What a world of wit is here packed up together! I know not, whether this
sight doth more dismay, or comfort me: it dismays me, to think that here
is so much that I cannot know; it comforts me, to think that this
variety yields so good helps, to know what I should. There is no truer
word than that of Solomon: 'There is no end of making many books.' This
sight verifies it. There is no end: it were pity there should. God hath
given to man a busy soul; the agitation whereof cannot but, through time
and experience, work out many hidden truths: to suppress these, would be
no other than injurious to mankind, whose minds like unto so many
candles should be kindled by each other. The thoughts of our
deliberation are most accurate: these we vent into our papers. What a
happiness is it, that, without all offence of necromancy, I may here
call up any of the ancient worthies of learning, whether human or
divine, and confer with them of all my doubts! that I can, at pleasure,
summon whole synods of reverend fathers and acute doctors from all the
coasts of the earth, to give their well-studied judgements, in all
points of question, which I propose! Neither can I cast my eye casually
upon any of these silent masters, but I must learn somewhat. It is a
wantonness, to complain of choice. No law binds us to read all: but the
more we can take in and digest, the better-liking must the mind needs
be. Blessed be God, that set up so many clear lamps in his Church: now,
none, but the wilfully blind, can plead darkness. And blessed be the
memory of those his faithful servants, that have left their blood, their
spirits, their lives, in these precious papers; and have willingly
wasted themselves into these during monuments, to give light unto
others.--JOSEPH HALL. _Occasional Meditations._