it had come, he could not have seen; as, | the intercourse even of those occurrents, in some great pond, we see the banks full; which in their own nature are less worthy we see not the springs from whence the gives more contentment than the unaltered water ariseth. Thou madest the sun; estate of better. The day dies into night, madest the light without the sun, before and rises into the morning again, that we the sun, that so light might depend upon | might not expect any stability here below, thee, and not upon thy creature. Thy but in perpetual successions. It is always power will not be limited to means. It was day with thee above: the night savoureth easy to thee to make an heaven without only of mortality. Why are we not here sun, light without an heaven, day without spiritually, as we shall be hereafter? Since a sun, time without a day. It is good thou hast made us children of the light, reason thou shouldst be the Lord of thine and of the day, teach us to walk ever in own works. All means serve thee: why the light of thy presence, not in the darkdo we, weak wretches, distrust thee, in the ness of error and unbelief. want of those means which thou canst either command or forbear? How plainly wouldst thou teach us, that we creatures need not one another, so long as we have thee! One day we shall have light again without the sun: Thou shalt be our sun: thy presence shall be our light: " Light is sown for the righteous." The sun and light is but for the world below itself: thine only for above. Thou givest this light to the sun, which the sun gives to the world that light which thou shalt once give us, shall make us shine like the sun in glory. Now this light, which for three days was thus dispersed through the whole heavens, it pleased thee, at last, to gather and unite into one body of the sun. The whole heaven was our sun, before the sun was created: but now one star must be the treasury of light to the heaven and earth. How thou lovest the union and reduction of all things of one kind to their own head and centre so the waters must, by thy command, be gathered into one place, the sea: so the upper waters must be severed by these airy limits from the lower: so heavy substances hasten downward, and light mount up: so the general light of the first days must be called into the compass of one sun: so thou wilt once gather thine elect from all coasts of heaven, to the participation of one glory. Why do we abide our thoughts and affections scattered from thee, from thy saints, from thine anointed? Oh! let this light, which thou hast now spread abroad in the hearts of all thine, once meet in thee. We are as thy heavens, in this their first imperfection; be thou our sun, unto which our light may be gathered. Yet this light was by thee interchanged with darkness, which thou mightest as easily have commanded to be perpetual. The continuance, even of the best things, cloyeth and wearieth: there is nothing but thyself, wherein there is not satiety. pleasing is the vicissitude of things, that So Now, in this thine enlightened frame, how fitly, how wisely are all the parts disposed; that the method of the creation might answer the matter and the form both Behold all purity above; below, the dregs and lees of all. The higher I go, the more perfection; each element superior to other, not more in place than dignity; that, by these stairs of ascending perfection, our thoughts might climb unto the top of all glory, and might know thine imperial heaven, no less glorious above the visible than those above the earth. Oh! how miserable is the place of our pilgrimage, in respect of our home! Let my soul tread awhile in the steps of thine own proceedings; and so think as thou wroughtest. When we would describe a man, we begin not at the feet, but the head. The head of thy creation is the heaven; how high! how spacious! how glorious! It is a wonder that we can look up to so admirable a height, and that the very eye is not tired in the way. If this ascending line could be drawn right forwards, some, that have calculated curiously, have found it five hundred years' journey unto the starry heaven. I do not examine their art; O Lord, I wonder rather at thine, which hast drawn so large a line about this little point of earth: for, in the plainest rules of art and experience, the compass must needs be six times as much as half the height. We think one island great, but the earth immeasurable. If we were in that heaven, with these eyes, the whole earth (were it equally enlightened) would seem as little to us, as now the least star in the firmament seems to us upon earth: and, indeed, how few stars are so little as it? And yet, how many void and ample spaces are there beside all the stars' The hugeness of this thy work, O God, is little inferior for admiration to the majesty of it. But, oh, what a glorious heaven is this which thou hast spread over our heads! With how precious a vault hast thou walled in this our inferior world! What worlds of light hast thou set above us! Those things which we see are wondrous; but those, which we believe and see not, are yet more. Thou dost but set out these unto view, to shew us what there is within. How proportionable are thy works to thyself! Kings erect not cottages, but set forth their magnificence in sumptuous buildings; so hast thou done, O King of Glory! If the lowest pavement of that heaven of thine be so glorious, what shall we think of the better parts yet unseen? And if this sun of thine be of such brightness and majesty, oh! what is the glory of the Maker of it? And yet if some other of thy stars were let down as low as it, those other stars would be suns to us; which now thou hadst rather to have admired in their distance. And if such a sky be prepared for the use and benefit even of thine enemies also upon earth, how happy shall those eternal tabernacles be, which thou hast sequestered for thine own? Behold then in this high and stately building of thine, I see three stages: this lowest heaven for fowls, for vapours, for meteors: the second for the stars: the third for thine angels and saints. The first is thine outward court, open for all: the second is the body of thy covered temple, wherein are those candles of heaven perpetually burning: the third is thine holy of holies. In the first is tumult and vanity: in the second, immutability and rest: in the third, glory and blessedness. The first we feel, the second we see, the third we believe. In these two lower is no felicity; for neither the fowls nor stars are happy. It is the third heaven alone, where thou, O blessed Trinity! enjoyest thyself, and thy glorified spirits enjoy thee. It is the manifestation of thy glorious presence, that makes heaven to be itself. This is the privilege of thy children, that they here, seeing thee (which art invisible) by the eye of faith, have already begun that heaven, which the perfect sight of thee shall make perfect above. Let my soul then let these heavens alone, till it may see as it is seen. That we may descend to this lowest and meanest region of heaven, wherewith our senses are more acquainted; what marvels do even here meet with us? There are thy clouds, thy bottles of rain, vessels as thin as the liquor which is contained in them: there they hang and move, though weighty with their burden: how they are upheld, and why they fall, here, and now, we know not, and wonder. Those thou makest one while, as some airy seas, to hold water: another while as some tury furnaces, whence thou scatterest thy sudden fires unto all the parts of the earth, astonishing the world with the fearful noise of that eruption: out of the midst of water thou fetchest fire, and hard stones out of the midst of thin vapours: another while, as some steel glasses, wherein the sun looks, and shews his face in the variety of those colours which he hath not; there are thy streams of light, blazing and falling stars, fires darted up and down in many forms, hollow openings, and (as it were) gulfs in the sky, bright circles about the moon and other planets, snows, hail: in all which it is enough to admire thine hand, though we cannot search out thine action. There are thy subtile winds, which we hear and feel, yet neither can see their substance, nor know their causes; whence, and whither they pass, and what they are, thou knowest. There are thy fowls of all shapes, colours, notes, natures whilst I compare these with the inhabitants of that other heaven, I find those stars and spirits like one another: these meteors and fowls, in as many varieties as there are several creatures. Why is this? Is it because Man (for whose sake these are made) delights in change, thou in constancy? or is it, that in these thou mayest shew thine own skill, and their imperfection? There is no variety in that which is perfect, because there is but one perfection? and so much shall we grow nearer to perfectness, by how much we draw nearer to unity and uniformity. From thence, if we go down to the great deep, the womb of moisture, the well of fountains, the great pond of the world; we know not whether to wonder at the element itself, or the guests which it contains. How doth that sea of thine roar and foam and swell, as if it would swallow up the earth? Thou stayest the rage of it by an insensible violence; and, by a natural miracle, confinest his waves: why it moves, and why it stays, it is to us equally wonderful: what living mountains (such are thy whales) roll up and down in those fearful billows: for greatness of number, hugeness of quantity, strangeness of shapes, variety of fashions, neither air nor earth can compare with the waters. I say nothing of thy hid treasures, which thy wisdom hath reposed in the bowels of the earth and sea: how secretly and how basely are they laid up! secretly, that we might not seek them; basely, that we might not over-esteem them: I need not dig so low as these metals, mineries, quarries, which yield riches enough of observation to the soul. How many millions of wonders doth the very face of the earth offer me? Which of these herbs, flowers, trees, leaves, seeds, C fruits, is there; what beast, what worm, wherein we may not see the footsteps of a Deity, wherein we may not read infiniteness of power, of skill, and must be forced to confess, that he which made the angels and stars of heaven, made also the vermin on the earth? O God, the heart of man is too strait to admire enough even that which he treads upon! What shall we say to thee, the Maker of all these? O Lord, how wonderful are thy works in all the world! in wisdom hast thou made them all: and in all these thou spakest, and they were done. Thy will is thy word, and thy word is thy deed. Our tongue, and hand, and heart are different: all are one in thee, which art simply one, and infinite. Here needed no helps, no instruments: what could be present with the Eternal? What needed, or what could be added to the Infinite? Thine hand is not shortened, thy word is still equally effectual: say thou the word, and my soul shall be made new again; say thou the word, and my body shall be repaired from his dust: for all things obey thee. O Lord, why do I not yield to the word of thy counsel; since I must yield, as all thy creatures, to the word of thy command? CONTEMPLATION II.-OF MAN. BUT, O God! what a little lord hast thou made over this great world? The least corn of sand is not so small to the whole earth, as man is to the heaven. When I see the heavens, the sun, moon, and stars, O God, what is man? Who would hank thou shouldst make all these creatures for one, and that one well-near the least of all? Yet none but he can see what thou hast done; none but he can admire and adore thee in what he seeth: How had he need to do nothing but this, since he alone must do it! Certainly the price and virtue of things consist not in the quantity: one diamond is worth more than many quarries of stone; one loadstone hath more virtue than mountains of earth. It is lawful for us to praise thee in ourselves. All thy creation hath not more wonder in it, than one of us: other creatures thou madest by a simple command; MAN, not without a divine consultation ;others at once; man thou didst first form, then inspire others in several shapes, like to none but themselves; man, after thine own image:-others with qualities fit for service; man, for dominion. Man had his name from thee; they had their names from man. How should we be con secrated to thee above all others, since thou hast bestowed more cost on us than others! What shall I admire first? thy providence in the time of our creation; or thy power and wisdom in the act? First, thou madest the great house of the world, and furnishedst it; then thou broughtest in thy tenant to possess it. The bare walls had been too good for us, but thy love was above our desert: thou, that madest ready the earth for us before we were, hast, by the same mercy, prepared a place in heaven for us, while we are on earth. The stage was first fully prepared, then was man brought forth thither, as an actor, or spectator, that he might neither be idle nor discontent. Behold, thou hadst addressed an earth for use, an heaven for contemplation. After thou hadst drawn that large and real map of the world, thou didst thus abridge it into this little table of man: he alone consists of heaven and earth, soul and body. Even this earthly part, which is vile in comparison of the other, as it is thine, O God, I dare admire it, though I can neglect it as mine own; for, lo! this heap of earth hath an outward reference to heaven. Other creatures grovel down to their earth, and have all their senses intent upon it; this is reared up towards heaven, and hath no more power to look beside heaven than to tread beside the earth. Unto this, every part hath his wonder. The head is nearest to heaven, as in place, so in resemblance, both for roundness of figure, and for those divine guests which have their seat in it: There dwell those majestical powers of reason, which make a man; all the senses, as they have their original from thence, so they do all agree there to manifest their virtue. How goodly proportions hast thou set in the face! such as, though ofttimes we can give no reason when they please, yet transport us to admiration. What living glasses are those which thou hast placed in the midst of this visage, whereby all objects from far are clearly represented to the mind! and because their tenderness lies open to dangers, how hast thou defenced them with hollow bones, and with prominent brows, and lids! and lest they should be too much bent on what they ought not, thou hast given them peculiar nerves to pull them up towards the seat of their rest. What a tongue hast thou given him; the instrument not of taste only, but of speech! how sweet and excellent voices are formed by that little loose film of flesh! what an incredible strength hast thou given to tha thoughts upon thee, who alone created them in their infusion, and infused them in their creation? How should they long to return back to the fountain of their being, and author of being glorious? Why may we not say, that this soul, as it came from thee, so it is like thee? As thou, so it is one, immaterial, immortal, understanding spirit, distinguished into three powers, which all make up one spirit. So thou, the wise Creator of all things, wouldst have some things to resemble their Creator. These other creatures are all body; man is body and spirit. The angels are all spirit, not without a kind of spiritual composition: thou art alone after thine own manner, simple, glorious, infinite: no creature can be like thee in thy proper being, because it is a creature. How should our finite, weak, compounded nature, give any perfect resemblance of thine? Yet of all visible creatures, thou vouchsafest man the nearest correspondence to thee: not so much in the natural faculties, as in those divine graces, wherewith thou beautifiest his soul. weak bones of the jaws! what a comely | rise up to thee, and fix themselves in their and tower-like neck, therefore most sinewy because smallest! and lest I be infinite, what able arms and active hands hast thou framed him, whereby he can frame all things to his own conceit! In every part, beauty, strength, convenience meet together. Neither is there any whereof our weakness cannot give reason why it should be no otherwise. How hast thou disposed of all the inward vessels, for all offices of life, nourishment, digestion, generation! No vein, sinew, artery, is idle. There is no piece in this exquisite frame, whereof the place, use, form, doth not admit wonder, and exceed it. Yet this body, if it be compared to the soul, what is it, but as a clay wall that encompasses a treasure; as a wooden box of a jeweller; as a coarse case to a rich instrument; or as a mask to a beautiful face? Man was made last, because he was worthiest. The soul was inspired last, because yet more noble. If the body have this honour to be the companion of the soul, yet withal it is the drudge. If it be the instrument, yet also the clog of that divine part, the companion for life, the drudge for service, the instrument for action, the clog in respect of contemplation. These external works are effected by it; the internal, which are more noble, hindered; contrary to the bird, which sings most in her cage, but flies most and highest at liberty. This my soul teaches me of itself, that itself cannot conceive, how capable, how active it is. It can pass by her nimble thoughts from heaven to earth in a moment: it can be all things, can comprehend all things; know that which is, and conceive that which never was, never shall be. Nothing can fill it, but thou which art infinite; nothing can limit it, but thou which art everywhere. O God, which madest it, replenish it, possess it, dwell thou in it, which hast appointed it to dwell in clay. The body was made of earth common to his fellows; the soul inspired immediately from God. The body lay senseless upon the earth like itself: the breath of life gave it what it is, and that breath was from thee. Sense, motion, reason, are infused into it at once. From whence then was this quickening breath? No air, no earth, no water, was here used to give help to this work. Thou that breathedst upon man, and gavest him the Holy Spirit, didst also breathe upon the body, and gavest it a living spirit. We are beholden to nothing but thee for our soul. Our flesh is from flesh; our spirit is from the God of spirits How should our souls Our knowledge, holiness, righteousness, was like the first copy from which they were drawn. Behold, we were not more like thee in these, than now we are unlike ourselves in their loss. O God, we now praise ourselves to our shame, for the better we were, we are the worse; as the sons of some prodigal, or tainted ancestors, tell of the lands and lordships which were once theirs. Only do thou whet our desires, answerably to the readiness of thy mercies, that we may redeem what we have lost; that we may recover in thee, what we have lost in ourselves. The fault shall be ours, if our damage prove not beneficial. I do not find that man, thus framed, found the want of an helper. His fruition of God gave him fulness of contentment: the sweetness which he found in the contemplation of this new workmanship, and the glory of the Author, did so take him up, that he had neither leisure nor cause of complaint. If man had craved an helper, he had grudged at the condition of his creation, and had questioned that which he had, perfection of being. But he that gave him his being, and knew him better than himself, thinks of giving him comfort in the creature, while he sought none but in his Maker. He sees our wants, and forecasts our relief, when we think ourselves too happy to complain. How ready will he be to help our necessities, that thus provides for our perfection! God gives the nature to his creatures; man must give the name; that he might see they were made for him, they shall be to him what he will. Instead of their first homage, they are presented to their new lord, and must see of whom they hold. He that was so careful of man's sovereignty in his innocence, how can he be careless of his safety in his renovation? If God had given them their names, it had not been so great a praise of Adam's memory to recall them, as it was now of his judgment (at first sight) to impose them: he saw the inside of all the creatures at first, (his posterity sees but their skins ever since;) and by this knowledge he fitted their names to their dispositions. All that he saw were fit to be his servants, none to be his companions. The same God that finds the want, supplies it. Rather than man's innocency shall want an outward comfort, God will begin a new creation: not out of the earth, which was the matter of man; not out of the inferior creatures, which were the servants of man; but out of himself, for dearness, for equality. Doubtless, such was man's power of obedience, that if God had bidden him yield up his rib, waking, for his use, he had done it cheerfully but the bounty of God was so absolute, that he would not so much as consult with man's will, to make him happy. As man knew not while he was made, so shall he not know while his other self is made out of him: that the comfort might be greater, which was seen before it was expected. If the woman should have been made, not without the pain or will of the man, she might have been upbraided with her dependence and obligation. Now she owes nothing but to her Creator; the rib of Adam sleeping can challenge no more of her than the earth can of him. It was an happy change to Adam of a rib for an helper; what help did that bone give to his side! God had not made it, if it had been superfluous and yet if man could not have been perfect without it, it had not been taken out. Many things are useful and convenient, which are not necessary; and if God had seen man might not want it, how easy had it been for him, which made the woman of that bone, to turn the flesh into another bone! but he saw man could not complain of the want of that bone, which he had so multiplied, so animated. O God, we can never be losers by thy changes; we have nothing but what is thine. Take from us thine own, when thou wilt: we are sure thou canst not but give us better. CONTEMPLATION III.-OF FARADISE. MAN could no sooner see, than he saw himself happy: his eye-sight and reason were both perfect at once, and the objects of both were able to make him as happy as he would. When he first opened his eyes, he saw heaven above him, earth under him, the creatures around him, God before him; he knew what all these things meant, as if he had been long acquainted with them all. He saw the heavens glorious, but afar off: his Maker thought it requisite to fit him with a paradise nearer home. If God had appointed him immediately to heaven, his body had been superfluous; it was fit his body should be answered with an earthen image of that heaven, which was for his soul. Had man been made only for contemplation, it would have served as well to have been placed in some vast desert, on the top of some barren mountain; but the same power which gave him a heart to meditate, gave him hands to work, and work fit for his hands. Neither was it the purpose of the Creator, that man should but live. Pleasure may stand with innocence. He that rejoiced to see all he had made to be good, rejoiceth to see all that he hath made to be well. God loves to see his creatures happy; cur lawful delight is his: they know not God, that think to please him with making themselves miserable. The idolaters thought it a fit service for Baal, to cut and lance themselves: never any holy man looked for thanks from the true God by wronging himself. Every earth was not fit for Adam, but a garden, a paradise. What excellent pleasures, and rare varieties, have men found in gardens, planted by the hands of men! and yet all the world of men cannot make one twig, or leaf, or spire of grass. When he that made the matter undertakes the fashion, how must it needs be, beyond our capacity, excellent! No herb, no flower, no tree, was wanting there, that might be for ornament or use: whether for sight, or for scent, or for taste. The bounty of God wrought further than to necessity, even to comfort and recreation: Why are we niggardly to ourselves, when God is liberal? But for all this, if God had not there conversed with man, no abundance could have made him blessed. Yet, behold! that which was man's storehouse, was also his work-house; his pleasure was his task: paradise served not only to feed his senses, but to exercise his hands. If happiness had consisted in doing nothing, |