making; this change is no less happy for thee, than for thy partner. This very skin of thine, which is now tawny and wrinkled, shall once shine this earth shall be heaven: this dust shall be glorious: these eyes that are now weary of being witnesses of thy sins and miseries, shall then never be weary of seeing the beauty of thy Saviour, and thine own in his. These ears, which have now been tormented with the impious tongues of men, shall first hear the voice of the Son of God, and then the voices of saints and angels in their songs of hallelujah. And this tongue, which now complains of miseries and fears, shall then bear a part in that Divine harmony.

In the mean time, thou shalt but sleep in this bed of earth: he that hath tried the worst of death, hath called it no worse; very heathens have termed them cousins; and it is no unusual thing for cousins of blood to carry both the same

names and features. Hast thou been wont, O my body, when the day hath wearied thee, to lie down unwillingly to thy rest? Behold, in this sleep there is more quietness, more pleasure of visions, more certainty of waking, more cheerfulness in rising: why then art thou loth to think of laying off thy rags, and reposing thyself? why art thou like a child, unwilling to go to bed? Hast thou ever seen any bird, which, when the cage hath been opened, would rather sit still and sing within her grates, than fly forth unto her freedom in the woods? hast thou ever seen any prisoner in love with his bolts and fetters? Did the chief of the apostles, when the angel of God shined in his jail, and struck him on the side, and loosed his two chains, and bade him arise quickly, and opened both the wooden and iron gate, say, What so soon! yet a little sleep? What madness had it been, rather to slumber betwixt his two keepers, than to follow the angel of God into liberty! Hast thou ever seen any mariner who hath saluted the sea with songs, and the haven with tears? What shall I say to this dif fidence, O my soul, that thou art unwilling to think of rest after thy toil, of freedom after thy durance, of the haven after an unquiet and tempestuous passage? How many are there that seek death, and cannot find it, merely out of the irksomeness of life! Hath it found thee, and offered thee better conditions, not of immunity from evils, but of possession of more good than thou canst think; and wouldst thou now fly from happiness, to be rid of it?

What is it a name that troubles thee? What

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