THE SINNER's JOY.

Ан,

my foul! why so dismay'd ?

Why fo fad, so sore afraid ?

Canft thou think those gracious eyes,

Drench'd in tears for thee, Heb. V. x.7

Can difdain fuch powerful cries,

Such humility?

Sinners fouls must sorrow keep,

Men may mourn, when God can weep.

Soul, though thou haft done amifs,

Yet rejoice, for thou art his.

See, his foul was fad to death.

In his agony,

Sad to eafe thy woeful breath,

In thy mifery.

Be not faithless, but believe,

Man may figh, when GoD can grieve.

Do not grudge to lend a tear,

Canft thou doubt, or canft thou fear?

Canft thou fee his bleeding heart,

And not believe him?

Wounded foul that bears a part,

Can never grieve him.

Timely tears are precious feed,

Man may weep, when God can bleed,

Be not fo caft down alas!
See his foul forfaken was

Frighted with his Eather's frown.

Left in pains of hell:

Ah! why art thou so caft down?

'Twas to make thee well;

Doubt not, but admire his coft,

Man may ftray, when GoD was loft.

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Soul, when art thou left alone,

Do not deem thy Saviour gone,
When thou canst not fee his face;

'Tis to let thee know

That those finners withdraw his grace,

Which brought him so low.

THE SINNER's TEARS.

ENTRANCE TO THE WORK.

THERE is no man but naturally defireth happiness; even those unhappy ones that least endeavour for it, have oftentimes an earnest longing to it; there can be no true happiness without peace, no true peace without holiness, without offering violence to our corrupt affections, without ranfacking our fouls, and fearching out the very fecrets of our finful hearts: the worldling may be outwardly merry, but none but the fons of forrow can be inwardly contented; that outward joy may delight for a feafon, but this inward peace remaineth for ever.

Peace is the richest jewel in a chriftian's cabinet, the choiceft legacy that Chrift bequeathed to his chosen ones; in it there is a complication of all bleffings, and without it an expectation of all miseries; there is no attaining to it, but by the search of him who is the giver of it; there is no following this fearch, but by that path which leadeth to the ready

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way, and there is but one guide that can direct us unto that path. Bleffed God, there is no way unto thee but by thee, thou art life, and thou art the way to that life, and thou art the guide to that way, thou Lord, art all in all unto me, and therefore shalt be now and ever praised by me.

In all awful reverence to thy Sacred Majefty, in fear and trembling at the fight of thy fevere juftice to impenitent finners, in serious apprehenfion, of thy fweet mercy in forbearing me a miserable wretch, and with unfeigned forrow and humility of heart for grieving thy good spirit, I here dedicate the short remainder of my finful days to thy fervice; in thy name and in thy fear, I begin my discourse, who art the God of peace, by whofe holy Spirit, I am guided to this happy fearch: Lord, lead me in it by the fame Spirit, that I may become an inftrument of glory unto thee, of happiness to thine, of reft to mine own foul.

CHAP. I.

Eph. D. 18

UPON THE CONSIDERATION OF OUR SINFUL.

THOUGHTS TOUCHING THE SACRED DEITY,

WITH HOLY CAUTIONS TO ORDER OUR DE

VOTIONS ARIGHT.

LORD,

WHEN I seriously confider what thou art, (the leaft glimpse of whofe eternal glory I can no way fee but by conceiving what thou art not) when I look upon the vast distance between thee the bleffed Creator, and me thy finful creature, I cannot but wonder at thy great patience, at thy rich goodness, at thine endless mercy towards me.

My whole life from my nativity hath been a continued course of finfulness against thee, mine actions highly rebellious, my thoughts finfully wicked, even the very best of them a dark, confufed, indigefted heap of mifconceivings of thy Sacred Majefty.

Thou (Lord) art an effence moft glorious, most inconceivable, eternally enjoying blessedness in the fruition of thy felf; thy centre is every where, thy circumference no where ; thou admitteft not of augmentation, nor of diminution; no length of time is beyond thee, no depth of wisdom beneath thee, no height of glory above thee, no breadth of mercy befide thee: thou art, O Lord, a moft pure, fimple, and eternal