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MEDITATION OF DEATH,

ACCORDING TO THE FORMER RULES.

AND now, my soul, that thou hast thought of the end, The Enwhat can fit thee better than to think of the way? And, trance. though the forepart of the way to heaven be a good life, the latter and more immediate is Death: Shall I call it the way, or the gate of life? Sure I am, that by it only we pass into that blessedness; whereof we have so thought, that we have found it cannot be thought of enough.

The De

What, then, is this death, but the taking down of these sticks, whereof this earthly tent is composed? the scription. separation of two great and old friends, till they meet

again? the gaol-delivery of a long prisoner? our journey into that other world, for which we and this thoroughfare were made? our payment of our first debt to nature; the sleep of the body, and the awaking of the soul?

But, lest thou shouldest seem to flatter him, whose The Division. name and face hath ever seemed terrible to others, re

member that there are more deaths than one: if the first death be not so fearful as he is made; his horror lying more in the conceit of the beholder, than in his own aspect; surely, the second is not made so fearful as he is. No living eye can behold the terrors thereof: it is as impossible, to see them; as to feel them, and live. Nothing, but a name, is common to both. The first hath men, casualties, diseases, for his executioners; the second, devils: the power of the first, is in the grave; the second, in hell: the worst of the first, is senselessness; the easiest of the second, is, a perpetual sense of all the pain that can make a man exquisitely miserable. Thou shalt have no business, O my soul, with the se- The Causes. cond death: thy first resurrection hath secured thee. Thank him, that hath redeemed thee, for thy safety. And how can I thank thee enough, O my Saviour, which hast so mercifully bought off my torment, with thy own; and hast drunk off that bitter potion of thy Father's wrath, whereof the very taste had been

our death? Yea, such is thy mercy, O thou Redeemer of Men, that thou hast not only subdued the second death, but reconciled the first so as thy children taste not at all of the second; and find the first so sweetened to them by thee, that they complain not of bitterness. It was not thou, O God, that madest death: our hands are they, that were guilty of this evil. Thou sawest all thy work, that it was good: we brought forth sin, and sin brought forth death. To the discharge of thy justice and mercy, we acknowledge this miserable conception: and needs must that child be ugly, that hath such parents. Certainly, if Being and Good be, as they are, of an equal extent; then, the dissolution of our being must needs, in itself, be evil. How full of darkness and horror, then, is the privation of this vital light; especially since thy wisdom intended it to the revenge of sin, which is no less than the violation of an infinite. justice! It was thy just pleasure, to plague us with this brood of our own begetting. Behold, that death, which was not till then in the world, is now in every thing: one great conqueror finds it in a slate; another finds it in a fly: one finds it in the kernel of a grape; another, in the prick of a thorn: one, in the taste of a herb; another, in the smell of a flower: one, in a bit of meat; another, in a mouthful of air: one, in the very sight of a danger; another, in the conceit of what might have been. Nothing, in all our life, is too little to hide death under it. There need no cords, nor knives, nor swords, nor pieces: we have made ourselves as many ways of death, as there are helps of living. But, if we were the authors of our death, it was thou that didst alter it: our disobedience made it; and thy mercy made it not to be evil. It had been all one to thee, to have taken away the very being of death from thine own; but thou thoughtest it best to take away the sting of it only as good physicians, when they would apply their leeches, scour them with salt and nettles; and, when their corrupt blood is voided, employ them to the health of the patient. It is more glory to thee, that thou hast removed enmity from this Esau; that now he meets us with kisses, instead of frowns: and, if we receive a blow from this rough hand, yet that very stripe is healing. Oh, how much more powerful is thy death, than our sin! O my Saviour, how hast thou perfumed and softened this bed of my grave, by dying! How can it grieve me, to tread in thy steps to glory?

The Effects. Our sin made death our last enemy: thy goodness hath made it the first friend that we meet with, in our passage to another world: for, as she, that receives us from the knees of our mother in our first entrance to the light, washeth, cleanseth, dresseth us, and presents us to the breast of our nurse or the arms of our mother, challenges some interest in us when we come to our growth; so death, which, in our passage to that other life, is the first that receives and presents our naked souls to the hands of those angels, which carry it up to her glory, cannot but think this office friendly and meritorious. What, if this guide lead my carcase through corruption and rottenness, when my soul, in the very in

stant of her separation knows itself happy? What, if my friends mourn about my bed and coffin, when my soul sees the smiling face and loving embracements of him that was dead, and is alive? What care I, who shuts these earthen eyes, when death opens the eye of my soul, to see as I am seen? What, if my name be forgotten of men, when I live above with the God of Spirits?

If death would be still an enemy, it is the worst part The Subject. of me, that he hath any thing to do withal: the best is above his reach; and gains more, than the other can lose. The worst piece of the horror of death is the grave: and, set aside infidelity, what so great misery is this? That part, which is corrupted, feels it not: that, which is free from corruption, feels an abundant recompence, and foresees a joyful reparation. What is here, but a just restitution? We carry heaven and earth, wrapt up in our bosoms: each part returns homeward: and, if the exceeding glory of heaven cannot countervail the dolesomeness of the grave, what do I believing? but, if the beauty of that celestial sanctuary do more than equalize the horror of the bottomless pit, how can I shrink at earth like myself, when I know my glory? And, if examples can move thee any whit, look behind thee, O my soul, and see which of the Worthies of that ancient latter world, which of the Patriarchs, Kings, Prophets, Apostles, have not trod in these red steps. Where are those millions of generations, which have hitherto peopled the earth? How many passing-bells hast thou heard for thy known friends! How many sick beds hast thou visited! How many eyes hast thou seen closed! How many vain men hast thou seen, that have gone into the field to seek death, in hope to find an honour as foolish as themselves! How many poor creatures hast thou mulcted with death, for thine own pleasure! And canst thou hope that God will make a by-way and a postern for thee alone, that thou mayest pass to the next world, not by the gates of death, not by the bottom of the grave?

What then dost thou fear, O my soul? There are The Adjunct. but two stages of death, the bed and the grave: : this latter, if it have senselessness, yet it hath rest: the former, if it have pain, yet it hath speediness; and, when it lights upon a faithful heart, meets with many and strong antidotes of comfort. The evil, that is ever in motion, is not fearful: that, which both time and eternity finds standing where it was, is worthy of terror. Well may those tremble at death, which find more distress within, than without; whose consciences are more sick and nearer to death, than their bodies. It was thy Father's wrath, that did so terrify thy soul, O my Saviour, that it put thy body into a bloody sweat. The mention and thought of thy death ended in a psalm; but this began in an agony. Then didst thou sweat out my fears. The power of that agony doth more comfort all thine, than the angels could comfort thee. That very voice deserved an eternal separation of horror from death, where thou saidst, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Thou hadst not complained of being left, if thou

wouldest have any of thine left destitute of comfort in their parting. I know not whom I can fear, while I know whom I have believed: how can I be discouraged with the sight of my loss, when I see so clear an advantage? The Contrary. What discomfort is this, to leave a frail body, to be joined unto a glorious head? To forsake vain pleasures, false honours, bootless hopes, unsatisfying wealth, stormy contentments, sinful men, perilous temptations, a sea of troubles, a galley of servitude, an evil world, and a consuming life; for freedom, rest, happiness, eternity? And if thou wert sentenced, O my soul, to live a thousand years in this body, with these infirmities, how wouldst thou be weary; not of being only, but of complaining: while, ere the first hundred, I should be a child; ere the second, a beast; a stone, ere the third; and, therefore, should be so far from finding pleasure in my continuance, that I should not have sense enough left, to feel myself miserable! And, when I am once gone, what difference is there betwixt the agedest of the first patriarchs and me, and the child that did but live to be born; save only in what was? and that, which was, is not. And, if this body had no weakness, to make my life tedious; yet, what a torment is it, that, while I live, I must sin? Alas, my soul, every one of thy known sins is not a disease, but a death. What an enemy art thou to thyself, if thou canst not be content, that one bodily death should excuse thee from many spiritual; to cast off thy body, that thou mayest be stripped of the rags, yea the fetters of thy sin, and clothed with the robes of glory? Yet these terms are coo hard: thou shalt not be cast off, O my body: rather, thou shalt be put to making. This change is no less happy for thee, than or thy partner. This very skin of thine, which is now tawny and wrinkled, shall once shine: this earth shall be heaven: this dust shall be glorious: these eyes, that are now weary of being witesses of thy sins and miseries, shall then never be weary of seeing the beauty of thy Saviour, and thine own in his: these ears, that have been now tormented with the impious tongues of men, shall first hear the voice of the Son of God; and then the voices of Saints and Angels, in their songs of Hallelujah: and this tongue, that now complains of miseries and fears, shall then bear a part in that divine harmony.

sons.

The CompariIn the mean time, thou shalt but sleep in this bed of earth. He, that hath tried the worst of death, hath called it no worse. Very heathens have termed them cousins; and it is no unusual thing for cousins of blood, to carry both the same names and features. Hast thou wont, O my body, when the day hath wearied thee, to lie down not unwillingly to thy rest? behold, in this sleep there is more quietness, more pleasure of visions, more certainty of waking, more cheerfulness in rising: why then art thou loth to think of laying off thy rags, and reposing thyself? why art thou, like a child, unwilling to go to bed? Hast thou ever seen any bird, which, when the cage hath been opened,

would rather sit still and sing within her grates, than fly forth unto her freedom in the woods? Hast thou ever seen any prisoner, in love with his bolts and fetters? Did the Chief of the Apostles, when the angel of God shined in his gaol, and struck him on the side, and loosed his two chains, and bade him arise quickly, and opened both the wooden and iron gate, say, "What, so soon? yet, a little sleep?" What madness had it been, rather to slumber betwixt his two keepers, than to follow the angel of God into liberty? Hast thou ever seen any mariner, that hath saluted the sea with songs, and the haven with tears? What shall I say to this diffidence, O my soul, that thou art unwilling to think of rest, after thy toil; of freedom, after thy durance; of the haven, after an unquiet and tempestuous passage? How many are there, that seek death, and cannot find it! merely out of the irksomeness of life. Hath it found thee, and offered thee better conditions; not of immunity from evils, but of possession of more good, than thou canst think; and wouldst thou now fly from happiness, to be rid of it?

The Names.

What! Is it a name, that troubles thee? What if men would call sleep, death; wouldst thou be afraid to close thine eyes? What hurt is it then, if he, that sent the first sleep upon man, whilst he made him a helper, send this last and soundest sleep upon me, while he prepares my soul for a glorious spouse to himself? It is but a parting, which we call death; as two friends, when they have led each other on the way, shake hands till they return from their journey. If either could miscarry, there were cause of sorrow: now they are more sure of a meeting, than of a parture, what folly is it, not to be content to redeem the unspeakable gain of so dear a friend, with a little intermission of enjoying him! He will return laden with the riches of heaven; and will fetch his old partner, to the participation of this glorious wealth. Go then, my soul, to this sure and gainful traffic; and leave my other half in a harbour, as safe, though not so blessed yet so shalt thou be separated, that my very dust shall be united to thee still, and to my Saviour in thee.

Wert thou unwilling, at the command of thy The Testimonies. Creator, to join thyself at the first with this body

of mine? why art thou then loth to part with that, which thou hast found, though entire, yet troublesome ? Dost thou not hear So

lomon say, The day of death is better than the day of thy birth? dost thou not believe him? or art thou in love with the worse, and displeased with the better? If any man could have found a life worthy to be preferred unto death, so great a king must needs have done it now in his very throne, he commends his coffin. Yea, what wilt thou say to those heathens, that mourned at the birth, and feasted at the death of their children? They knew the miseries of living, as well as thou: the happiness of dying they could not know; and, if they rejoiced out of a conceit of ceasing to be miserable, how shouldst thou cheer thyself, in an expectation,

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