REmember thy Creatour, &c. It is one of the best expressi­ons in the Preacher's Ser­mon: For who knows whe­ther he shall live to be old? And yet that voice which speaks so loudly to the whole World, and still will tell the end thereof, is scarce audible in the eares of many. 'Tis one of this Divine Singer's most harmonious Les­sons; and yet the World is not pleas'd [Page 2] with the tune: Strange! that the Sweet­est of Preachers should have so few fol­lowers being his oratory is so Divine: and yet it is a Text, which though they will neither hear nor read, they cannot chuse but see; for the whole world is but a Comment on it: Every Creature we do but look on, preaches this Doc­trine, which we can so carelesly sleep out, with our eyes open. Nature car­ries this memento in her forehead; the very Brutes in this can reason with us; and it is strange that Man should forget his Maker, did he but remember himself: But alass, youth loves not to be put in mind of Heaven, 't would spoyle his memory, and make him thinke of his Prayers too often. Piety, will but dull his blood, Religion makes him look old; the thoughts of Heaven, and ano­ther World will make him graver then becomes his yeers, his blood tels him he is not yet in a temper to turne Divine, he may serve God time enough, when he can doe nothing else; Thus these earthly objects of Pleasure hurrie away our thoughts from Heaven and its Pu­rer Joyes; we can spend the beauty of our years in vice, and think to please God well enough with the deformi­ties [Page 3] of age: wee can revell our piety and time away in vain delights, and thinke our selves strong enough to force Hea­ven, and become religious when we are wither'd with infirmities, and have no­thing left us but repentance and a tomb. We are so well pleased with the sweet­nesse of sense, that wee are careless of any other felicity; and so much delight­ed with the happinesse of sinning free­ly, that we could willingly be of that Religion which tolerates vice most. We place our devotion with the Epicure in the riots of Nature, sportfull mee­tings are our religious Exercises, a Ser­mon is as troublesome as a Funeral to us; to hear of our end amidst our plea­sure sounds like a death's Lecture, the unwelcome eccho of the Grave. Let the Preacher lesson us never so well, to remember our Maker, Wee had rather follow Satan's doctrine to Injoy the World as long as we can, and thinke of Heaven at our leisure.

And shall the Lusts of the World, O Lord, be greater in my Soul then the Love of thee? shall the temporary de­lights of sin drown the memory of thy glory? My Life is but a Span, and yet I beseech thee shorten that rather then [Page 4] it should be spent in a neglect of Thee: better this Earthly tabernacle should be dissolved, then become a Theatre for sin to revell in; Let me pay Nature the debt I owe her, sooner then perhaps she would call for it, rather than run in score with thy Justice: 'tis better I should dye and be lost in the memory of the World, than forget Thee: Thou broughtest me from nothing, not to sin, but to serve thee, and hast imprinted in me a ray of Thy self, that I might not seek mine own, but Thy Will, nor pur­sue the World but Heaven; make me therefore to see the solid and ravishing consolation that is in serving thee; what Joy accompanies thy grace, that so I may no longer follow my sense but my Saviour. It is none of the least sins of our youth that we are carelesse and forgetfull of Thee our Creatour: and no wonder we are so insensible of the Joyes to Come, that live in such a constant and continued neglect of Hea­ven.

Make me therefore, O my God, to consider, that had I the fruition of all that I can wish, or long for here, I should not onely not be satisfied but in the end find how miserable he is that [Page 5] setteth his heart on any thing but Thy selfe: teach me therefore so to enjoy the World that I lose not thee, nor the memory of that Blessed reward thou hast promised to them that Honour Thee.

WHat an airy fancy was it of some then, to place Paradise beyond the middle region? could they transplant the earth at pleasure? or did the clouds, like so many moving walks, become a seminary of vegetables? Was Erasmus of this opinion when he wisht himselfe en­caged betwixt heaven and earth? How vaine is ambitious frailty in its quest after knowledge! We search for Paradise with more Curiosity then Adam lost it: and when we cannot find it here, yet we will fancy it a place, though above our reach. That there was a Paradise, we need not doubt; He that made it tells us so: but where to find it, he that lost it, knowes not. So suddenly doth sin blast [Page 6] our most innocent pleasures. Scarce had Man taken a view or walke in Para­dise, but this expell'd him: the earth was but in its youth, scarce warm'd by the new born Sun, when this wither'd it into a sterill and decrepit Complexion: nay the heavens, scarce seated in their orbs, were shaken by it, and interrupted al­most in their Motions by the pride and fall of Angells. No sooner had the Ser­pent breath'd out his Contagion, but Paradise changed it's vordure. The Crea­tures fly from the Garden of the world; and infected Man is shut out from his beautifull enclosure: he that was an In­habitant of pleasure it self, for whom the most choise and various fragrancies of the New Created earth were epito­mised together, is stript and cheated of his happinesse by the Spirit of lies, and is glad to be beholding to a Figtree for his first vestment. How perfectly hath his naked Issue inherited his fortune? how many of his wretched sons have been ever since selling their Paradise for an Apple? How does the Covetous wretch adore his Mammon, his yellow God, and Coines heaven and his Salvation into Money, though the stamp be Hell, or the image of the beast? how readily will [Page 7] ambition Court Hell it selfe to serve his interest, make no scruple to sell his Soul for a Glorious vanity, and worship Satan for a kingdome? how does the Sensualist make his life an enterlude, leaving Paradise for Tantalus his Gar­den, and makes wantonnesse his heaven, pleasure his Divinity, and never thinks of a better or another life, but when he is in danger of losing this? How many upstart lights hath Satan sprung to dar­ken Religion, and eclipse the Gospell? how many eyes hath he put out by opening; pretending to cloathe us with more Knowledge and Sanctity, that he might dismantle us of heaven and hap­pinesse? I had rather be for ever blind then use an eye-salve of the Divells pre­scribing; and be for ever ignorant then learne Satans lesson, to belie heaven and distrust my Maker.

So miserable hath sin made us, O Lord, that by it we have lost not onely Paradise but heaven too; forfeited not onely the pleasures of this life, but also the joyes to Come, and with the true Comforts of the world are stript of thy favour too. He whom thou madest the Monarch of the Creatures, grones un­der the bondage of sin; and by the Misery [Page 8] of his Crimes, hath cancell'd almost the glory and miracles of thy work. And now might we have been extinguisht in our guilt, had not He, who is the brightness of thy Glory dropt a new life into our eclipsed natures by the pow­er of his Blood and Merits; and, by re­conciling us to thy selfe, given us an admission to better and more enduring pleasures. Grant therefore that having obtained mercy, we may walke accor­dingly; that being bought for heaven, we may no more sell our selves to sin, nor vainely preferre a few moments of pleasure before an eternity of joy; that so, when our souls shall expire with our breath, they may be transplanted to that Paradise that never fades, and enjoy the pleasures of eternity in the bosome of thy Glory.

Twas fit that the best of Kings should be sutably serv'd; and now he sees himselfe in so glorious a condition, he need not repent of that happy and eter­nall election he made in Gibeon: where amongst all his Sacrifices there was none so pleasing as that which he made of himselfe to the disposall of his God. Did the Princes of the world but make Solomon their Pattern, they might parti­cipate of his fortune, and find a more Glorious Hand supporting their Scep­ters, beyond the reach of the most ad­mired Achitophel. 'Tis not the paint but the piety of a Throne that both secures and adornes it. He must needs be the greatest of Princes whom God Crownes; the richest Monarch, that, besides the enjoyments of the world, receives even a Treasure from heaven. Piety never went unrewarded. God can bestow on his, as well the felicities of this life, as that which is hereafter. But if Solomon [Page 10] bow downe to Harlots, his Crown must fal; and if he forsakes God, sin dethrones him. Greatnesse cannot priviledge from pu­nishment, nor the eminency of a Throne excuse the guilt thereof. He that breath'd out so many Divine Songs, is struck dumbe at the aires of a female tongue, and those Ivory steps the seat of Honour grow black with sin. Had his Guard of Lyons proved true, they would have quickly dismembred those Syrens, that having lost their vertue had nothing but their vices left to charm their fury with. Solomons youthfullnesse in his old age, praecipitated him the sooner to his end, the end both of his life and Glory.

O Lord, if Solomon's Throne was so glorious, how infinitely transcendent must Thine be, from whom Solomon re­ceived his: that under which the pillars of the earth tremble and in comparison of which the lustre of the heavens is but a spark. Though thou hast many thrones, yet the most glorious one is that of thy Mercy, which thou art pleas'd to open to the penitent Sinner. I will look upon the glittering guilded emi­nencies of the world with more delight, because I see the footsteps of thy Glory [Page 11] in them: and the royalties of the earth shall make me but with the greater re­flection aspire after the enjoyment of that Throne, whose beauty and holinesse ravishes the Seraphick Attendants with joy unspeakeable and full of Glory.

SEe how malice hath forced Eliah to a Cave, and he that could not have the Liberty either of Life or Conscience amongst the Children of his People, was glad to finde out a narrower In­closure to save both. The Prophet that spake so many Wonders is for the time become an Hermite; 't was but a kind of a type and praeludium of after-Ages. For, when, through him, I look on those famous Votaries of the Church, who, to overcome the World relinquisht it, turning Caves into Oratories, Caverns into Chappels, and filling the hollow­nesse of a silent Grot, with diviner Ec­choes, than nature knew; I cannot chuse but admire the purity of that zeal, which made solitude its mirth and [Page 12] the freedome of a melancholy devotion the onely object of their Glory; seque­string themselves from men that they might be fitter companions for Angels; and leaving all other Imployments that they might exercise their Graces: These divine Retirers put Satan to the trouble of comming out of his way to tempt them; and so wel obey'd their Ma­sters rule, Fast and pray, that their whole Lives were a Lent. When they could not dye, they liv'd his Martyrs.

If these Pious Exiles, whose Vertue hath more Praises then Practices (men loving now the World too well to leave it) have by so noble a Confine­ment made their memory as sacred as their Lives. How great a miracle must he be, that lives a religious and devout recluse among the croud of sinners? and when the objects of the World face him, Conquers more nobly, by opposing than retreating? He was a true Soul­dier that spatt his tongue into the Har­lots face, lest it should comply with the wantonnesse of hers; and taught his Bloud by nobler motions to obey his Vertue, not his Nature. And he is the divine Hermit, who by not Loving the World leaves it, whilst he lives in it; [Page 13] and excluding himselfe more from the sinne than the society of men, shews, he would not be beholding to solitude for the Glory his Vertue can acquire. Happy hee, that by thus Injoy­ing, both Conquers, and Deserts the World, and makes his way to feli­city through those Sirens that Salute him!

O My Saviour, if I cannot follow Thee in the Wildernesse, yet I will Worship thee in the Garden, where those Divine accents of thy Voice thrice subdued thy Murtherers. Teach me to conforme my selfe to that life which hath so astonisht the World, those sufferings that made the highest Horrour a pleasure, and the Losse of Life a Satisfaction in saving mine. Thou hast taught me that the noblest way to Conquer, is in the midst of E­nemies.

BEhold this Miracle of patience from whom Hell it self could not extort one mis-becomming accent! One that could turn his sighs into Musick, breathe Divinity in Groanes, and Conquer Satan in his tortures, that could turn his Sorrows into Sermons, his Pains in­to pious Lectures; and in all his Mise­ry not vent the least Invective that might staine the purity of his Maker. What an admirable Creature is the va­liant, though afflicted, Soul; whose hopes are mounted above the World, that makes his Crosse his Triumph, and bears his Sufferings with so much pa­tience, you would think he felt them not, as if Piety had made him insensible: his Humility hath taught him to enter­tain his pressures with so much plea­sure, you would think he were in love with Misery; so nobly, that he becomes his very misfortunes, and makes them amiable his Devotion, like the Philoso­phers Stone, turnes all into Gold, and though he live never so poor, yet he is sure to dye rich. His very grave becomes [Page 15] a Cabinet of Pretious dust, and his re­ward is Heaven; to compare him to a Rock that out-braves the waves and lyes fixt when 'tis over-whelmed; to say, that his Piety, like the Sunne, becomes more transparent by being clouded; or that; like the Palm, hee Conquers the very clogs that load him: these are but poor Encomiums for so Divine a Spirit: like the lower Spheres, that, carried about by a higher Orbe, yet have a motion of their own. Though he be surrounded and hurried away with storms, yet still his heart is the true Load-stone that points at Hea­ven. Tell me of Stones that expell poyson, herbs that fright away Thun­der-spels, or incantations; these are but poor Vertues, Compared with his. Like a Diamond, his afflictions do but shape and point him to a Lustre fit to be enchaste among Saints, and Rings of Seraphins: his flames doe but purifie and make his stamp the brighter, and he is not ashamed of his misery because he thinks it as much glory to live as to dye a Martyr. How often did Satan call Job Coward for his patience, in hopes at least to make him rayle against [Page 16] Heaven? He knew he had no other way to conquer him but by himselfe: in­deed, God is then best pleased when he seems to frown at us, and He makes us Sufferers that he might make us Saints. The Israelites must passe thorough a breast of Enemies, if they would come to Canaan. He deserves not to win Hea­ven, whose piety is such a coward that he dares not fight for it.

And shall the leight afflictions of this present World, O Lord, discourage us from thy Service, and drive us from the Joyes to come. Thou discoverest thy Love even in our punishments, and thy Goodnesse in the midst of our Misfor­tunes: Whilst we prophanely questi­on thy Providence, and grumble to en­tertaine the smallest trouble for thy Sake. Were we sensible of thy Glo­ry and the brightnesse of our reward, we should not only submit in a comely obedience to thy Will, but also triumph in our Sufferings; and rejoyce even in the meanest Condition, that we might shevv how much we value thy fa­vour, beyond the interests of the World.

NAture's perfume, the Rose, displayes its treasures through the aire, en­veigling our senses at once both with its Beauty and Odours. Other flowers like Hippocrates have more Colour then smell; but this growes Lovely in its witherings, and retains a sweetnesse e­ven in its dust: and when it leaves to be a poesy may be turn'd into a Cordi­all; as if Nature had Epitomiz'd the vertues as well as the beauties of other Vegetals into one, and made its Para­dise in a Rose. I see, I can cull not on­ly Physick but Divinity from it, and discover the wonders of Creation in the blushing enclosures of a flower. The smallest Violet, as the poet sings, breathes a Diety, and every Plant weares the Livery of Heaven: but in the Crim­son attire of a Rose, I find a more Love­ly Embleme of Him, who is the Rose of Sharon. A Rose in his immaculate Conception, in the beauty and pu­rity of the Divinest Life that ever was or can be, A Rose in his Crown [Page 18] Crown of thornes, the perfume of his prayers, and the fragancy of his miracles. Were the whole earth turn'd into an Arabia, and it's richest odours sublimed to a perfume; were nature rifled of all it's sweets, and it's most ravishing vege­tables, crowded to a posy; yet were they infinitly below the sweetnesse of this Rose. Not that Centinel of nature, the Marigold, the early nymph of the goddess of the morne, that rises from it's golden bed at the first appearance of its Lover; not the Suns wooer, the Helio­trope, that strives to kiss and Circulate with that beaming Mover, as if nature had flowerd the earth with Stars or made it's Coloured progeny idolaters of the Skie; nor all those growing Prodigies that enamour both our eye and thoughts to admiration, are not worthy to be Compared to this Heavenly Mirror, the Rose Sharon.

O my Saviour, I will run after the odour of thy perfumes, and pant after those spirituall delights that stream from thy Throne. Thou art infinitly amiable; O imprint on my soul a purity that makes men capable of thy heavenly infusions, [Page 19] the Divine irradiations of thy Grace and Love. What is the Comelinesse of the Creatures but a drop of that transcen­dent excellency that is in thee? O let it be my delight, as it is my felicity, to imi­tate the perfect innocency of thy life, that through the sweetness of thy merits my Sacrifices may be found pleasing; and that, when this corruptible shall be changed, and this mortall put on immor­tality, I may receive the reward of the faithfull, the inheritance of the just, and be made partaker of everlasting Glory in thy presence for evermore.

NO sooner had Jacob made a stone his pillow (such is the happiness of contented humility) but a glorious Vision salutes his eye: that obedience which brought him from, his father on a [Page 26] journey to Syria, became a nobler guide, and shewed him the way to hea­ven; those divine Travellers, the An­gels, ascending and descending be­fore him. Happy solitude, that met with such heavenly company! the hard­ship of his lodging was abundantly re­compenced by this blessed interview, when the God of his father, the Lord of all creatures, appeared unto him, re­viving him with the gratious supports of his promises and providence. When I look upon the posture of this happy sleeper, I cannot chuse but wonder at the vanity of those, that expect visions from heaven on their beds of down, and look for revelations amidst their plea­sures; their tender spirits would grow fick, and out of love with piety, should it disturb or contradict their ease: How quickly would their devotion catch cold, should they, with David, get up at midnight to pray? God drops not his miracles into the lap of the wanton, nor communicates the riches of his glo­ry, but to those who are resigned to him. John must be an Exile, before he can be the Divine; and have conference with none but Angels, if he would be a fit Notary for heaven. Those holy [Page 21] men, that had no other company than solitude and their prayers, could not have traffick'd so purely with heaven, had they not disclaimed all commerce with the world; and disroabing themselves of all secular interests, obtained a no­bler furniture of grace, and became ves­sels of honour.

Jacob here had no other Canopy, but the aire; no other lights to his bed, than the lamps of heaven; and the Angels pass too and fro, as it were a guard to secure him. How securely doth he rest, that leans on Providence, and makes That the depository of his soul! Repose thus blest becomes a Sanctuary, nor need he fear to be disturbed in his sleep, that makes God his keeper; or that his pious night-thoughts shall have any other dreams, than those of peace.

Jacob had no sooner closed his eyes, but those holy Porters unlock the Hea­vens, and invite him up; but 'tis by a ladder: We cannot climb heaven in a moment; the way to happiness is but by degrees, and, as our Saviour tells us, 'tis narrow too. Every vertue is a step to eternity, and he is so much nearer heaven, that daily treads his vices under. We cannot be too good proficients in a [Page 22] holy life, or thinke that in the small­est acts of piety we have enough to carry us to happinesse: 'tis not a few steps, but a constant progress that mounts us thither. O how bad is he that thinks him­selfe too good to be made better.

The Promises of thy Glory are infinite, O Lord, and yet how carelesly do we embrace them? Thou hast shewen us the way unto thy Self, and yet we are not only unwilling but even weary of walk­ing to thee. Alas, Are the joyes of thy kingdome not worth the coming to? can we think to climbe up unto thy Throne by a lame & idle Devotion? how nimbly do we pursue the vanities of the world, but pretend a faintnesse in thy service? We can run after the perishing concern­ments of this life, but make little or no progresse in the race, which Thou hast set before us; Quicken us, O Lord, and make us more earnest and zealous in thy service; and as thou hast sent thy son to bring us to thy Self, do thou likewise send thy Spirit to sanctifie us for. Thy self; and then we, who of our selves can scarce move unto thine Altar, will, by the assistance of thy Grace, run the way of thy Commandements.

NOt the purest temper, not the vastest Bulke, the world it self, that hospitall of sinners, cannot; for it groanes and travailes, it self, to be deli­vered. Heaven was no longer a place for those ambitious spirits, who ex­chang'd their glory for those flames, which torture them not so much as that infinite despaire, which for ever se­cludes, and sequesters them from it. No wonder some think, there is no other hell then this, for its torments are not to be matcht: Stakes or Gridirons are but flea-bites to this vulture: tortures of the newest fashion, are pleasant Martyr­doms, easie paines, compar'd to this. Those dying miseries, do but storme, and affright sense; whilst this living death, this killing Life, displayes its cruelties on a more heavenly object; and striving to destroy and rifle an Im­mortall part, makes death it selfe a gentle murtherer to it. Skreeks of [Page 24] Owles that add blacknesse to the very night it selfe, groanes of parting souls that fill the eare, and room, with trem­bling Epitaphs, writt in characters mournful as the grave & silence; are har­monies to the dying Elegies of a woun­ded spirit, that breathes nothing but bleeding Satyrs against it selfe. See how with David it goes mourning all the day, and all the night too, surrounded with black and fatal Ideas, and turnes his bed into a bath, which those weep­ing springs, his eyes, have made; and in­stead of bright and gentle aires, breathes nothing but dark & trembling accents, which the buisy Divell labours to re­found back in dolefull and despairing Ecchoes. How sadly doth it expostulate with heaven, My dearest God, what is become of that Lovely attribute, thy Mercy? are the treasures of it shut up from a poore sinner? and wilt thou be a God of mercy to the whole world, and wilt not to me!

O let me for ever dwell in dungeons deep beyond the reach and sight of man, so I may but enjoy the brightnesse of thy face. Let me live more poore and disconsolate then Job upon his Dung­hill [Page 25] in a naked and forsaken deformity, so I may but hide my spots, and put on a Beauty in my soul, which may invite thine eye again.

Who ever thou art that now riotts it in the world, and dalliest with damnati­on, didst thou but know the agonies of guilt, the cruelties of a Murdering sin, and the stings thy pleasures leave behind them, how quickly wouldest thou sa­crifice thy life to nobler services, and employ thy time in sweeter thoughts; Wert thou now to die, how would the terrours of an evill Life affright thee, when every sin would appear a Mes­senger of horrour, and the flattering world prove but an infernall Comfor­ter.

Shew me that Gyant-Conscience this would not at length Master, that fro­zen soul these flashes would not melt and blast againe, that Steel-backt sinner whom gentle loades will not at length numerously over-burden.

The world knowes not a misery like it, the terrours of the Grave are trifles to it, which could it but shroud the Guilty soul, and in it's dark and soli­tary regions promise a freedome from [Page 26] future Misery, how willingly will it buy its peace with death, and beg its sharp­est Dart for a speedier passage: losse of friends or fortune, Crosses to the very bone are but Scratches to these wounds: give me a Catalogue of afflictions and there is none I think, except this, which is not tolerable: But a wounded spirit who can bear?

How unsupportable, O Lord, is the burden of a Wounded Spirit? how ter­rible are the Stings of Conscience, and the apprehensions of thy wrath? how miserable is he that securely wraps himselfe in Sinne, and grows insensible of his guilt till the memory of his Crimes revive it; and when death puts him in mind of the World to come, hath nothing but the horrours of his Life before him. Thou hast plac't an impartial Register in our bosomes which no flattery can bribe, nor teares Silence, from reminding us of thy Ju­stice; and yet how many are there whose Leviathan-consciences, break the Silver Cords of thy Law like threds of Towe; and are so farre from acknowledging their guilt, that they are hardned in im­penitence? But teach me, O Lord, as I [Page 27] sinne so to sorrow dayly; that so when I shall come and appeare before Thee, I may find no other terrours, no other sins my accusers, then those which I have, if not throughly crucified, yet at least seriously repented of in my selfe before.

ANd yet how few are there that per­forme it, which yet is not so much our duty, as it ought to be our de­light. He that hath but once got the habit of adoring his Maker, will quick­ly finde Religion but a pleasure; and that Law which seemes so hard and un­pleasing to the World, will be but a re­creation to his Soul.

But alas, How little is there of Davids piety amongst us now, when instead of delighting in Gods Law, we deface it more; & are so far from meditating in it either day or night, that we never think [Page 28] upon it at all: 'Tis the duty of the world now to sin confidently, and an argu­ment of much valour, to banish this ti­morous religion of fearing either God or his Law. The Preachers doctrine is now grown worse then a paradox, mere Apocrypha, 'tis heresie to revive it. To tell us of our duty, is to scandalize the times, that so officiously break the Law.

And no wonder there are so many Atheists; there was never such a time to engender them as now. Track Antiquity to its first rise, and you cannot match this age again. The world never multi­plied so fast in sin; abhominable Sects, like Colonies, new plant the earth; pro­phaness is grown hereditary, and sprouts out by propagation: so that, in time, posterity may perhaps become Heathens. Were God and his promise mutable, a deluge would be but a sleight punishment. We do not onely sin, but glory in it more, whilst some, not con­tent to be private and silent Atheists, proclaim it loud, and are mad to have the credit of being known so; as if we could not be ingenious enough, unless we denyed our Maker. No wonder, [Page 29] religion is out of tune, when there is no harmony of a Church; of that Chri­stianity sounds low, when common Morality is not heard.

And yet it is a lesson we cannot learn too well, a tribute we cannot pay too much, too often. We owe our beeings to the bounty of his hand, what homage then can we better pay, then that, which by glorifying of him, purchaseth a Crown for our selves.

Tell me, ye blind followers of the world, what's the glory ye pretend to? Ye that laugh at heaven, and make di­vinity a mantle for unrighteousnesse, that, with the Pharisee, count formali­ty your religion, and make an outside-piety your duty. Alass, Heaven is not got by pious frauds, guilded crimes, or fortunate transgressions; nor the divine Eye to be deluded with a painted zeal. 'Tis not a pretended sanctity that can cloathe us with immortality, nor a fa­shionable devotion onely, that will carry us to heaven. How miserable is he, whose god is the world, and makes it his religion to neglect his Maker.

[Page 30]What didst Thou bestow our reason on us for (O Lord,) but to harken unto the voice of thy Law, that the Celesti­all Oratory of thy Word, might at least win us from an ignorant prophanesse? Shall Heathens that had no other end no other reward for their piety, than some temporary applause or the in­ward triumphs of their Spirits for do­ing well, out-strip us in the beauties of a Morall life; and we that have high­er and purer hopes, be scarce honest for thy sake? Shall they that knew Thee not be more passionately Good, than we that have found out Heaven and expect eternity to succeed? Though it was not in the power of Man to find Thee, till Thou didst reveal thy selfe in Christ, yet now having so richly and fully shewn us the Treasures of thy Love, shall we not strive to doe something for thy Glory? Make us, we beseech Thee, to consider the advantages that are in thy Service, the happinesse that at­tends obedience, and that Crown which is the reward of Faith, that so out af­fections being mortified unto these pe­rishing objects here below, may be en­livened onely with desires after those [Page 31] Eternall Excellencyes that are in Thee.

IT was the best Question that ever he put, and gain'd him more then all his Pleading ever did besides; nor could it be any dishonour to him, from a Lawyer to turne Sollicitor in such a suite.

This was the highest Case he ever met with; for 'twas his Soul's; and where hee could better be his owne Clyent, then Counsellour. All his Law could never have divided it, had Hee not so fortunately met with Divinity it selfe to resolve him.

How blinde are they that thinke to finde out the hidden Mysteries of Sal­vation, by their owne shallow brain; that grope for happinesse and eternity [Page 32] in Natures bosome onely; that make Aristotle their Bible, and goe no further than his Ethicks to learne Divinity, whose curiosity is their Religion, and triflingly pour out the happinesse of their time; on some Learned Manuscript, Sacrificing their Nobler Meditations to Nature onely; They study the World so long that they forget Heaven, and are so taken with the Pen of some Witty Mortall, that they seldome peruse Scripture, that Language of Life, the Celestiall Oratory of the Spirit.

The good Lawyer hath so long la­boured in other mens businesse, he had almost forgot his owne; his many mo­tions had well nigh talkt away his better part: 'twas now time to speak for himselfe; and, after all his wrang­ling, thinke of a VVritt of Ease.

How naturall are the Thoughts and Enquiries after happinesse in every one? The very Pagans would have a Paradise, as well as gods, of their owne making; and rather then want a felicity, they would phancy an Eli­zium.

'Tis the genuine Ambition of the [Page 33] Soul to thirst for something beyond the World: how vain are they, then, that make the World their happinesse, and place Heaven in their Injoy­ments heere? how Inquisitive are some Lawyers of the World, whose que­stion it is, How they may grow Rich, whose Divinity it is to become weal­thy, and count a good purchase the best inheritance. See how the Ambi­tious man gapes after preferment, and places his felicity in his fortune, making honour his Heaven, worshipping the Glit­tering world, and sels Eternity for a title.

See how the Covetous wretch locks up Heaven in his Chest, and ties his happinesse in a bagge: whose Diety is his Money, and still his Question is, how to get more. See how the sen­sualist Courts the world and makes plea­sure his happinesse, that spends a good inheritance on his lusts, but never seeks how to get a better.

So sadly do our vices drown Religion that we are inquisitive after any thing but Heaven: we all run after happinesse, but cannot over-take it, because it is not to be grasp't within the armes of Mortality. 'Tis not all the flattering [Page 34] honours and guilded frailties of the World, that can match Eternity, and bring us to a never dying Mansion: we must looke for somewhat that is as im­mortall as our Soules, more durable then time, and cannot receive a peri­od with our breath. 'Tis every Mans Case as well as the Lawyer's; and every Lawyer's as well as his: 'tis a Question that will become any Profession, for it concernes all to enquire betimes what shall they doe to inherit Eternall Life?

With what pleasure, O Lord, do we embrace and runne after our earthly ad­vantages; but seldome reflect upon that time when wee and all things with us shall receive a period? Wee can entertaine any thing with more delight, then that which concernes us most, the happinesse of the World to Come.

Wee are more earnest after the peri­shing interests of this Life then in lay­ing up a treasure for eternity, and ma­king provision for our inheritance a­bove: We beseech thee, make us to see the little use, but the great vani­ty that is in this World; that so the [Page 35] pleasures of it may not steale away our thoughts from the Contemplation of a Better.

HAppy she, that was found worthy so great an expression! her female tongue made amends for all its former follies, having now by its pious answers merited so divine an encomium. Poor woman, how rich was she, in whose breast was minted a treasure which Kings and Princes compared, are beggers to. All Palestine with its balm and spices, could not furnish her with an antidote to revive her child and charme away the Divell. See the miracles of Faith, that could save two souls the, Mother's and the Daughter's!

So miraculous that even a graine of it can remove Mountaines, levell Hills, and plaine the most rugged and lofty Soul into an humble and fruitfull val­ley.

[Page 36]'Twas this that smoothed the surface of the Ocean, that made the waves a walk, and turned their furious curles into a pavement for Peter's feet. 'Twas the Centurion's faith that stav'd death away from his servant, which all his Guard could never have kept off; that restored the blind mans eyes again, and made him see better than nature could have done. All the wonders of the Gos­pell were still closed up with, Thy faith hath healed thee. And yet that Faith; which then wrought so many miracles, is now become the greatest miracle it self, whilst some take the signe for the thing; they place the greatnesse of their faith in the greatnesse of their works, and have so good an opinion of them­selves, that they think it faith enough meerly to do well. Others hope, to be canonized for their doctrines, though not for their lives, scorn the company of all religious duties, and think to travell to heaven by their faith, which is alone. Obedience, true sorrow for sin, that love­ly robe of a mourning soul, and the no­bler ornaments of our spiritual warfare, are but empty ceremonies, & both these men's Creeds are of their own making: [Page 37] but heaven is not got by speculation onely; He that placeth his faith in his braine, and thinks religion hath not its agenda too, may like Moses view and talke of Canaan a farre off; but never enter it. Our Obedience must be low­der then our Pretensions; 'tis not a noise that will Saint us, 'tis not our Professions onely but our Practices too, that proclaime our faith.

Though our Merits cannot reach heaven, yet our indeavours may, if un­feigned; because there is a mercy that will pardon our defects: all the blossoms of our Piety sprout out from this stem, and he that either believes or loves his Saviour, cannot think he strives too much to live well.

This was the womans Faith here, and she had scarce pour'd it out with her Teares, when Satan all affrighted for­sakes his hold, not able to abide the Ec­cho of its sound, seconded by the di­viner accent of our Saviours Lips. And this faith must be our Amulet against sin, and by its diviner charmes drive Satan to his chaine: 'Tis this that prepares heaven for us, that makes us survive our toombs, become Im­mortall [Page 38] in our graves, and promises eternity to our dust; tis this that seales our happinesse and brings us there where the same Jesus shall receive us with an Euge to his Glory,

Thou sentest thy Son, O Lord, to die for us that by beleeving in him wee might have life. He under whom thou hast put all things, was pleased to put himself under them and left his Throne to be Crucified for our soules, that we might receive the Triumphs of his pas­sion, and be partakers of his Glory. O let not those miseries of our natures which first invited thy mercy, make us uncapable of it: let not those that knew Thee not but by thy miracles, be more zealous in their acknowledging thy goodnesse, then we who by the manifes­tation of thy love plead an interest in thy blood. But grant that we may live in a perpetuall Gratulation to thy merits, who camest from the Bosome of thy Father to save our souls. To this end do thou give unto us that faith without which it is impossible to please thee, and with which thou givest every other grace: teach us so to rely on thy mercy that we [Page 39] may not neglect the meanes, or thinke that a Dead faith will carry us to that life, which Thou hast promised to none but such as worke out their salvation with feare and trembling.

SEe how religiously Mary stoopes to behold her Saviour in his Toomb, whilst her yonger Sisters that spend more time on their dresse then their devotion will scarce kneel to their praiers. 'Twas not an apparition of Angels in the shape of Ghosts, nor the mournfull silence of a toomb, where dwelt no other object then death, cloathed all in horrour, that could fright her from her contempla­tion.

See the power of Divine love that can even with pleasure looke that in the face, whose very aspect onely strikes the world to palenesse; and stand not onely at its doore, but enter into its chamber to meet heaven; and without feare in [Page 40] the sad and solitatry vault, repose it self among the bones and carkases of the Dead, and make a Coffin its pillow till the morne. Thus the martyrs triumph'd in their flames, and were charioted up in raptures by fire; as if the greedie ele­ment had warm'd them only. How nobly did they meet death, and sang Anthems to the musick of their Chaines, as if they had been rather Priests then sacri­fices in that cruel solemnity!

How sweetly did Stephen close his eyes after he had seen Jesus, and heaven opened; and then cheerefully expired under an heape of stones; a monument richer than the proudest marble, having with his owne blood writ himselfe this Epitaph, the best of any; I am the first Martyr.

Thus the Saints made their torments their pleasure, and turned death with all its terrours into a scene of mirth. 'Twas not the rage of Tyrants, nor the fury of the most ingenious kinds of torture, that could force them from the love of Jesus.

He that loves his Saviour will with Mary not only stoop, but step into a [Page 41] Toomb, and passionately embrace even a Coffin for his sake, he will looke on death but as the Messenger of his Glory the Harbinger of his happinesse; and therefore with St. Paul all in rap­tures, all in flames, beg a dissolution; whilst his soul full of nothing but ap­proaching heaven is all in extasies trans­ported thither.

How hardly can we be perswaded, O Lord, to forsake the vanishing pleasures of this life for thy glory and our owne happinesse? How unwillingly should we lay downe our lives for thy sake or the Gospells, that can so hardly part with one sin in obedience to thy Law? Thy yoake is easy, and thy service a perfect freedome; and yet we count thy san­ctuary a prison, thy law a trouble, and can scarce sacrifice so much time to our devotions as to pay unto Thee the hon­our due unto thy name. Pardon and pity this Corruption of our frames; and teach us whether we live or die; to delight in that for which thou mad'st us; even to glorifie Thee: that so whensoever this earthly tabernacle shall be dissolved we may receive our change with joy and [Page 42] be carried by Angells to an everlasting inheritance.

O Who can hear this and not dissolve all in pious showrs? Can the most most frozen eye read this and not thaw its selfe all in streames? He that hath not so much piety as to weep for himself or his sins, yet let him have so much hu­manity as to accompany his Saviour's teares.

And yet see how the marble Jewes, instead of seconding, censure his greife with a, Could not he that restored the eyes of the Blind, have kept Lazarus's open?

No wounder they would not be mourners with him, who were to be murderers of him, and be but little sensible or compassionate of his teares whose cruelty was scarce satisfied with dearer drops, when his whole body be­came an eye that wept blood.

And yet, Divinest Saviour, how many [Page 43] are there that beare thy title, but indeed are Jewes, that pretend to wear the livery of thy name, but blot out the golden characters of thy cross. How coldly must they needs be affected with thy teares, that are scarce sensible of thy sufferings; and be but carelesse of thy life, who are so forgetfull of thy death?

O Mary, how richly are thy teares now required, those eyes that became moving baths for thy Saviour's feet, did sure now run over to see His brim-full and distill drops, whose very inbalming revived thy Brother.

O Lazarus! didst thou but know thy glory, thou wouldst dye still, to be so lamented, and willingly be buried in thy grave again to be so honorably bedewed.

No question, when thou wert a spect­ator of his sufferings, but thou didst exceed the women in their teares, and sacrifice thy Eyes in showers to thy divine Restorer.

This was indeed the grearest funerall that ever the world saw, or is like to see; for the Lord himselfe was a Mourner here.

Divinest Saviour, thou wept'st so those [Page 44] that could not, and for many that would not weep for themselves, and wouldst not denie thy tears who pouredst out thy life: thou art so in initly good, thou desirest but unfained sorrow for sin to excuse the gilt thereof; and yet so farre are we (such is our misery) from accom­panying thy teares, that we can scarce weep for our owne sins. O teach us, in a pious gratitude to do something for thy sake, who hast done so much for ours; that as thou hast glorified thy selfe by our redemption, wee may also glorifie thee by a constant thanksgiving; and may no more sell ourselves to sin, that have been so dearly bought for heaven and the joys of thy kingdome.

CAn the dead eate then? was not Lazarus but new wound up in his grave, and is he set at meale? Is his toombe turn'd into a table? and does he wipe his hands in the napkin that bound up his head? He that was ready to have feasted wormes now feasts himselfe, and is risen from his dead companions a guest amongst rhe living.

We read indeed of some that all pale and liveless, were stretcht out for a coffin but reviv'd again, when that little spark of life, that lay glimmering in the expi­ring embers, in a corner of the panting heart recovered its flames. But here death and Lazarus had imbrac't too clo­sely to be so parted. His soul had likely taken its flight before, and his body lay so long in his mothers armes, 'twas just dissolving into its principles againe: and behold him now above, ground, as if but newly risen from his bed, all fresh with life and vigour: he hath changed his chamber, and from the lower [Page 46] regions of the other world is returnd to his old lodgings, where he is now at supper throng'd with multitudes of people that come not for almes, but to be spectators of this wonder. Had the end of the world been then, or a resur­rection of others for company, Lazarus at his arrivall to the world againe, might well have phansied with his countrymen, that the second life should be on earth, and heaven kept in pleasures here.

No, Lazarus, though now alive thou must dye againe to live for ever; nor must thy revivall now, con ummate thine, but manifest Gods glory; though it be thine too, above expression, to have been thus the subject of it. Thou needst not feare to dye againe having done it once, nor doubt but that hee who raised thee now, will do it hereafter too. Didst thou ever thinke to have injoyed this world againe; or to have been freed from thy imprisonment, till the great and generall delivery? 'Twas beyond thy Sister's faith till she saw it; and now having had two lives, if thou spentest the former on thy selfe, or the world, thou didst wholly sacrifice the latter to thy divine Restorer.

[Page 47]How many expiring soules, all fright­ed with the horror of their crimes, could they but have their span a little length­ned; or, after an age's durance in their graves, but revive a litle before their doome; how gladly would they turne their songs of pleasure into penitentiall anthems, their profane notes into di­viner ayres; and tune out their lives in pious straines.

But alasse! he that cannot imploy this life well, in vaine expects to do it in another, which he is not worthy of might it be obtained. He whose piety here hath reacht him a taste of heaven, a glimpse of happinesse, will be so little in love with the vanities of this world, that instead of desiring a longer or another life here, he will be but ambitious of leaving This.

It was by thy power, O Lord, That Lazarus, carried out to his grave, should returne alive. That Mournefull expression (thy friend is dead) drew thee to the discovery of thy love and power, in his resurrection. O let there be the same concurrence of thy Grace and spi­it, to the raising and reforming of my [Page 48] soul to a new and holy life; it was the misery of expiring man that drew thee from the bosome of thy Father to re­deem him. O let the Scepter of thy word and truth be as powerfull in its heavenly influence upon my soul, as the Prophet's staffe that reviv'd the dead; that so dying daily I may live for ever, and being p [...]epared for my death, may enter into that life from which nothing but sin can exclude me.

SEe how sweetly is the Disciple Couch't? how boldly doth he make his Master's breast his pillow, loading him with a double burden, his sins, and himselfe?

Blest familiarity! Would not Kings leave their thrones to have been in his room, and ambitiously forsake their Golden Canopies, for su [...]h a teposure? Here might the vastest ambition both seat and satiate it selfe without aspiring [Page 49] higher: the greatest Avarice might here have found a treasure beyond which it could not cover. What Lover would not scorne the lap of the most admired female, for such an enjoyment, and be­come a Diviner Amorist.

Was not this Disciple above the rest? If this be not a precedency, what is? a dignity which none besides himselfe succeeded in.

Happy Favorite! Who would not have trampled Crownes and Scepters for such preferment? Had Mary, in whose bosome (once Love's Cradle) so many wantons lull'd themselves, that turn'd her eyes into Living Mineralls, and her haire into a towell of the newest fashi­on, been graced with such a priviledge, not her eyes onely but the noblest rivo­lets of her blood would have over­flowne, all transported out in gratefull streames. How pleasingly doth the Dis­ciple lay his eare to that Heart which was the life of the world, as if he would count its motions, and by its Divine pulse be rockt asleep in raptures?

Behold, O my soul, and see in the po­sture of this happy man, the Emblem of [Page 50] thy owne felicity, the place of thy re­ception and future Glory. Art thou am­bitious of it here, then behold him on his Crosse with his armes extended to receive thee: O run and rowle thy selfe on that Breast, the fear of Love, wherein lies all the treasures of thy happinesse. Thou hast a priviledge even beyond the Disciple, for thou mayst not only leane and depend, but embrace him too: In­circle him now then with the choisest endeerments of thy soule, the most pas­sionate raptures of a Lively faith; and so the same Jesus that permitted the Dis­ciple here to lean on his breast, will re­ceive thee likewise in his arms hereafter, and place thee for ever in the bosome of his Glory.

ANd yet men had rather lose their souls than the world. He for whom the world was made, makes him­selfe for the world, disappointing him­selfe of all his Glory, and by a more then brutish transmutation, buries the Divinity of his soul all in earth.

Heare this then ye, Inhabitants of the world, yee that fowle all in sense, and climb no higher then the elements for Heaven; that can pawne your souls for a fading pleasure, and count a delightfull misery your felicity.

Hear this, thou aspiring Vapour, whose ambition elevates thee to consume thy selfe; thou that wilt worship Satan for a Kingdome, and do him homage for a Crowne, paying him a revenue worth a thousand worlds, the immortall tri­bute of a soul; till thy triumphs be tur­ned to torments, thy revellings of hon­our [Page 52] into regrets of horrour, and thy Chaire of state into a bed of flames.

Heare this, thou Sensualist, whose soul is as unconfined as Brutes, that pantest for pleasure more then ever the Camae­lion did after aire, thou that wadest all in sin, and overwhelmest Morality in floods of vice, bathing thy selfe in those wanton streames that drown thee, that countest religion but a fable, the lives of Saints a melancholly Romance, and laughest at heaven as if eternity were but a fancy.

Heare this, O thou Miser, whom the Silver Rhetorick of a bag can court to Hell, and art greedily wonne to damne thy selfe at the Musick of a purse; that canst gaze thy selfe blind at the splen­dour of a Gemme and cursest Geography for describing riches beyond thy reach; wishing thy selfe an Indian that thou mightest dwell among Treasures, and in­habit Mines, till thy very haire became silver indeed, till thou thy selfe went all turnd to Ore, and and every Bone into a wedge of Gold.

Heare this, ye Gallants, that are so en­amounted with the fashions of this world, that ye have lost all Idaea's of a [Page 53] better ye that live meerly to please your sense, and feed your luxury with the curious martyrdom of a thousand creatures. As ye have purer veins, have purer passions too, and have nobler in­clinations for heaven: the riches of your attire wil not cloathe you with immor­tality: should you sell your estates when ye die, 'twould not purchase paradise. It was the best speech the old Oratour ever uttered when he said, he would not buy repentance so deare. 'Twas but an extemporary expression, and yet all his Rhetorick could never match it: that one straine was worth all his Orations and will outfame the labours of his pen.

Could we treble the lives of Patri­archs, and with them the pleasures of the grandest Epicures; Could we, like Cleopatra, in a dissolv'd pearl swallow the treasure and pleasure of a kingdome at a draught; or command the Creatures as peremptorily as ever the Centurion did his servants; had we all the enjoy­ments we can either wish or fancy, what ever the ambition of the most vaine and carnall appetite can long for; were the whole earth turnd into a pa­radise, or a constant spring beautifying [Page 54] its face. Could we live and not grow old, or being old not feele the miseries of age; could we unwind time againe and reverse it's wheels, stop the coeles­tiall Mercuries, the posts of heaven, in their course and set the Great Clock of the world backward againe; nay, were our bodies as durable as our soules, that we could out live Time it self, and be above ground, even when the world shall re­ceive its period: yet what shall we get, if after all our imaginary felicities and sliding contentments, we become a sa­crifice for hell, enlisted in the cursed catalogue of the damned crue, a victime for eternal flames, lost for ever from God and Heaven. Then tell me who ever thou art and aske Dives himself, What is man profited though he should gaine the whole world, and lose his owne soule?

What is there in the world, O Lord, that we should love it thus, weary our selves in vaine desires and make the pleasures of this life our felicity? How hard is it for him that is a stranger to thy law to perceive the emptinesse of those enjoyments he hath so long rowled [Page 55] himselfe in, to resist the tempting ad­vantages of sin, and undervalew the fla­shes of this life for that glory Thou wilt impart. My God, teach me so to en­joy the world that I lose not Thee, let the blessings thou bestovvest quicken and increase, not dul my devotion; raise up my obedience not drowne my gra­titude: that so the vanities of the world may be my scorne, and the joyes of hea­ven my onely ambition; that I may ne­ver for a perishing fruition in this life lose both my soule, and thy grace, to­gether.

WHo then would not strive to be­come pure? No wonder David, was so earnest for a clean heart, and a right Spirit: if this be the reward of Pi­ety who would not become religious? Blest Spirits! how happy, how pure are ye, that behold the face of your Heaven­ly Father, who would not labour to im­itate you heer, that he might be like you there, and possesse joyes such as rap­tures never knew. Shall the false and treacherous vanities of the World steale away our hearts, and rob us of the hopes of this Glory, the fruition of this Sight?

A Sight, in Comparison whereof the royalties of the World, the triumphs and splendours of the eye, and the beau­ty of the whole Creation is not worth the looking at. A sight, which no eye ever saw, but may, if it do not blindly lose it selfe on objects heere. No Ear ever heard its perfect description; but [Page 57] may the Harmony and Halelujahs of it, if it bow not to the charms of sinne and the musick of the flesh.

'Tis a sight, whose Ideae cannot be drawn by the most lively, and subtile Speculations of any Scholastick brain though never so Angelical; 'tis not fancy but piety can reach it.

The Divine Traveller St. Paul him­selfe, though newly there, could not give us a Copie of it; and Scripture Characters it out but in Similitudes, to shew how infinitely transcendent is that Glory which is so much above ex­pression, so much above all com­prehension. Were all the Diamonds the earth is mother of, mustred to a Splendour they would not match the smallest glance of the Sun's eye: and yet that noble Luminary surrounded with so many waiting Starrs, that begge their lustre from him, is but a sparke to the Brightnesse of of His face.

Who then would sacrifice that part to the World, which may become the instrument of so much happinesse? and suffer the extravagancies of his blood to revell there, where nobler passions and flames should triumph?

[Page 58]He that would dwell among the Spirits of the just, must teach his own to become so; and turne his body to a Temple, wherein his heart must be the the Altar and Sacrifice too; or rather a kinde of Sanctum Sanctforum, for the choisest Gifts of the Spirit, to inha­bite.

The Seat of Life must be turn'd into the Seat of Love, and the pallace of the Spirits into a Court of Graces, and then that part which (as Naturalists observe) is the first that lives, and the last that dyes, shall become purely vitall, and not dye at all.

Nothing but a Trinity can fill this Triangle, which we must therefore shape to the purest forme, and teach it in all its pulses, to beate nothing but Heaven and Sanctity. Our breasts must become Clossets of Devotion and our hearts the Cabinets of innocency and prayer, enricht with that great diamond, a lively faith, the Lamp at which all our smaller Graces as Can­dles light themselves, and like Stars borrow their Lustre from this Lumi­nary.

'Tis not a heart that can dance to the [Page 59] Tune of any Religion, and pretend a Sanctity which it wears onely in its face, that makes Fancy its Conscience, and stiffnesse of humour tendernesse of Spirit.

No, 'tis a heart robed with Humili­ty and Crowned all with Love, per­fum'd by Prayers, the odours of Cha­rity, and the fragancies of a pious life, that couches it self within the arms of our Saviour's Spouse, and becomes a mourner in its perfections, that looks upon the World as the Enemy of its Glory, and had rather dye then be a Re­bell against Heaven. 'Tis such a Heart that prepares us for this Vision; and happy is he, that's such a Puritan.

Strengthen us therefore, O Lord, against the vanities of the World, and raise up our thoughts to the Contem­plation of thy Glory. Levell in us e­very proud thought that dares exalt it selfe against the power and purity of thy Law: and Sanctifie us for thy selfe and thy Service more, that the practise of a Holy life may be, as it ought, our chiefest employment, that so when we depart from hence we may be receiv­ed to Thee, and being seen no more [Page 60] heere may for ever see there, what be­fore, neither eye hath seen, nor eare heard, nor heart conceived, the Glory thou wilt impart in the fruition of Thy selfe.

IS not sinne a Leprosie! Then the Le­pers Prayer, is every Sinners too. Hee that had seen the Leper's body, would not have wondred at his Prayer: and yet could he but have viewed his Soul, he might perhaps have seen objects of more prodigie and Horrour: the miseries of his blood which had lost its verdure, and become but an unprofitable friend to Nature, every part being as it were dead-alive, by so unnatural a Nutrition, taught his tongue this Necesary though Mournfull kind of Confidence, Lord, if thou wilt.

And Hee, whose Compassion never failes, to shew that his Goodnesse was as great as his power, would not reject [Page 61] a Suite wherein his Mercy was con­cerned; and those limbes which might have been sooner drown'd then bathed into a Cure, re-assume new life and beauty by the bounty of a Touch.

Thus the Leper is new bodyed a­gaine: but we read not of any Cure wrought upon his better part, and that perhaps had more need. The bedrid Man his Successour was farre happier, whose sinne and disease were both taken a­way together.

How many are there that, like the Leper, looke no higher then their bo­dyes, whose Superficies is all their re­ligion; whilst the nobler peece that gives them life, lyes all neglec­ted under some Chronicall infecti­on?

Our blood shall have all the delica­cies, that Art or the most Chymicall Luxury can invent to feed its flames; whilst our brighter part, the Divine and Celestiall fire which inspires us, lyes all quencht and rob'd of its immortall aliment, and can carry back nothing but a dimme and Hectick lustre to it Ma­ker.

The torment of Limbe shall teach [Page 62] us more devotion in an houre then all the concernments of our Soules could do in a yeer before, and the deformity of the meanest part will be an object of more shame and sorrow to us, then those pale and infernall shapes that attend sinne and disfigure Heaven in us.

Of all plagues this is the greatest and yet least feared, as if Hell were but a Toy, Damnation a Pleasure, and the miseries of our Soules a Recreation to us.

Shew me that beauty that's not a Le­per, that innocence which carries not a guilt to blush at; that Saint, that infant man, that knowes not what it is to sinne.

Were our veines purer then the lips of Violets that perfume the Chymistry of the aire, the drops of the Morne; were Adam's sinne a stranger to our blood, and our birth cleer, as the Morn, innocent as the new-blown Rose: yet the deformity of our lives would soon teach us this prayer, and the blacknesse of our very thoughts would silently proclaime our ugliness.

And yet, was not there not in those [Page 63] dayes a Generation that were cleane in their own eyes, that justified them­selves even in their impurity and coun­ted all the World but Lepers to them? Was not the Pharisee a greater Leper than the Publican, though so proudly he displayed his best plumes? His ve­ry Pride carried more Contagion with it, than the other Mans Sinns all put to­gether.

Hee that trusts to the merit of his owne paint, may lose Heaven and those joyes which an humbler Confidence secures.

O Lord, though I am not so bad perhaps as some, yet am I so b [...]d in my selfe, that the Leper heere is a beauty to my Soul, Lazarusse's Corps a come­linesse to my sores: yet were I more im­potent then the Cripple of Bethesda, more Leprous then the Nine, whose ingratitude was more loathsome then their disease; were those Legions, e­jected by thy word, received in me; were I as bad as Satan could wish to make me; yet I know thy Goodness and I do not doubt thy power. For, Lord if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean.

HOw securely did these sinners cram themselves for destruction? or, as if forseeing their inundation, they would by full stomacks labour to prevent an entrance. Life and luxury were such in­separable companions here, that nothing but Death could part them. They had waded so long in an Ocean of sin, it was impossible to escape drowning, and not be surrounded with the depths of a quick and overflowing judgment.

Noah might have preach't himselfe dumb, and have sooner talk't himself a­sleep in mild and fluent admonitions, than awake these drunkards; had not the waves made use of a rougher language; and, in their owne swelling dialect, the prodigious roring of the depths buried them and their riotts in silence toge­ther.

Had not God otherwise promised the world how often had it since been de­lug'd? They were but eating & drinking; [Page 65] but we do even glut and carrouse it in sin, commit ryots upon Hell, and can teach the Epicure himselfe to revell.

Our forefathers were but dwarfs to us in sin, whose transgressions have to far transcended theirs in bulk, that we are become greater Giants in iniquity then those of the first age.

So monstrous is Sin still in its product­ions, that the whole earth like an in­fernal Africk brings forth new prodigies of vice daily, that (were the world in a consumption as some think 'tis, in vertue onely, and the iniquities of the times) when they seem to be quite full, are but increasing still.

They were but cold phlegmatick crimes that drown'd the world, to the fiery sins of this hotter age, that shall (and have already almost) set it in a combustion. 'Tis another element then that of water, must punish the feared Consciences of this age; and chaines of darknesse must fetter those that run after new lights, the metors of their owne invention.

The world was already drown'd in sin, when the waters, to compleat it's excesse, came and carried away these living-dead men, and buried them in the same grave together.

[Page 66]Such is the fruit of a carelesse life, the miseries of a retchlesse impenitency; they were revelling in their feasts when the greedy element devoured them, and they that drank iniquity like water, had a fit punishment for their iniquity. The waves grow high and mount up to a tombe, the sea becomes a spatious mon­nument both to hide and wash away their sin, and they that swam in mirth, are now swallowed up in streames, and little dreaming of their deaths, are ship­wrackt in their very houses in the midst of their pleasures, being fatally suprized by a terrible and unwelcome guest.

So righteous art Thou, O Lord, and infinitely pure, that thy Justice, though it may seeme to winke at, yet will not pardon impenitence, nor passe by the resolv'd impieties of wilfull transgress­ours: and yet so infinitely good that thou never heightenest thy punishments but when men do their iniquities; nor are thy judgments epidemicall but when sin is so. Thou that desirest not the death of a sinner, wouldst not have destroyed so many even all, had not their transgressions been so universally pro­digious, [Page 67] that they came up in a cry to­gether to pull downe thy justice. And though thou hast since out of the great­nesse of thy love and compassion promi­sed a security from the same, yet not from all punishment. Let the memory therefore of those that perisht by thy wrath for their neglect, remind us of our duty and thy glory; that so the ex­amples of thy judgments upon others, may teach us, by a lively repentance to prevent our owne.

BEhold the character of a good Magi­strate! one that might well be sty­led the father of his country though a Roman, whose patronage so eminently extended itselfe over both, and the best part of their commonwealth.

This man was Cheife not onely in place but in piety too, all Judea could not match him, which since it lost its freedome, was not wont to find [Page 68] or enjoy the happinesse of such Rulers: and had they not hated Idolatry they would have worshipped this lover of their nation.

Herod indeed, did re-build their Tem­ple, but it was more for feare then love; 'twas not out of piety but policy, the better to get the crowne; 'twas his am­bition not his devotion, that founded that stately edifice; not somuch out of zeale to God or his countrey, as out of pure religion of becoming King.

Such is the Sanctity of the world; which makes Gods Honour, not the foundation, but a passage to their owne; turnes religion into a footstool for am­bition, and makes heavenly pretensions a stair-case to iniquity.

The Centurion here was a benefactor to the Nation out of pure zeal; and if not of their religion, yet a great freind to it; whose charity, not content to shew it selfe in the management of their civill interests only, so nobly em­ployed its power for the good of their souls and Church.

Unlike the Rulers of the world, whose Religion it is to have none at all, and are such lovers of sacred Foundations, [Page 69] that instead of laying new, they are the onely new fashion Templers, that dare fight for to ruine the old, and defend their pulling down. Piety is lovely even in the meanest, but in Kings and governours it carries a splendour like those rayes that surround the head of a pictur'd Saint.

Pyramids, whose proud-reach dares justle the clouds and make them stum­ble in their race; Piles of Alablaster carv'd to various shapes and pictures, lively as the dead, and the more like because both breathlesse; Tombes of marble; Vaults of brass, are but poor monu­ments, worthlesse conservatours, to that building without hands, wherein deceased Piety eternally shall live.

The Centurion here by building Syn­agogues, rais'd a structure to his owne memory that hath out lasted them; and the Jewes, ravish't with such unwonted favours in a Ruler, to expresse their Gra­titude, run in streames to Jesus, and pe­tition him to heal his Son, pressing him with an argument of great force with them; for, He hath loved our Nation, and built us a Synagogue.

Such honour have all they that Ho­nour [Page 70] Thee, O Lord, whose zeale for thy Glory, seldome returnes empty to themselves: the meanest offering to thy Altar, is not onely accepted, but rewar­ded too; and they that make it their Ambition to exalt thy Name, shall not have theirs forgotten.

Let not those that knew Thee not, be more passionate for thy Glory then we, whose very Profession ought to adorne our Religion; whose bodies ought to become Temples, fit to entertaine thy Spirit, the spirit of Holinesse of Love.

Thou wilt now no more be worshipt in Synagogues, but more spirituall As­semblies: Teach us therefore, to turne our souls into Sanctuaries, and to raise up our thoughts in more lively addresses that we may not so much endeavour, to obtaine the worlds time by a moral fame as by the Sacrifice of obedience, the Righteousnesse of eternity.

IT was the best resolution he ever made: nor can any blame him for his boldnesse, when it was his glory to have been an intruder; he might have gone on long and farre enough, and not have met with such heavenly Company. Was it his Confidence, or his Love to Jesus, that put him on?

See with how pious an importunity he accosts him, whom perhaps, he had never seen, nor known before but by his Miracles onely; and that life which so astonish't the eyes of the world, could not but attract his and his heart too; and therefore thinking it no presumpti­on to use all meanes of bettering him­selfe, nor willing to lose so fair an op­portunity of becoming happy, ambiti­ous of an admission, all in raptures without any other Complement then an humble earnestnesse, salutes Him. Lord, &c.

Nor could our Saviour's poverty stop [Page 72] or weaken his resolve, or discourage his intention; being not onely Content, but Ambitious to share even in the mi­series of so good a Master, in whose very wants he should find a felicity be­yond all the enjoyments of the earth.

Is not this Man a president for the whole world? He that will not follow Jesus out of love, yet let him not for shame suffer a Jew or Publican to out­step and strip him too. Are the joyes of an everlasting Blisse, of so poor a value; that they are not worth the coming to? or shal we think any step too weary that brings us to happinesse?

Were the way to heaven but strewed with roses or a thousand pleasures to re­vive the flesh, the sensualist would turne a constant walker there, and be the for­most in those pathes; the rich Man can­not follow Jesus for his pretious Lug­gage: with which, because he cannot; without it, he will not stirre.

The Epicure will not be of a Religi­on that prescribes him temperance; for although perhaps he might make a shift to pray, he cannot tell how to fast.

The way to heaven is too narrow for Ambition, whose lofty port loves not to [Page 73] be strained in its passage, but must have a road wide as the world or Hell can make him, wherein his traine of sinfull glories may follow him in a breast toge­ther.

So difficult a thing it is, to leave the world even for heaven, and strive against the blandishments of sense for an inva­luable blisse; as if all our hopes, all our happinesse were lap't and tied up in the Concernments of this life onely, and no other expectation for us besides the pleasures of Mortality.

And yet how many are there that pre­tend to follow Jesus but are meer stran­gers to his footsteps, that pursue tracks not of his making, but their owne find­ing. That path which so many holy men have footed before us, is too common, too prophane for them to tread in; they have found out a neerer Cut of their own, and think they shall come to Hea­ven the sooner by turning out of the way. So unfortunate is that zeal which will needs be wandring after spu­rious and impostur'd Lights; and scor­ning the usuall footsteps of the Church, loses it selfe in the blind and dark Me­anders of Enthusiasme.

[Page 74]The way to heaven is not in a Cor­ner, and however narrow, is open still: 'tis a path whose prospect is happinesse; nor need he feare to lose his way, that doth not wilfully turne out of it, the poore Man here, all transported, runs to Jesus, and mixing Humility with Reso­lution, because he will not be denyed, in a begging kind of Confidence tells him, Lord &c.

Who would not foot it even through wants and wildernesses, to come to Ca­naan? He that followes Jesus shall have no Cause to repent his journey. He shall find such treasures even in the po­verties of religion, so much of Heaven and Contentment in the seeming mise­ries of a pious life, that he will not need much perswasion to make it his own re­solution here, and cheerfully leave all to follow Jesus.

Do thou therefore elevate our souls from the world, O Lord, and make them covetous of seeking thee and the things that are above: Thou art ascended to thy Throne in the rapture of Glory, draw our souls after thee in the raptures of Love and spirituall exaltation, that [Page 75] we may make the virtues and perfection of thy Life the rule of ours, and grant that we may not be so affected with the things of this world, that we should have no passion for thy Glory: but make us to walke Cheerfully in that way which thou hast gon and set before us, that as we live by thy Goodnesse, we may live to thy Glory; and as we move in Thee, we may be ever moving to­wards Thee, till we enjoy the Happi­nesse of an eternall rest in thy King­dome.

NO Prayer more necessary than this, nor this ever so much as now. Who would not burne and labour in his de­votions, and earnestly press heaven with restlesse and religious votes to Compas­sionate our want?

Every one may well make it his voca­tion now, without encroching on ano­thers [Page 76] office, and turne labourers in so pious a work as this, to pray for the pros­perity of the Gospell.

Who can see the Garden of the Lord become a desart, folds of Lambs inhabi­ted by foxes, the House of prayer turn'd into the ruines of Sacriledge, and the Messengers of our peace glad to become the objects of our pitty, without mournfull and Compassionate reflecti­ons? How vainely do they pretend af­fection that strip their Mother, and count the exorbitances of their Phan­sies, the decencies of the Gospell.

Can there be any want of Labourers where so many are, where every man becomes one himselfe? when sheep be­come shepheards, and Flocks are Meta­morphosed into Pastors. Every one can now handle the religious sickle; he that can but talk or smatter Scripture, thinks himselfe divinely calld, sufficiently in­spired for a Sermon; and out of the sim­plicity of his zeal will needs be climbing up a pulpit.

Thus multitudes of teachers produce a scarcity, and we want the more by having so many. We may well pray then for a new Mission, or the taking away of those, [Page 77] that do not hedge, but devour the vine­yard.

He that loves his Saviour will delight and triumph in the felicity of his spouse, in whose armes alone we can mount to happinesse, and ever beg a perpetuity of its Glory. He deserves not to reape or share in the bliss of an immortall harvest that will neither labour himself nor pray for the prosperity and increase of them that do.

And who, O Lord, can cast his Eye upon thy bleeding Spouse without a teare? or upon its unruly Adversaries without a Sigh for its protection? O let thy accustomed mercy stop the wild­est Boare, and root out the most mis­chievous foxes that may destroy it. Thou hast founded It upon a Rock, no storms shall ruine it, and hast plac't it on high to be seen and approacht by all; let us not blindly turn out of the Way, or fal into praecipices for want of know­ing guides. Let not thy Oracles be­come dumbe for want of Priests; or the Glad tydings of our Peace, be turned to silence, for want of faithfull messengers; but thou, O Lord, both sup­ply [Page 78] defects, and reforme abuses that sensibly creepe in: forgive the Zeale of those, they know not what they do.

Let the Light of thy countenance graciously dispell that darknesse and confusion wherein we lye Eclips't. Then shall we sing and Prayse Thy Power.

COuld a Starre become such a wel­come object to Astrologers, whose eyes had contracted an acquaintance with the Spheres and taught the Pla­nets to become familiar? Or was it the appearance of a new born Light that crown'd their Joy. That Stars should become guides, and not only light but Leade me too; 'twas indeed a wonder they never saw before, and which no Astronomer besides themselves, though never so celestiall, could yet Parallel.

[Page 79]Had Aristot [...]e known this, he would have made the Stars the Dieties of the Sphears, and not pearcht Intelligences at their backs to roule them. This was some living splendour, sure, that could both shine, and shew the way. A luminary more quicking then that Giant one, that spreads the Morne, and carries Time within his armes. And they whose ruder devotion, whose Idolatry taught them to adore the Sun, could not but religi­ously salute the Herauld of a brighter One they came to worship.

See how Pagans foot it from the East, and cheerfully make it but a walke from the remotest Climate to come and wor­ship a Redeemer; while some will scarce travell from their chambers to present a cheaper offering of gratitude than this. They counted it the best journey they ever made, and for a testimony of their joy presented offerings, the richest their Countries yeilded, and made the Inne their Temple, to pay the tribute of their adoration in, to the Lord of Glory; whilst some sacrilegiously strip him of his Divi­nity for the greater honour of his name.

They had but a single starre to guide them, but we can shew multitudes of [Page 80] new lights to darken the Gospell, troops of Quaking comets, the Apparition of whose zealous and fiery aspects, would rather fright then lead the way.

Thus pretended Illuminations of our owne making, do not embrighten but eclipse religion; and instead of opening blind us more; It was a reall not affrigh­ted luminary that steer'd the Wisemen here, who triumph't to behold that day which we study to forget. If they were not Kings, yet their very fortunes would have made them Illustrious: Ne­ver had Travellours before, so splendid a Convoy, so bright a Guid.

The heavens proclaime thy glory, O Lord, and the firmament reveals the ex­cellence of thy wisedome. 'Twas fitt that thou who hast cloathed the world with light and inricht it with so many rowl­ing mirrours, shouldst have one to be the herald of thy nativity. All the creatures, even with delight obey thy will, whilst we rebelliously stop our eares to the harmony of thy law. The wise men had no sooner notice of thy birth, but they grew angry with time it selfe, till they began their journey; and, that they might [Page 81] be sure not to loose their way, thou sent­est out a Convoy; a Starr becomes an Evangelist and runs post to guide them. So fortunate are good motions when they are put in practice, they that would seek thee, shall not want meanes to find thee though it be by miracle. Thou canst steere us by a brighter lustre than that of a Starre, even the illuminations of thy grace and Spirit.

DIvinest Saint! how few besides thy self have learn't it? 'Tis a Lesson the world hath long ago putt by; not so much because 'tis so hard, as because its unpleasant.

Were the way to heaven but set with pleasures for sense to revell in, 'twould quickly become an open and an easy walke: were there no rubs, no tryalls to to be past thorough, who would not be­come a Saint? The Crowne of Glory would be as Common as a Garland; were [Page 82] there not one of Thorns to be worne first.

The world cares not for a Religion that carries neither pompe nor pleasure with it, but instead of rich and high en­joyments preaches temperance and pa­tience onely. Even some of them that pretend heaven most, would not wil­lingly learn this, but abundantly provide for their better fortunes: and those wants our Apostle learn't so nobly to sustaine, too many out of better devotion labour, not to know.

He that bids us seek heaven first, tells us, that to long for earthly enjoyments is a Heathens wish: For after all these things do the Gentiles seek. And shall Christians live like heathens still, and looke no higher then the world? shall they that make eternity their sphere sit and rowle themselves in the bosome of an under element, and poorely make the pleasures of mortality their aime alone?

Was it for this, He that made the hea­vens bowed them and came down, leave­ing his throne to bring us thither, that we should lie and grovel in our phlegme for ever?

[Page 83]How vile and vaine a Creature is that man, that wraps up his felicity in the dull enjoyments of this life, and still re­signes himselfe to sense alone? Tell me, O thou that swimmest in plenty and drownest heaven in oblivion, should the luminaries put on their purple robe, and changing their lustres, like bleeding Meteors turne their rayes into crimson streams; were the aire now filled with blasts of the last Trump ecchoing an ap­proaching judgement; how prodigious would that change looke, what vast and horrid affrightments would the memo­ry of thy prophane and irreligious full­nesse then strike and scare thee with? Alass the enjoyments of the world are so poore, that he which places his hopes in their fruition, will quickly find him­selfe but an eternall Begger, a miserable Dives.

And yet such is the sanctity of the world, to laugh ar religious poverty, and deride the exigences of a pious life as an enemy to nature. He knowes not the joyes of an expected eternity, that thinks there is no felicity beyond this span.

Did we but know the reward shall crowne that the world calls Misery, the [Page 84] happinesse that waits on the most suffer­ing and dejected devotion, we should triumph in our wants, be in love with hardship, and embrace even beggery with delight. We should be content not onely to die but to live martyrs, rejoyce even in the lowest ebb to win heaven, and cheerefully learne with the Apostle to want here, for that fullnesse which knowes none hereafter.

And yet how hardly can we endure even the smallest trouble for thy sake O Lord? So insensible are we of thy good­nesse, so forgetfull of thy power, that we do not onely in our wants accuse and condemne thy Providence, but are ready even to turn infidels in our misfortunes. Make us therefore, O Lord, to see the vanity both of the world and our owne hearts, that the pleasures of it may neither drowne, nor the crosses of it de­ject our hope or discourage our obedi­ence. Let that glory which thou hast promised to those that conquer the world for thy sake, be ever in our eye; that so, in whatsoever condition we are in, we may still be found crowned and triumphing in Faith.

NO wonder Zacheus then made such haste to come down, and quickly forsooke the friendly branches at such Newes. Hee whose ambition climb'd no higher then a Sight of Jesus, was all transported at the Honour of receiving Him. Had he been taller perhaps, he had not been so happy; it was his Littlenesse exalted him, and he who was not onely the Lowest, but, perhaps, the meanest of the Company, for his fortune became the Envie of the Multitude.

He that dwells in Everlasting splen­dours, and treads the Heavens under, exposed Himselfe to the Courtesie of the World, whose Charity was so Cold that he must invite himselfe, and be be­holding to a Sinner for his entertainment. Had the Princes of the World but known Him, they would have quickly sure sur­rendred up their Thrones, and counted thei [...] pallaces too poor a Lodging for the Lord of Glory. And the Vaine [Page 86] Jewes whilst they expect a Messias all in pompe, a Redeemer that should come into the World in Majesty and tr umph, are become not so much the relicks as ruines of a Nation, a wandring Monu­ment of prodigious impiety throughout the earth.

Stand still, ye Monarchs of the World, and behold your Maker now beneath you: and if ye have not plac't all your happinesse in a Kingdome heere, Learn Humility from so Blest a President. He that came to save Sinners thought it no dishonour to be in their Company; and, as it were to make amends for his entertainment, and to make Zacheus compleately happy He tells him, This day is Salvation come to this House.

A reward which none besides Him­s lfe could give, and which he that hath, need never fear being poor againe. Who would not welcome his Saviour on such termes, and Sacrifice even all his fortunes at once to be so infinitely repa 'd? We cannot make too much provision for our happinesse, nor welcome Heaven at too much charge And yet how many are there of so sparing a zeal; they will be at no Expences in their Worship, like [Page 87] the thrifty Disciple; they will not goe to the Cost of Serving God Handsomely; How happy was Zacheus, whose poore habitation our Saviour pickt out beyond the rest to harbour, in and Honour with his presence: nor yet was so Rich a Mer­cy confined to him alone, but extended to the whole World too; Every family may, if they will, share in the same fortune, This day is Salvation come to every one.

Hear this then, whoever thou art that Sacrificest thy Soul to any thing but Hea­ven, that dancest to the Musick of the World, and makest Eternity a Stranger to thy thoughts. Canst thou deny thy Saviour an admission, or thinke it a trou­ble to leave the foolish interests of the World, and welcome the most Holy Jesus. Behold the Miseries of our Na­tures which will not be perswaded to become happy, but suffer an immortall joy to be lost for ever in embraces heere.

Thou hast brought us from Nothing, O Lord, that we might see thy Salvati­on; that we who might have been for ever without Thee, might through the [Page 88] Knowledge of Thy selfe be made par­takers of thy Glory. O Enliven us that we may give up our selves wholly to thy Service, and perpetually study to do something to the Honour of thy Name, that we may not throw away those Soules on the vanities of the world, which thou hast given us for Thy selfe, and to be employed in thy Ser­vice: but that, Sacrificing our Wills to Thine, and our lives to a perfect Love of Thee, we may find that joy which ac­companies thy Grace heere, and that Glory which knows no end or change hereafter in Thy presence for ever­more.

WHo then would not be ambitious of so bright a change, to become purely Coelestiall; to have his body turn'd into a Luminary, and every part transformed to lustre? when man shall become not onely a Living soul, but a Living splendour too; and his immor­tal breath, in it's reunion, instead of parts find beames to quicken.

Heare this, ye blind admirers of the world, that look no higher then a Dia­dem, a purple robe, or some honoura­ble trifle, and sell your brightest inheri­tance for a splendid toy.

Heare this, ye Beauries, that carry charmes of Lustre in your faces, and think your eyes are not onely spheares but treasuries of Light; whose attire Emulates the starrs, and carries splen­dour with it; that weare your happiness on your back, and count a silver vanity your Glory.

[Page 90]Heare this, who ever thou art that canst dote on shadowes, the flashes of a transitory pomp, and for a glorious Mortality bidst adiew to heaven and an Immortall-blisse. Couldst thou put on a roabe of Starrs, or pull rayes from that Royall luminary that embrightens the world, they would be but gloomy splen­dours, bright obscurities to that Glory that enwraps a Saint. The lustre of the heavens is but an emblem of our owne: the Prince of planets that dishevells his rays, and revels it in splendour, the great Magazine that stocks the world with light, is but a Curtaine to that Taberna­cle that shall invest us.

Our toombs are our wardrobes for heaven, and those Chambers of death whose hangings are winding sheets over­laid with dust, are the out-rooms that strip us for our robe of immortality; the opening of our Graves is the beginning of our happinesse, and we are gather'd to our fathers that we may be gather'd to eternity.

If that Glimpse which the Disciples saw in the mount made them wish for three tabernacles or an eternall abode there, how shall the beauty of revealed [Page 91] Heaven, and the glory of an ascended Saviour, ravish us with desires after its enjoyment? It was the Martyrs comfort amidst their tortures, that though their members were in peeces, yet the haires of their head were numbred. Wert thou bottomed in the seas depth, his power can buoy the up, if crusted into the earths rubbish, he can abstract and forme thee a finer creature then ever thou wert. If Peters shadow could cure the sick, how powerfull must He be who is Peters Glory? He whose name is in the Book of Life, dies here but to be laid as it were in a Presse, to be extracted a pu­rer modell for eternity.

Who then would not onely despise the world, but welcome even misery for so invaluable a reward, triumph in his greatest eclipse, and become cheer­full in the midst of chaines? He that knowes the glory of his inheritance, will little value those pleasant trifles, those rich nothings the world admires, the painted joyes of an imaginary felicity: but, in nobler and Diviner expectations, prepares himselfe for that change which knowes none; where he shall have no­thing else to do but to live forever, and [Page 92] be eternally received as once the Disci­ple into the Bosome of his Saviour.

Thou didst make us for thy selfe, O Lord; and when we by our sins and follies had for ever lost thee, Thou didst restore us to thy selfe againe, that we might not be eternally deprived of Thee, our onely Good. O fill us with perpe­tuall meditations of thy Love, let those joyes which are so much above our thoughts, be ever in them; let our inabi­lity to comprehend the happiness of thy kingdome heighten the piety of our am­bition after it more, that we may walke in some measure worthy of so Divine a purchase as heaven, and as thou hast prepared it for us, do thou prepare us for it. Prepare us with all those hea­venly graces that may entitle us to it, and with all those spirituall desires that may make us breathe and long after it; that so our hearts being there before, we our selves may come after, and be­ing transported in our desires may be al­so in our persons, to everlasting enjoy­ments.

HOw ungratefully does the Proud Pharisee thank heaven? how strangely hath pride altered him? He that used to make long prayers, intends to be but short now: he stands up. He comes not to pray, but to bray; not to adore God but to commend himself. Here is not in the humour of being very devout, being so taken up and ravisht with his owne graces, that he had scarce either the time or the patience to remember the divine Author whose goodnesse he would seem to acknowledg, but tis so colldy, 'twere better he were unthankfull still. He exceeded other men indeed, for his im­pudence was superlative.

Had he known himselfe better, he would have been more thankfull, and lesse proud.

How largely doth he urge heaven with his worth, but makes no apology for his Pride: he thanks God indeed, but tis in [Page 94] transitu, rather a complement then a Prayer, though it be a sin to worship images, he thinks it none to be his owne idolater; and therefore dares present God with a catalogue of his own merits. How perfectly hath the world learnt his lesson? How do the Catholicke Pharises pride themselves in a supererogatory de­votion and thinke to climbe heaven by a ladder of their owne making; glorying in a superabundant piety, and triumph­ing in a meritorious excesse, of dooing even more then they need.

How nimbly do our Trembling En­thusiasts too, follow their leaders steps here, in a sanctimonious pride by a super­cilious purity presuming to reforme the world, and new modell it, againe: That saint themselves Stylo novo, and with the Pharisee not onely thanke but tell God plainly, they are not as other men: That raylingly proclaime themselves the great light of the world, and in a pious Lunacy would new gospell it againe, extravagantly proscribing all religions but their own. These melancholy Preten­ders seclude themselves from others, and by a sullen devotion, are become so strangely divine, that they have almost lost their humanity.

[Page 95]So that if the Pharisee was not as other men, yet these are as like the Pharisee as may be, having so exactly learnt both his nature and religion.

So naturall is it for us, O Lord, to be deluded even in our best Performances; and (whilst we vainly thinke our selves not onely better then others, but good enough, in Thy Sight) to be carried into presumption. 'Tis humility crownes all our Graces and puts a Beauty on our re­quests, whilst the confidence of our owne merits does not onely deforme but seclude us from thee.

Teach us therefore with such grati­tude to use thy gifts, that we become not forgetfull of our selves or Thee. Whilst others Pride themselves in a meritorious supererogation, let us in­deavour humbly to confesse and bewaile our imperfections. Let not a spirituall Pride seise upon our souls, so shall we be innocent from the Great Transgres­sion.

WHo then would propose that for his happinesse which shall perish with himself, whose end is not only death but hell, and will destroy him not onely now but hereafter too. Indeed, were there no hope that our remains should revive again, or the ruins of our frame rise up to a finer shape, we might well drown our selves in enjoyments heere, and fixe our felicity in pleasures. Every man might then without sin become an Epi­cure, and he that could invent new fash­ions of luxury, would not only be more ingenious but more fortunate too. Mo­rality, would be all vice, & yet vice it self no more a crime but our felicity: not to be extravagant then, were a sin against na­ture, & he that is most Brutish would be most Rational. Law would then become an enemie to Humanity, there could be no society but in confusion; and in spight of policy (were there no heaven no hell) we should pleasantly mingle to a chaos, and obey no other discipline [Page 97] then that of riot. Every one might then turne Atheist without scandall; to be without God in the world would be no misfortune; every man might be his own without blasphemy.

Could they that live, dye like Brutes too, and revive no more, the comfort of not being damned would be greater then the sweets of sin. But alas, he that dies now must live againe that his life may be rememberd; nor yet is it somuch the feare of Death as the horrours of a guilty conscence, the terrible presages of a future eternity that scares the depart­ing soul: The pangs of expiring nature are nothing to those stings; the memory of our crimes bring with them. The sor­rowes of the Grave and our being here no more for ever, are joyes to the mi­series that are to come.

Tell me thou that hug'st the world then, and gropest for paradise in a grove of sins: thou that makest earth thy trea­sure, and wrap'st up the riches of thy hopes in time's bosome or the enclosure of a span: when those bright and nimble guides of life, thy eyes, shall grow weak with age, or weary with paine; when every limbe shall become an object of [Page 98] sorrow; and those parts that were so of­ficiously employed in sin, shall become instruments of despaire. When that de­licious frame, that darling edifice, thy Body, shall by its tottering qualmes and trembling convulsions affrighten its disconsolate owner, how will the flashes of a future justice and the terrours of thy end confound thee!

Can those enjoyments that flattered away thy soul restore it now? can those pleasures that stole heaven from thee recover it again? can thy vanities asswage thy sorrowes or the memory of thy sins the misery of thy end?

Where's that musick whose aires, like Davids harpe, might charme the cries of conscience, and by its straines drop a harmony that might still the trouble of thy anguisht soul?

Where are those trophies, thy ambiti­on purchased at the easy rate as onely sinning for that Honour, for which thou hast sold heaven? that soveraignty for which thou becamst a slave thy selfe and lost the freedome of thy soul? Cannot all thy Greatnesse raise thee up a litle, and by a power once so much feared and applauded reprieve thee from the grave or a more eternall prison?

[Page 99]Where are those treasures thou sold­est thy best inheritance for, whose ravishing splendours took away thy sight and made thee blinder then them­selves? Can they neither bribe nor buy thy pardon? or will the grave know no other fee then so rich a misery?

Where are all those diversions that robb'd thee of thy piety, and the thoughts of thy Maker? those pleasing vanities that took away all sense of hea­ven and foresight of thy end? Are all va­nisht to a toomb and an unwelcome pe­riod? are all thy jollities terminated in a Coffin, and no other object left to keep thee company but thy Crimes, and those terrours thy guilt presents?

Behold now then, ye Lovers of the world more then of God, and see the picture of your end, those ruines you have so smoothly built on. Try if all your imaginary felicities are proofe a­gainst this shaft, or can secure you from this intruder, the single Conquerour of the world, whose very prison is but a re­serve for a worse, and its execution here but a repriefe for a more lasting and yet living death. He that liv'd in pleasures, must live in flames, and having revell'd [Page 100] it in sin, riot it in tortures; and the mi­sery is, that wishing not to live, he can never die.

And yet how vaine are our desires still after the world, O Lord? how soon, how smoothly are we led by the false and transitory pleasures of this life from Thee? The wages of sin is death, and yet how foolishly do we preferre its service before thine, whose reward is life? The end of prophaness is eternall ruine, and the pleasures of impiety period in con­fusion; and yet we sadly embrace the proffers of sin, before the promises of thy glory. Pitty, O Lord, the frailties of our natures, and forgive the irregula­rities of our lives: fill us with noble de­sires after Thee, that the vanities of the world may be our scorne, and thy Glo­ry onely our Ambition; that we may not for a present enjoyment in this life, lose the hopes and inheritance of a better.

SO great are the Concernments of an immortall Soul, that it's recovery from the world sets heaven in a triumph; and it's return to it's Maker is welcom'd back in Quires: the angells sing his re­cantation, and rejoyce as if they them­selves were made happier by his conver­sion.

And yet is not the joy of Angells greater then that of the soul it selfe: when it hath found and regain'd it's Maker, its sighs are turnd into songs, and it's teares to raptures: each drop is not onely counted and kept up, but turn'd into a streame of joy. His sorrowes are turnd to consolation, his troubles into peace, and the stormes of conscience into calmes of love.

Such are the fruits of a holy penitence, the happinesse of a religious contrition. He that went mourning all the day, and turned Anchoret for greif; whose life [Page 102] was a torment and the grave his feare, that desired not to live and yet was afraid to die, is now transformed into sweeter passions, and breathes nothing but the praises of his Deliverer.

See with what indignation he lookes upon the world, whose embraces had so long imprisoned him, to whose false allurements, he had been so much a ser­vant. Those pleasant trifles he once ad­mired are now his contempt, and those shadowes of felicity he once so much pursued he hath now exchanged for more celestiall enjoyments and enduring pleasures.

And indeed, Who that hath once truly tasted heaven can well rellish the world againe? whose choisest feasts are worse then an Egyptian diet to this Manna, and its largest roade of pleasure but a preci­pice to that way whose narrowest path carries freedome and felicity. He that hath once found the goodnesse of his Maker, and those joyes that flow from his service, will sacrifice himselfe in pious resolves; and grieving that he was so long a stranger to his law, all transpor­ted beg both pardon and support.

Tell me, who can character the pleasures [Page 103] of this new birth, the joyes of a conver­ted soul restored to heaven and his ma­ker? He that feels it can expresse it but in raptures, and silent signes, the ecchoes of his heart. Even the Angells here can sing it onely, not describe it; and in Se­raphick consorts give us notice, not a copy, of it.

Thus the heavens become harmoni­ous, & the frame of nature that groaned under the disorder of mans sin, is againe revived and set in tune by pardon. And no wonder if the creation feel a silent musicke in it's limbs, when the Lord our Maker is not onely the Author, but a partner in this triumph proclaming even his delight in such happy renovations, and that he is best pleased when sinners flie to the refuges of his mercy, and hum­bly beg the riches of that Grace and fa­vour, which he onely can give, and which he never refuses to them that seek him.

So infinitely good art thou, O Lord, that thou dost not onely invite but bring us to thy self; and not onely call but cause us to returne. We know thou de­sirest not the the death of a sinner, having so freely sacrificed thy Son for sin; and [Page 104] that thou delightest in pardoning it, for thou hast proclaimed thy self so. Though thou didst not spare thine Angells when they fell, yet in the riches of thy mercy thou hast contrived a Redempti­on for our souls, even by the blood of Jesus. Fill us with perpetuall adorations of thy love, that thy goodnesse which is so ready to pardon sin, may encourage us to beg it; and to continue constant waiters on thee in thy worship here, till we are made companions of those blest spirits hereafter that rejoyce in the reco­very and salvation of a sinner.

AND He that loved his Saviour would, no Question, do it: but alass, that which ought to be the first is scarce the last of our thoughts, the least and worst of our performan­ces.

[Page 105]Such Lovers are wee of Heaven that we think it no sinne to serve our selves first, and make our Creatour waite the leisure of our Devotion. Miserable Creatures, whose Religion reaches no higher then their bodyes, for whose ve­ry Superfluities wee study to provide, whilst our Brighter part lyes all naked and unthought of. Such Strangers are we even to our own Soules, so insensible of the joyes to come, that we looke no higher then the World, and in sphearing all our hopes within Mortality as if we had nothing durable beyond our breath, suffer Eternity to be forgotten. Wee cannot live without our Maker, and yet how do our lives neglect Him? how ea­ger, how ambitious after an enjoyment heere, but carry not the smallest passion for his Glory. The jollities of the World swallow up all thoughts of Hea­ven, and in the pleasures of sense we can drown Immortality.

What is that we sacrifice our selves to, but the hopes of a felicity? The very Pagans rather then want a Blisse would fancy one in lovely shades, and place the triumphs of immortality in those amo­rous walkes, their Ghosts should revell [Page 106] in. And who can hope for Heaven that neglects it, or expect the joyes of this Kingdome that looks not after it? With­out Holynesse no man shall see God, and he cannot be Master of much San­ctity that prophanely loses himselfe in sinne, and is a Stranger to that piety which can truly Enrich Him beyond all the treasures of the most splendid and fortunate transgression. How misera­ble are they then whose pleasures onely divert them from their Maker, and have no other Apologie for their neglect of Heaven, than what sinne can make; that Court the World, and for a fading em­brace exchange a Diadem of Blisse, a Crown of Life. Were the whole World turn d into a Seraglio of delight, and e­very region to an Arabia; could every field become a Paradise, and every object we meet, bring a Magazine of pleasure with it; had we all the enjoyments this Life can triumph in; yet we should quickly finde them, without God, but miserable fruitions. Is there any thing dearer then our lives, and yet even these are of no valew in respect of a better: the very exigencies of Nature are trifles to the concernments of our Soules. It [Page 107] is better to starve, then dye for ever and lose God; 'tis better to goe na­ked then not to be cloathed with immor­tality; 'tis better we should want heere, then hereafter that fullnesse which knows none.

And yet, How many are there that had rather lose Heaven then the World, pawn their Consciences sooner then want, and for a fortune sell away their very Christianity. How many make sinne their study, and thinke it a credit to invent new methods of impiety; and are such carefull providers for E­ternity, that they will be laboriously wicked; and for a profitable iniquity think it no loss to be thrivingly damn'd. Are there not nobler wayes of living then by losing our names and Souls at once? Is infidelity a preservative against mi­sery? and must we build our supports on the ruines of our faith? Piety makes no man poorer, nor does religion robbe us of our enjoyments but makes them sweeter. Our content­ments are not lessened but enlarged and lengthned by adoring the Giver, nor is he the further from, but the neerer to a blessing, that begins with Heaven, and [Page 108] preferres his Saviour before the World. Designes thus founded are not ever un­fortunate, and he that plots for his Soul as well as his body, shall learne a policy will bafle the World, and non-plus its wisest Generations; when after all his losses he shall finde a reward richer then all the revenues of the Earth toge­ther.

And yet so insensible are we O Lord, both of thy Glory and our own felicity that we can entertaine any thing with more pleasure then the thoughts of an eternity, we can spend the allowance of our time in sin, and sacrifice even all our yeares to vice; but count a moment too long, too much to be employed in thy service: we can dwell and drown our selves in pleasures, and think a few spare minutes a faire gift of time for our devotion. The treasures of the world are a poore gaine for the Morgage of a Soul, and the losse of thy favour; even the richest enjoyments of this life, are but wretched contentments without Thee. Do thou therefore elevate our Souls, and withdraw them from these beggerly elements to purer and more celestiall [Page 109] addresses: let thy Kingdome be, not our refuge onely but our choice; and the perfect resolution of our souls to despise the flatteries of the world, for that glory which nothing but our sins can deprive us of: And as thou hast made us for thy self, O Lord, inable us to continue so, that as we have received all that we have from thy bounty, we may sacrifice all our de­sires to thy glory: knowing that as no­thing in this life can make us happy without thee, so nothing can make him miserable that hath Thy Kingdome for his Inheritance.