_An exhortation to Christian perfection._
I. WHOEVER hath read the foregoing chapters with attention, is, I hope,
sufficiently instructed in the knowledge of Christian perfection. He
hath seen that it requireth us to _devote_ ourselves _wholly_ unto
God; to make the ends and designs of religion, the ends and designs
of all our actions; that it calleth us to be _born again of_ God; to
live by the light of his Holy Spirit; to _renounce the world_, and all
_worldly tempers_; to practise a constant _universal self-denial_; to
make daily war with the corruption of our nature; to shew the power
of _divine grace_, by holiness of conversation; to avoid all pleasures
and cares which _grieve the Holy Spirit_, and separate him from us; to
live in a _daily, constant state_ of prayer and devotion; and, as the
crown of all, to imitate the _life and Spirit_ of the Holy Jesus.
II. *It now only remains that I exhort the reader to labour after
this perfection. Was I to exhort any one to the study of _poetry_ or
_eloquence_, to labour to be _rich_ and _great_, or to spend his time
in _mathematics_, or other learning, I could only produce such reasons
as are fit to delude the vanity of men, who are ready to be taken
with any appearance of excellence. For if the same person was to ask
me, what it signifies to be a _poet_ or _eloquent_, what advantage
it would be to him, to be a great _mathematician_, or a great
_statesman_, I must be forced to answer, that these things would
signify just as much to him, as they now signify to those poets,
orators, mathematicians, and statesmen, whose bodies have been a long
while lost among common dust. For if a man will be so thoughtful as to
put the question to every human enjoyment, and ask what real good it
would bring along with it, he would soon find, that every success in
the things of this life, leaves us just in the same state of want and
emptiness in which it found us. If a man asks why he should labour to
be the first _mathematician_, _orator_, or _statesman_, the answer is
easily given, because of the _fame_ and _honour_ of such a distinction;
but if he was to ask again, why he should thirst after fame and honour,
or what good they would do him, he must stay long enough for an answer.
For when we are at the _top_ of all human attainments, we are still at
the _bottom_ of all human misery, and have made no farther advancement
towards true happiness, than those whom we see in the want of all
these excellencies. Whether a man die before he has writ _poems_,
compiled _histories_, or raised an _estate_, signifies no more than
whether he died an hundred or a thousand years ago.
III. On the contrary, when any one is exhorted to labour after
Christian perfection, if he then asks what good it will do him, the
answer is ready, that it would do him a good which eternity only can
measure; that it will deliver him from a state of vanity and misery:
that it will raise him from the poor enjoyments of an animal life;
that it will give him a glorious body, carry him, in spite of death
and the grave, to live with God, be glorious among angels and heavenly
beings, and be full of an infinite happiness to all eternity. If
therefore we could but make men so reasonable, as to make the shortest
enquiry into the nature of things, we should have no occasion to
exhort them to strive after Christian perfection. _Two questions_ we
see put an end to all the vain projects of human life; they are all
so empty and useless to our happiness, that they cannot stand the
trial of a _second_ question. And, on the other hand, ’tis but asking,
whether Christian perfection tends: and one single thought upon the
eternal happiness it leads to, is sufficient to make people _saints_.
IV. This shews us how inexcusable all Christians are, who are devoted
to the things of this life. It is not because they want _fine parts_,
or are unable to make _deep reflections_; but it is because they
reject the first principles of _common sense_; they won’t so much as
ask what those things are which they are labouring after. Did they but
use thus much reason, we need not desire them to be wiser, in order
to seek only eternal happiness. As a shadow at the first trial of the
hand appears to have no substance; so all human enjoyments sink away
into nothing at the first approach of a _serious_ thought. We must not
therefore complain of the deceitful appearances of worldly enjoyments,
because the lowest degree of reason, if listened to, is sufficient to
discover the cheat. If you will, you may _blindly_ do what the rest of
the world are doing; you may follow the _cry_, and run yourself out of
_breath_ for you know not what: but if you will but shew so much sense,
as to ask why you should take such a chace, you will need no deeper
a reflection than this to make you leave the broad way; and let the
wise and learned, the rich and great, be mad by themselves. Thus much
common sense will turn your eyes towards God, will separate you from
all the appearances of worldly felicity, and fill you with one only
ambition after eternal happiness.
V. Suppose _strict sobriety_ was the sole end of man, the necessary
condition of happiness, what would you think of those people, who,
knowing and believing this to be true, should yet spend their time
in getting quantities of all sorts of the _strongest liquors_? What
would you think if you saw them constantly enlarging their _cellars_,
filling every room with _drams_, and contending who should have the
largest quantities of the strongest liquors? Now this is the folly
and madness of Christians; they are as wise and reasonable, as they
are who are always providing strong liquors, in order to be _strictly
sober_. For all the enjoyments of human life, which Christians
so aspire after, whether of _riches_, _greatness_, _honours_, or
_pleasures_, are as much the dangers and temptations of a Christian,
as strong and pleasant liquors are the temptations of a man that
is to drink only water. Now if you was to ask such a man, why he is
continually increasing his stock of liquors, when he is to abstain
from them all, and only to drink water, he can give you as good a
reason, as those Christians, who spare no pains to acquire riches,
greatness, and pleasures, at the same time that their salvation
depends upon their renouncing them all, upon their heavenly-mindedness,
humility, and constant self-denial.
VI. But it may be you are not devoted to these things; you have
a greater soul than to be taken with _riches_, _equipage_, or the
_pageantry_ of state; you are deeply engaged in _learning_ and
_sciences_.
You are squaring the _circle_, or settling the distances of the
_stars_, or busy in the study of _exotic plants_.
You are comparing the ancient languages, have made deep discoveries
in the change of _letters_, and perhaps know how to write an
_inscription_ in as obscure characters as if you had lived above two
thousand years ago: or, perhaps you are meditating upon the _Heathen
theology_, collecting the history of their _Gods_ and _Goddesses_; or,
you are scanning some ancient _Greek_ or _Roman_ poet, and making an
exact collection of their _scattered_ remains, _scraps_ of sentences,
and _broken_ words.
You are not exposing your life in the field like a mad _Alexander_ or
_Cæsar_; but you are fighting over all their battles in your _study_;
you are collecting the names of their _generals_, the number of their
troops, the manner of their arms, and can give the world a more exact
account of the times, places, and circumstances of their battles, than
has yet been seen.
VII. You will perhaps ask, whether these are not very commendable
enquiries? An excellent use of our time and parts? Whether people may
not be very reasonably exhorted to these kind of studies? It may be
answered, that all enquiries (however learned they may be reckoned)
which do not improve the mind in some useful knowledge, that do not
make us wise in _religious wisdom_, are to be reckoned amongst our
greatest vanities and follies. All speculations that will not stand
this trial, are to be looked upon as the wanderings and impertinencies
of a _disordered understanding_.
It is strange want of thought to imagine, that an enquiry is ever the
better, because it is taken up in _Greek_ and _Latin_. Why is it not
as wise and reasonable for a _scholar_ to dwell in the _kitchen_ and
converse with _cooks_, as to go into his study, to meditate upon the
_Roman_ art of _cookery_, and learn their variety of _sauces_?
*A grave _doctor_ in divinity would perhaps think his time very ill
employed, that he was acting below his character, if he was to be an
_amanuensis_ to some _modern poet_. Why then does he think it suitable
with the weight of his calling, to have been a _drudge_ to some
_ancient poet_, counting his syllables for several years, only to help
the world to read what some _irreligious_, _wanton_, or _epicurean_
poet has wrote?
It is certainly a much more reasonable employment to be making
_cloaths_, than to spend one’s time in reading or writing volumes upon
the _Grecian_ or _Roman_ garments.
VIII. If you can shew me a learning that makes man truly sensible
of his duty, that fills the mind with _true light_, that reforms
the heart, that disposes it right towards God, that makes us more
_reasonable_ in all our actions; that inspires us with _fortitude_,
_humility_, _devotion_, and contempt of the _world_: that gives
us right notions of the _greatness_ of religion, the _sanctity_ of
morality, the _littleness_ of every thing but God, the _vanity_ of
our passions, and the misery and corruption of our nature, I will
own myself an advocate for such learning. But to think that time is
well employed, because it is spent in such speculations as the vulgar
cannot reach, or because they are fetched from antiquity, or found in
_Greek_ or _Latin_, is a folly that may be called as great as any in
human life.
They who think that these enquiries are consistent with a heart
_entirely devoted_ to God, have not enough considered human nature;
they would do well to consult our Saviour’s rebuke of _Martha_. She
did not seem to have wandered far from her proper business; she was
not busy in the history of _house-wifery_, or enquiring into the
_original of the distaff_; she was only taken up with present affairs,
and _cumbered about much serving_: but our blessed Saviour said unto
her, _Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things.
But one thing is needful._
Now if _scholars_ and _divines_ can shew, that they only apply to such
studies as are serviceable to the _one thing needful_; if they are
busy in a philosophy and learning that have a necessary connection
with the devotion of the heart to God, such learning becomes the
followers of Christ; but, if they trifle in _Greek_ and _Latin_, and
only assist other people to follow them in the same impertinence, such
learning may be reckoned amongst the corruptions of the age. For all
the arguments against _pride_, _covetousness_, and _vanity_, are as
good arguments against _such learning_; it being the same irreligion
to be devoted to any false _learning_, as to be devoted to any other
_false good_.
A satisfaction in any vain ornaments of the body, whether of _cloaths_
or _paint_, is no greater a mistake, than a satisfaction in the _vain
accomplishments_ of the mind.
IX. A man that is eager and laborious in the search and study of
that which does him _no good_, is the same poor, little soul, as
the _miser_ who is happy in his _bags_ that are laid by in dust. A
ridiculous application of our _money_, _time_, and _understanding_, is
the same fault, whether it be found amongst the finery of _fops_, the
hoards of _misers_, or the trinkets of _virtuoso_’s. It is the same
false turn of mind, the same mistake of the use of things, the same
ignorance of the state of man, and the same offence against religion.
*When we see a man brooding over _bags_ of wealth, and labouring to
die _rich_, we do not only accuse him of a poor littleness of mind;
but we charge him with great guilt; we do not allow such a one to be
in a state of religion. Let us therefore suppose that this covetous
man was on a sudden changed into another temper; that he was grown
_polite_ and _curious_; that he was fond and eager after the most
useless things, if they were but _ancient_ and _scarce_; let us
suppose that he is now as greedy of _original paintings_, as he was
before of _money_; that he will give more for a _dog’s head_, or
a _snuff_ of a candle done by a good _hand_, than he ever gave in
charity all his life; is he a wiser man, or a better Christian than
he was before? Has he more overcome the world, or is he more devoted
to God, than when his soul was locked up with his money? Alas! his
heart is in the same false satisfaction; he is in the same state
of ignorance, is as far from the true good, as much separated from
God, as he whose soul is cleaving to the dust; he lives in the same
vanity, and must die in the same misery, as he that lives and dies in
_foppery_ or covetousness.
X. Here therefore I place my argument for _Christian perfection_.
I exhort thee to labour after it, because there is nothing else for
thee to labour after; there is nothing else that the reason of man can
exhort thee to. The whole world has nothing to offer thee in its stead;
chuse what other way thou wilt, thou hast chosen nothing but vanity
and misery; for all the different ways of the world are only different
ways of deluding thyself: this only excells that as one vanity can
excel another. If thou wilt make thyself more happy than those who
pursue their own destruction, if thou wilt shew thyself wiser than
_fops_, more reasonable than _sordid misers_, thou must pursue that
happiness, and study that wisdom which leads to God; for every other
pursuit, every other way of life, however _polite_ or _plausible_
in the opinion of the world, has a folly and stupidity in it that is
equal to the folly and stupidity of _fops_ and _misers_.
For awhile shut thine eyes, and think of the _silliest creature_ in
human life; imagine to thyself something that thou thinkest the most
_poor_ and _vain_ in the way of the world. Now thou art thyself that
poor and vain creature, unless thou art devoted to God, and labouring
after Christian perfection; unless this be thy difference from the
world, thou canst not think of any creature more silly than thyself.
For it is not any _post_, or condition, or figure in life, that makes
one man wiser or better than another; if thou art a proud _scholar_,
a worldly _priest_, an indevout _philosopher_, a crafty _politician_,
an ambitious _statesman_, thy imagination cannot invent a way of life
that has more of vanity or folly than thine own.
XI. Every one has wisdom enough to see what variety of fools and
madmen there are in the world.
Now perhaps we cannot do better, than to find out the true reason
of the folly and madness of any sort of life. Ask thyself therefore
wherein consists the folly of any sort of life, which is most
condemned in thy judgment.
*Is a drunken _fox-hunter_ leading a foolish life? Wherein consists
the folly of it? Is it because he is not getting money upon the
_exchange_? Or because he is not wrangling at the _bar_? Or not
waiting at _court_? No; the folly of it consists in this, that he is
not living like a _reasonable creature_; that he is not acting like
a being that has a salvation to work out with _fear and trembling_;
that he is throwing away his time amongst _dogs_, and noise, and
intemperance, which he should devote to watching and prayer, and the
improvement of his soul in all holy tempers. Now, if this is the folly
(as it most certainly is) of an intemperate _fox-hunter_, it shews us
an equal folly in every other way of life, where the same great ends
of living are neglected. Tho’ we are shining at the _bar_, making a
figure at _court_, great at the _exchange_, or famous in the _schools_
of _philosophy_, we are yet the same despicable creatures as the
intemperate _fox-hunter_, if these things keep us as far from holiness
and heavenly affections. There is nothing greater in any way of life
than _fox-hunting_: it is all the same folly, unless religion be the
beginning and ending, the rule and measure of it all. For it is as
_noble_ a _wisdom_, and shews as _great_ a _soul_, to die less holy
and heavenly for the sake of _hunting_ and _noise_, as for the sake
of any thing that the world can give us.
XII. Another motive to induce you to aspire after _Christian
perfection_, may be taken from the double advantage of it in this
life, and that which is to come.
The apostle thus exhorts the _Corinthians_, _Wherefore, my beloved
brethren, be ye stedfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of
the Lord; for as much as ye know that your labour will not be in vain
in the Lord_¹.
¹ 1 Cor. xv. 58.
This is an exhortation founded upon solid reason: for what can be so
reasonable, as to be always abounding in _that work_ which will never
be _in vain_? Whilst we are pleased with ourselves, or pleased with
the world, we are pleased with vanity: and our most prosperous labours
of this kind are but _vanity of vanities_: but whilst we are labouring
after Christian perfection, we are labouring for eternity, and
building to ourselves higher stations in the joys of heaven. _As one
star differeth from another star in glory, so also is the resurrection
of the dead._ We shall surely rise to different degrees of glory, of
joy and happiness in God, according to our different advancements in
holiness, and good works.
No degrees of mortification and self-denial, no private prayers, no
secret mournings, no instances of charity, no labour of love, will
ever be forgotten, but all treasured up to our everlasting comfort.
For though the rewards of the other life are free gifts of God; yet
since he has assured us, that every man shall be rewarded according to
his works, it is certain that our rewards will be as different as our
works have been.
XIII. Now stand still awhile, and ask yourself, whether you really
believe this to be true, that the more perfect we are here, the more
happy we shall be hereafter? If you do not believe this, you know
nothing of God and religion. And if you do believe it, is it possible
to be _awake_ and not aspiring after Christian perfection? What can
you think of, what can the world shew you, that can make you any
amends for the loss of _any degree_ of virtue? Can any way of life
make it reasonable for you to die _less perfect_ than you might have
done? But if you would now devote yourself to God, perhaps you must
part with some friends; you must displease some relations, you must
refrain from some pleasures, you must alter your life; nay, perhaps
you must do more than this, you must expose yourself to the hatred of
your friends, to the jest and ridicule of _wits_, and to the scorn and
derision of worldly men. But had you not better do and suffer all this,
than die _less perfect_, less prepared for eternal glory? And indeed
the suffering all this is suffering nothing. For why should it signify
any thing to you, what _fools_ and _madmen_ think of you? And surely
it can be no wrong or rash judgment to think those both fools and mad,
who condemn what God approves, and like that which God condemns: but
if you think this too much to be done, to obtain eternal glory, think
on the other hand, what can be gained instead of it.
*Fancy yourself living in all the ease and pleasure that the world can
give you, esteemed by your friends, undisturbed by your enemies, and
gratifying all your _natural tempers_. If you could _stand still_ in
such a state, you might say that you had got _something_; but alas!
every day that is _added_ to such a life, is the same thing as a day
taken from it, and shews you that so much happiness is gone from you.
For be as happy as you will, you must see it all sinking away from
you; you must feel yourself _decline_; you must see that your time
_shortens apace_; you must hear of _sudden deaths_; you must fear
_sickness_; you must both dread and desire _old age_; you must fall
into the hands of death; you must either die in the bitter sorrows of
a deep repentance, or in sad gloomy despair, wishing for _mountains to
fall upon you, and rocks to cover you_. And is this a happiness to be
chosen? Is this all that you can gain by neglecting God, by following
your own desires, and not labouring after Christian perfection? Is it
worth your while to separate yourself from God, to lose your share in
the realms of light, to be _thus happy_; or, I may better say, to be
thus miserable even in this life? You may be so blind and foolish, as
not to think of these things; but it is impossible to think of them,
without labouring after _Christian perfection_.
XIV. It may be, you are too young, too happy, or too busy to be
affected with these reflections; but let me tell you, that _all_ will
be over before you are aware; your _day_ will be spent, and leave you
to such a _night_, as that which surprized the _foolish virgins_. _And
at midnight there was a cry made, behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye
out and meet him¹._
¹ Matt. xxv. 6.
*The _last hour_ will soon be with you, when you will have nothing to
look for, but your _reward_ in another life; when you will stand with
nothing but _eternity_ before you, and must begin to be something
that will be your state for ever. I can no more _reach_ heaven with my
hands, than I can describe the sentiments that you then will have; you
will then feel motions of heart that you never felt before; all your
thoughts and reflections will pierce your soul in a manner, that you
never before experienced; and you will feel the immortality of your
nature, by the depth and piercing vigour of your thoughts. You will
then know what it is to die; you will then know that you never knew it
before, that you never thought worthily of it; but that dying thoughts
are as _new_ and _amazing_ as that state which follows them.
Let me therefore exhort you to come prepared to this time of trial;
to look out for comfort, whilst the day is before you; to treasure up
such a _fund_ of good and pious works, as may make you able to bear
that state, which cannot be borne without them. Could I any way make
you apprehend, how dying men feel the want of a pious life; how they
lament time lost, health and strength squandered away in folly; how
they look at eternity, and what they think of the rewards of another
life, you would soon find yourself one of those, who desire to live in
the highest state of piety and perfection, that by this means you may
grow old in peace, and die in full hope of eternal glory.
XV. Consider again, that besides the rewards of the other life, the
devoting yourself wholly to God has a great reward even in this life,
as it makes religion _doubly_ pleasant to you. Whilst you are divided
betwixt God and the world, you have neither the pleasures of religion,
nor the pleasures of the world; but are always in the uneasiness of
a divided state of heart. You have only so much religion as serves to
disquiet you; to check your enjoyments; to shew you a _hand-writing
upon the wall_; to interrupt your pleasures; to reproach you with
your follies; and to appear as a _death’s head_ at all your feasts;
but not religion enough to give you a taste and feeling of its proper
pleasures and satisfactions. You dare not wholly neglect religion; but
then, you take no more of it than is just sufficient to keep you from
being a terror to yourself; and you are as loath to be _very good_,
as you are fearful to be _very bad_. So that you are just as happy as
the _slave_, that dares not run away from his master, and yet always
serves him against his will. Instead of having a religion that is your
comfort in all troubles, your religion is itself a _trouble_, under
which you want to be comforted; and those days and times hang heaviest
on your hands, which leave you only to the offices and duties of
religion. _Sunday_ would be very dull and tiresome, but that it is but
one day in _seven_, and is made a day of _dressing_ and _visiting_, as
well as of divine service. You don’t care to keep away from the public
worship, but are always glad when it is over. This is the state of
half _piety_; thus they live who add religion to a worldly life; all
their religion is mere _yoke_ and _burden_, and is only made tolerable
by having but little of their time.
XVI. _Urbanus_ goes to church, but he hardly knows whether he goes out
of a sense of duty, or to meet his friends. He wonders at those people
who are _prophane_, and what pleasure they can find in irreligion;
but then, he is in as great a wonder at those who would make every day
a day of divine worship. He feels no more of the pleasures of piety,
than of the pleasures of prophaneness. As religion has every thing
from him but his _heart_, so he has every thing from religion but its
_comforts_. _Urbanus_ likes religion, because it seems an _easy_ way
of pleasing God; a _decent_ thing, that takes up but little of our
time, and is a proper _mixture_ in life: but if he was reduced to
take _comfort_ in it, he would be as much at a loss, as those who
have lived without God in the world. When _Urbanus_ thinks of joy, and
pleasure, and happiness, he does not think at all of religion. He has
gone through a hundred misfortunes, fallen into variety of hardships;
but never thought of making religion his _comfort_ in any of them. He
makes himself quiet and happy in another manner. He is content with
his Christianity, not because he is _pious_, but because he is not
_prophane_. He continues in the same course of religion, not because
of any real good he ever found in it, but because it does him no hurt.
*To such poor purposes as these do numbers of people profess
Christianity. Let me therefore exhort you to a _solid piety_, to
devote yourself wholly unto God; that entering deep into religion,
you may enter deep into its comforts; that serving God with all your
heart, you may have the peace and pleasure of a heart that is at unity
with itself. When your conscience once bears you witness, that you
are _stedfast_, _immoveable_, _and always abounding in the work of the
Lord_, you will find that your reward is already begun, and that you
could not be less devout, less holy, less charitable, or less humble,
without lessening the most substantial pleasure that ever you felt in
your life. So that to be content with any lower attainments in piety,
is to rob ourselves of a present happiness, which nothing else can
give us.
XVII. You would perhaps devote yourself to perfection, but for this
or that _little difficulty_ that lies in your way; you are not in so
convenient a state for the full practice of piety as you could wish:
but consider that this is nonsense, because perfection consists in
conquering difficulties. You could not be perfect as the present state
of trial requires, had you not those difficulties and inconveniences
to struggle with. These things therefore which you would have removed,
are laid in your way, that you may make them so many steps to glory.
As you could not exercise your charity, unless you met with objects;
so neither could you shew, that you had _overcome_ the world, unless
you had many worldly engagements to overcome. If all your _friends_
and _acquaintance_ were devout, humble, heavenly-minded, and wholly
intent upon the one end of life, it would be less perfection in you
to be like them: But if you are _humble_ amongst those that delight
in pride, _heavenly-minded_ amongst the worldly, _sober_ amongst the
intemperate, _devout_ amongst the irreligious, and labouring after
_perfection_ amongst those that despise and ridicule your labours,
then are you truly devoted unto God. Consider therefore, that you can
have no difficulty, but such as the world lays in your way; and that
perfection is never to be had, but by parting with the world. To stay
therefore to be perfect till it suits with your condition in the world,
is like staying to be charitable till there were no objects of charity.
It is as if a man should intend to be courageous some time or other,
when there is nothing left to try his courage.
XVIII. Again, you perhaps turn your eyes upon the world; you see
all orders of people full of other cares and pleasures; you see
the generality of _clergy_ and _laity_, learned and unlearned, your
friends and acquaintance, mostly living according to the spirit that
reigneth in the world; you are therefore content with such a _piety_
as you think contents great _scholars_ and _famous_ men: and it may
be you cannot think that God will reject such numbers of Christians.
Now all this is amusing yourself with nothing; it is only losing
yourself in vain imaginations; it is making that a _rule_ which is no
rule, and cheating yourself into a false satisfaction. As you are not
censoriously to damn other people; so neither are you to think your
own salvation secure, because you are like the generality of the world.
*The _foolish virgins_ that had provided no oil in their lamps, and
so were shut out of the marriage-feast, were only thus far _foolish_,
that they trusted to the _assistance_ of those that were _wise_: but
you are more foolish than they; for you trust to be saved by the folly
of others; you imagine yourself safe in the _negligence_, _vanity_,
and _irregularity_ of the world; you take confidence in the _broad
way_, because it is _broad_; you are content with yourself, because
you seem to be along with _the many_, though God himself has told you,
that _narrow_ is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that
find it.
XIX. One word more and I have done. Think with yourself, what a
happiness it is, that you have it in your power to secure a share in
the glories of heaven, and make yourself one of those blessed beings
that are to live with God for ever. Reflect upon the glories of bright
angels, that shine about the throne of heaven. Think upon that fulness
of joy, which is the state of Christ at the right hand of God; and
remember that it is this same state of glory and joy that lies open
for you. You are less, it may be, in worldly distinctions than many
others; but as to your relation to God, you have no superior upon
earth. Let your condition be what it will, let your life be ever so
mean, you may make the end of it the beginning of eternal glory. Be
often therefore in these reflections, that they may fill you with a
wise ambition of all that glory which God in Christ hath called you to.
For it is impossible to understand and feel any thing of this, without
feeling your heart affected with strong desires after it. There are
many things in human life which it would be in vain for you to aspire
after; but the happiness of the next, the sum of all happiness, is
secure and safe to you against all accidents. Here no chances or
misfortunes can prevent your success; neither can the treachery of
friends, nor the malice of enemies disappoint you; it is only your own
false heart that can rob you of this happiness. Be but your own true
friend, and then you have nothing to fear from your enemies. Do but
you sincerely labour in the Lord, and then neither heighth nor depth,
neither life nor death, neither men or devils, can make your labour
vain.
An Extract from Mr. LAW’s
SERIOUS CALL
TO A HOLY LIFE.