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himself and his kingdom. I shed tears of joy, till a roving imagination brought a certain ignorant and conceited professor before me, with whom I entered into a dispute for a few minutes, which left my
heart cold and dead. I perceived my loss, and made efforts to recover the former frame, but in vain. He seemed to say, “My visits must not be slighted.”
Return unto thy rest, O my soul :-I feel this is the grand secret for obtaining peace, in a world of sin and sorrow.
When the heart turns away from the confusions and disturbances to which it is continually exposed; and, taking wing, flies' to the bosom of God:when the voice of Christ, walking in the night on the troubled waters, is heard- It is I, be not afraid:
This is peace! And this, too, is his own direction for obtaining it: In the world ye
shall have tribulation; but, in me, ye shall have peace. Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world.
After so many years of uninterrupted activity, to be imprisoned, to be silenced, and almost incapable of writing or reading, is more wearisome than even the pain that often accompanies it. And yet hence the following instruction may be gathered :
1. How much activity belongs to some natures; and that this nature is often mistaken for grace."
2. How much we are called to suffer, as well as do, the will of God. When I have bid one of my children sit down quietly, and remain silent during my pleasure, I enjoin him à much more difficult task than the most active service; and yet I expected it to be done, because I ordered it. How is it, that I have not yet learnt to sit still when I am bid?
3. While life is wasting, and souls are perishing, I may yet earnestly plead, with the Psalmist, Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name. I may sing, with the poet,
“ My stock lies dead, and no increase
Does my dull husbandry improve:
Drop from above!
And digs my grave at each remove:
Drop from above!
“ Oh come, for thou dost know the way;
Or, if to me thou wilt pot move,
Drop from above !"
Lying on my couch at an interval of ease, I form a project of some work: I trace the good effects which it ought to produce; and say to myself, Why do we sit still till we die? I start up, to find pen and paper; and, at the moment, my painful complaint arrests me afresh. While I, fainting, recline again, I seem to hear—“Know, feeble worm, that even God's work must wait for God's call, and time, and strength.”
I am shocked to think, that, throughout my louring and threatening dispensation, I still am ready to kindle and explode when the temptation comes. Mr. Henry's remark on Abimilech, who wished his armour bearer to dispatch him, lest it should be said he died by the hand of a woman, may, on other accounts, be applied to me:Homo moritur, at superbia non moritur.
The many mercies mixed with my pains, ought to strangle every peevish thought in its very birth. How am I surrounded with every thing that can meet and mitigate my case! What kind friends, with their sympathy and assistance!What excellent supplies for my pulpit “What intervals of ease ! - What a Bible, full of directions and encouragements! - What opportunity for reflection and prayer!—What a prospect, after a short night of sorrow !- Complain with all these! -Get thee hence, Satan!
« Ah! my dear angry Lord,
Since thou dost love, yet strike;
" I will complain, yet praise;
Bewail, and yet approve;