said to forget it absolutely, but they slumber over the subject, in which state nothing as to their salvation gets done, no decision, no practice. There are, therefore, we see, various obstacles and infirmities in our constitutions, which obstruct the reception of religious ideas in our mind, still more such, a voluntary entertainment of them, as may bring forth fruit. It ought therefore to be our constant prayer tọ God, that he will open our hearts to the influence of his word, by which is meant that he will so quicken and actuate the sensibility and vigor of our minds, as to enable us to attend to the things, which really and truly belong to our peace.

So soon as religion gains that hold and that possession of the heart, which it must do to become the means of our salvation, things change within us, as in many other respects, so especially in this. We think a great deal more frequently about it, we think of it for a longer continuance, and our thoughts of it have much more of vivacity and impressiveness. First, We begin to think of religion

more

more frequently than we did. Heretofore we never thought of it at all, except when some melancholy incident had sunk our spirits, or had terrified our apprehensions; it was either from lowness or from fright that we thought of religion at all. Whilst things went smoothly and prosperously and gaily with us, whilst all was well and safe in our health and circumstances, religion was the last thing we wished to turn our minds to: we did not want to have our pleasure disturbed by it. But it is not so with us now: there is a change in our minds in this respect. It enters our thoughts very often, both by day and by night, "Have I not remembered thee in my bed, and thought upon thee when I was waking?" This change is one of the prognostications of the religious principle forming within us. Secondly, These thoughts settle themselves upon our minds. They were formerly fleeting and transitory, as the cloud which passes along the sky; and they were so for two reasons: first, they found no congenial temper and disposition to rest upon, no seriousness, no posture of mind proper for their re

ception;

ception; and secondly, because we of our own accord, by a positive exertion and endeavour

of our will, put them away from us, we disliked their presence, we rejected and cast them out. But it is not so now: we entertain and retain religious meditations, as being in fact those which concern us most deeply. I do not speak of the solid comfort which is to be found in them, because that belongs to a more advanced state of christian life than I am now considering that will come afterwards; and, when it does come, will form the support and consolation and happiness of our lives. But whilst the religious principle is forming, at least during the first steps of that formation, we are induced to think about religion chiefly from a sense of its vast consequences, and this reason is enough to make wise men think about it both long and closely. Lastly, our religious thoughts come to have a vivacity and impressiveness in them which they had not hither-' to: that is to say, they interest us much more than they did. There is a wonderful difference in the light in which we see the same thing, in the force and strength with which it rises up before

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before our view, in the degree with which we are affected by it. This difference is experienced in no one thing more than in religion, not only between different persons, but by the same person at different times, the same person in different stages of the christian progress, the same person under different measures of divine grace.

Finally, would we know whether we have made, or are making any advances in christianity or not? These are the marks which will tell us. Do we think more frequently about religion than we used to do? De we cherish and entertain these thoughts for a longer continuance than we did? Do they interest us more than formerly? Do they impress us more, do they strike us more forcibly, do they sink deeper? If we perceive this, then, we perceive a change, upon which we may ground our hopes and expectations; if we perceive it not, we have cause for very afflicting apprehensions, that the power of religion hath not yet visited us; cause for deep and fervent intercession with God for the much wanted succour of his holy Spirit.

SERMON

SERMON IV.

OF THE STATE AFTER DEATH.

1. JOHN. III. 2.

"Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is,”

ONE

NE of the most natural solicitudes of the human mind is to know what will become of us after death, what is already become of those friends, who are gone. I do not so much mean the great question, whether we and they shall be happy or miserable; as I mean the question, what is the nature and condition of that state, which we are so soon to try. This solicitude, which is both natural and strong, is sometimes however carried too far: and this is the case, when

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