CHAP. XVI. Heavenly contemplation exemplified, and the whole Work concluded (4)

§ 24. "O my soul, look above this world of sorrows! Hast thou so long felt the smarting rod of affliction, and no better understood its meaning? Is not every stroke to drive thee hence? Is not its voice like that to Elijah, what dost thou here? Dost thou forget thy Lord's prediction. In the world ye shall have tribulation, in me ye may have peace. Ah! my dear Lord, I feel thy meaning; it is written in my flesh, engraved in my bones. My heart thou aimest at; thy rod drives, thy silken cord of love draws; and all to bring it to thyself. Lord, can such a heart be worth thy having? Make it worthy, and then it is thine; take it to thyself, and then take me. This clod hath life to stir, but not to rise. As the feeble child to the tender mother, it looketh up to thee, and stretcheth out the hands, and fain would have thee take it up. Though I cannot say, my soul longeth after thee; yet I can say, I long for such a longing heart. The spirit is willing, the flesh is weak. My spirit cries, let thy kingdom come, or let me come to thy kingdom; but the flesh is afraid thou shouldst hear my prayer, and take me at my word. O blessed be thy grace, which makes use of my corruptions to kill themselves; for I fear my fears, and sorrow for my sorrows, and long for greater longings; and thus the painful means of attaining my desires increase my weariness, and that makes me groan to be at rest.

§ 25. "Indeed, Lord, my soul itself is in a strait, and what to choose I know not; but thou knowest what to give: to depart, and be with thee, is far better. But to abide in the flesh seems needful. Thou knowest I am not weary of thy work, but of sorrow and sin; I am willing to stay while thou wilt employ me, and dispatch the work thou hast put into my hands: But, I beseech thee, stay no longer when this is done; and while I must be here, let me be still amending and ascending; make me still better and take me at the best. I dare not be so impatient, as to importune thee to cut off my time, and snatch me hence unready; because I know my everlasting state so much depends on the improvement of this life. Nor would I stay when my work is done; and remain here sinning, while my brethren are triumphing. Thy footsteps bruise this worm, while those stars shine in the firmament of glory. Yet I am thy child as well as they; Christ is my Head as well as theirs; why is there then so great a distance? But I acknowledge the equity of thy ways; though we are all children, yet I am the prodigal, and therefore more fit in this remote country to feed on husks, while they are always with thee, and possess thy glory. They were once themselves in my condition, and I shall shortly be in theirs. They were of the lowest form, before they came to the highest; they suffered, before they reigned; they came out of great tribulation, who are now before thy throne; and shall not I be content to come to the crown as they did; and to drink of their cup; before I sit with them in the kingdom? Lord, I am content to stay thy time, and go thy way, so thou wilt exalt me also in thy season, and take me into thy barn, when thou seest me ripe. In the mean time I may desire, though I am not to repine; I may believe and wish, though not make any sinful haste: I am willing to wait for thee, but not to lose thee; and when thou seest me too contented with thine absence, then quicken my languid desires, and blow up the dying spark of love; and leave me not till I am able unfeignedly to cry out, 'As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God; when shall I come and appear before God? My conversation is in heaven, from whence I look for a Savior. My affections are set on things above, where Christ sitteth, and my life is hid. I walk by faith, and not by sight; willing rather to be absent from the body, and present with the Lord.'

§ 26. "What interest hath this empty world in me; and what is there in it that may seem so lovely, as to entice my desires from my God, or make me loth to come away? Methinks, when I look upon it with a deliberate eye, it is a howling wilderness, and too many of its inhabitants are untamed monsters; I can view all its beauty as deformity; and drown all its pleasures in a few penitent tears; or the wind of a sigh will scatter them away. O let not this flesh so seduce my soul, as to make it prefer this weary life before the joys that are about thy throne! And though death itself be unwelcome to nature, yet let thy grace make thy glory appear to me so desirable, that the king of terrors may be the messenger of my joy! Let not my soul be ejected by violence, and dispossessed of its habitation against its will; but draw it to thyself by the secret power of thy love as the sunshine in the spring draws forth the creatures from their winter cells; meet it half way and entice it to thee, as the load-stone doth the iron, and as the greater flame attracts the less! Dispel therefore the clouds that hide thy love from me; or remove the scales that hinder mine eyes from beholding thee; for the beams that stream from thy face, and the foretaste of thy great salvation, and nothing else can make a soul unfeignedly say now let thy servant depart in peace! But it is not thy ordinary discoveries that will here suffice; as the work is greater, so must thy help be. O turn these fears into strong desires, and this lothness to die into longings after thee! While I must be absent from thee, let my soul as heartily groan, as my body doth under its want of health! If I have any more time to spend on earth, let me live, as without the world, in thee, as I have sometime lived as without thee in the world! While I have a thought to think, let me not forget thee; or a tongue to move, let me mention thee with delight; or a breath to breathe, let it be after thee, or for thee; or a knee to bend, let it daily bow at thy footstool; and when by sickness thou confinest me, do thou make my bed, number my pains, and put all my tears into thy bottle!

§ 27. "As my flesh desired what my spirit abhorred, so now let my spirit desire that day which my flesh abhorreth; that my friends may not with so much sorrow wait for the departure of my soul, as my soul with joy shall wait for its own departure! Then let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his; even a removal to that glory that shall never end! Then let thy convoy of angels bring my departing soul among the perfected spirits of the just, and let me follow my dear friends that have died in Christ before me; and while my sorrowing friends are weeping over my grave, let my spirit be reposed with thee in rest; and while my corpse shall lie rotting in the dark, let my soul be in the inheritance of the saints in light! O thou that numberest the very hairs of my head, number all the days that my body lies in the dust; and thou that writest all my members in thy book, keep an account of my scattered bones! O my Savior, hasten the time of thy return; send forth thy angels, and let that dreadful, joyful trumpet sound! Delay not, lest the living give up their hopes; delay not, lest earth should grow like hell, and thy church, by division, be all crumbled to dust; delay not, lest thy enemies get advantage of thy flock, and lest pride, hypocrisy, sensuality, and unbelief prevail against thy little remnant, and share amongst them thy whole inheritance, and when thou comest, thou find not faith on the earth; delay not, lest the grave should boast of victory, and having learned rebellion of its guest, should refuse to deliver thee up thy due! O hasten that great resurrection day, when thy command shall go forth, and none shall disobey; when the sea and earth shall yield up their hostages, and all that sleep in the grave shall awake, and the dead in Christ shall rise first; when the seed which thou sowedst corruptible, shall come forth incorruptible; and graves that received rottenness and dust, shall return thee glorious stars and suns! Therefore dare I lay down my carcass in the dust, entrusting it, not to a grave, but to thee, and therefore my flesh shall rest in hope, till thou shalt raise it to the possession of everlasting rest. Return, O Lord, how long? O let thy kingdom come! Thy desolate bride saith, Come! for thy Spirit within her saith, Come; and teacheth her thus to pray with groanings which cannot be uttered; yea, the whole creation saith, Come, waiting to be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God; thou thyself hast said, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, Come Lord Jesus?"

§ 28. Thus, reader, I have given thee my best advice for maintaining a heavenly conversation, If thou canst not thus meditate methodically and fully, yet do it as thou canst: only be sure to do it seriously and frequently. Be acquainted with this heavenly work, and thou wilt, in some degree, be acquainted with God; thy joys will be spiritual, prevalent, and lasting, according to the nature of their blessed object; thou wilt have comfort in life and death: When thou hast neither wealth, nor health, nor the pleasure of this world, yet wilt thou have comfort: Without the presence, or help of any friend, without a minister, without a book, when all means are denied thee, or taken from thee, yet mayest thou have vigorous, real comfort. Thy graces will be mighty, active, and vigorous; and the daily joy, which is thus fetched from heaven will be thy strength. Thou wilt be as one that stands on the top of an exceeding high mountain; he looks down on the world as if it were quite below him; fields and woods, cities and towns, seem to him but little spots. Thus despicably wilt thou look on all things here below. The greatest princes will seem but as grashoppers; the busy, contentious, covetous world, but as a heap of ants. Men's threatenings will be no terror to thee; nor the honors of this world any strong enticement; temptations will be more harmless, as having lost their strength; and afflictions less grievous, as having lost their sting; and every mercy will be better known, and relished. It is now, under God, in thy own choice, whether thou wilt live this blessed life or not; and whether all this pains I have taken for thee shall prosper, or be lost. If it be lost through thy laziness, thou thyself wilt prove the greatest loser. O man, what hast thou to mind but God and heaven? Art thou not almost out of this world already? Dost thou not look every day, when one disease or other will let out thy soul? Does not the grave wait to be thine house; and worms to feed upon thy face and heart? What if thy pulse must beat a few strokes more? What if thou hast a little longer to breathe, before thou breathe out thy last; a few more nights to sleep, before thou sleepest in the dust? Alas! what will this be, when it is gone? And is it not almost gone already? Very shortly thou wilt see thy glass run out, and say to thyself, "My life is done! My time is gone! 'Tis past recalling! There's nothing now but heaven or hell before me!" Where then should thy heart be now, but in heaven? Didst thou know what a dreadful thing it is, to have a doubt of heaven when a man is dying it would rouse thee up. And what else but doubt can that man then do, that never seriously thought of heaven before?

§ 29. Some there be that say, "It is not worth so much time and trouble, to think of the greatness of the joys above; so that we can make sure they are ours; we know they are great." But as these men obey not the command of God, which requires them to have their conversation in heaven, and to set their affections on things above; so they wilfully make their own lives miserable, by refusing the delights which God hath set before them. And if this were all, it were a small matter; but see what abundance of other mischiefs follow the neglect of these heavenly delights. This neglect—will damp, if not destroy, their love to God;—will make it unpleasant to them to think or speak of God, or engage in his service;—it tends to pervert their judgments concerning the ways and ordinances of God;—it makes them sensual and voluptuous;—it leaves them under the power of every affliction and temptation, and is a preparative to total apostasy;—it will also make them fearful and unwilling to die. For who would go to a God, or a place, he hath no delight in? Who would leave his pleasure here, if he had not better to go to? Had I only proposed a course of melancholy and fear, and sorrow, you might reasonably have objected. But you must have heavenly delights, or none that are lasting. God is willing you should daily walk with him, and fetch in consolations from the everlasting fountain; if you are unwilling, even bear the loss; and when you are dying, seek for comfort where you can get it, and see whether fleshly delights will remain with you; then conscience will remember, in spite of you, that you was once persuaded to a way for more excellent pleasures, pleasures that would have followed you through death, and have lasted to eternity.