i ^&^- X NEWBURYPORT ^"K 1 public fikarBJ ^ FOUNDED NOVEMBEB, 1854. 1 I /.' y/^Z^^y^ .^' % '^ ^ ^ «t DEVOUT EXERCISES OF THE HEART IN MEDITATION AND SOLILOqUY, PRAYER AND PRAISE, By the late pious and ingenious MRS, ELIZABETH ROWE. REVIEWED AND PUBLISHED AT HER RE^UEST^ BY I. WATTS, D. D. Johnson's edition, PHILADELPHIA : PUBLISHED BY ROBERT JOHNSON^ NO. 2, NORTH THIRDS STREET. 1806. JwTt CONTENTS. Page. LIFE of Mrs. Rowe, 3 Letter to an intimate Friend of Mrs. Rowe, 43 Preface, 45 Letter from the Author to the Rev. Dr. Watts, 54 I. Supreme Love to God, 56 II The Triuh and Goodness of God, 59 III. L' nging afttr the Enjoyment of God, 61 IV. G(>d my Supreme, my only Hope, 64 V. God a present Hel]), and ever near-, 67 VI. God an ail-sufficient Good, and my only Happiness, 69 VII A Covenant with God, 72 VIII. Thank-ofiering for saving Grace, 74 IX. Evidence of sincere Love to God, 77 X. Assurance of Salvation in Christ Jesus, 80 XL Thou art my G'd, 83 XH. Confession of Sin, with Hope of Pardon, 86 XIH. The Absence of God on Earth, 90 XiV. Banishment from. G-d for ever, 92 XV. Tlitigpiory of God, in his V/orks of Creation, Pro- vidence, and Redemption, 95 XVI. Longing f r vhe coming of Clirist, 97 XVII. Seeking after an absent G' d, 99 XVIII. Appeals to God concernmg the Supremacy of Love to Him, 102 XIX. A dcv. ui Rapture ; or, Love to G .d inexpressible, 104 XX. Self- i:^/pror.f tor Inactivitv, UO XXI. > A jo"\fiii View of appr- : -^.ing Dearh, 112 XX II. A Devour Resignation of Self to the Divine Power and Gocdness, 115 XXm. Redeeming Love, 113 y.XiV. Plead.iigi.Mr Pardon and Holinef^s, 120 XX v^ A TranspM-t ot Gratinide for s.;ving Mercy, 125 XXVL Imponunate Requests for the Return ot God to the S-;ul, 126 XXVJL Breathing af.er God, and weary of the World, 132 XXViil. A Praver for speedy Savcnncation, 137 XXiX. Gratiiude f ;r early uud pecu! ar Favour, 140 XXX. Aspiring afttr th^ Vision of God ia Heaven, 142 CONTENTS. Page, XXXL A Surrender of the Soul to God, 144 XX XII. Trust and Reliance on the Divine Promise, ihid XXX III. Application to Divine Truth, 147 XXXIV. Glory to God, for Salvation by Jesus and his Blood, 152 XXXV. A Review of Divine Mercy and Faithfulness, 154 XXXVI. Dail)' lixperience of the kind Providence of God, and Pious Breathings of the Soul to- "Vfards the heavenl/ World, 153 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. ELIZABETH ROWE, a character a^ much revered for the excellency of her mind as admired for the sublimity of her genius, was born at Ilchester^ in the county of Somerset, September 11, 1674. Her parents were eminent for their piety and virtue, as well as their attach- ment to the cause of '^ religion ; her father, Mr. Walter Singer, having suffered imprisonment pursuant to an act passed against non-conform- ists, in the reign of Charles II. But though firm in the profession of his religious principles, he had those exalted ideas of the attributes of the Deity, v/hich are incompatible with a rooted bigotry and gloomy sullenness ;'nor could he sub- scribe to the opinions of these who would limit the bounds of the divine mercy and goodness, which he was v/ell assured were extended to the whole creation, and therefore nothing could ex- clude rational beings from it, but an obstinate resistance of the means appointed for their pre- sent and future happiness. As a member of so- ciety he was esteemed for his integrity, benevo- lence, and simplicity of manners, and honoured with the friendship of Lord Weymouth, and Bi- shop Kenn, who at that time were no less re- spected for their virtues, than the superiority of their rank in life. But let it suffice to sum up the character of this good man in the elegant description of his daughter, in one of her fami- liar letters to a friend. ' I have ease and plenty to the extent of my wishes, and cannot form desires of any thing but 4 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. what my father's indulgence would procure ; and I ask nothing of heaven but the good old man's life. The perfect sanctity of his life, and the benevolence of his temper, make him a re- fuge to all in distress, to the widow and father- less. The people load him with blessings and prayers whenever he goes abroad ; which he ne- ver does but to reconcile his neighbours, or to right the injured and oppressed ; the rest of his hours are entirely devoted to his private devo- tions, and to books which are his perpetual en- tertainment,' As he lived in uniform obedience to the divine commands, so he died in perfect resignation to the divine will, a striking instance of the power of religion, and the exalted state of the human mind, when supported by the consciousness of the favour of the Almighty, and the animating prospect of a life of immortal bliss. The calm- ness and resignation which this good man evinced in his expiring moments, had such an effect upon the mind of one of the free-thinkers of the age who was present, that he was ready to say as the Roman Governor did when wrought upon by the oratory of the Apostle Paul ; ^ Almost thou persuadest me to be a christian.' And the sup- posed confession of an infidel on a like occasion, suggested to Mrs. Rowe the following observa- tion : ' That though he thought religion a delu- sion, yet it was the most agreeable delusion in the world ; and the men who flattered them- selves with those gay visions, had much the ad- vantage of those that saw nothing before them but a gloomy imcertainty, or the dreadful hope of annihilation.' The inference drawn from these premises is ; that this confession, if the in- LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. ^ fidel be true to himself, must terminate in his conversion to Christianity. ;i^ Mrs. Rowe had two sisters, one of whom died in her infancy, the other attained her twentieth year ; the companion of her sister in the path of honour and virtue. Their minds^were conge- nial, their inclination for reading similar, and particularly books on medicinal subjects, of which they acquired so competent a knowledge, as ena- bled them to dispense the benefits of the healing- art to their indigent^ neighbours, who admired their ingenuity and extolled their liberality. Prompted by a laudable ambition, they were in- defatigable in the pursuit of knowledge, and their reciprocal communication tended to their mutual improvement, and if the life of both had been spared, would have greatly enlivened their attainments. But as earthly blessings are seldom permanent cr without alloy ; the tv/o lovely sis- ters were separated by death ! one exalted spirit soared to the regions of bliss ; the other was permitted to protract her abode here below, where she continued many years In the exercise of the noblest v/orks of piety towards God and humanity towards mankind. Mrs. Rowe in her infant years gave proofs of a strength of mind and inclination to virtue, rarely to be found in the dawn of life, and which must have afforded her pious and w^ell-disposed parents an highly gratifying prospect of her fu- ture excellence, in all the endowments and quali- fications that could adorn her sex, and render her an ornament to human nature. It IS not known at what particular age she be- gan to entertain serious thoughts of the nature and necessity of Religion ; though it is re?po.> A 2 6 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. able to think it was as early in life, as she can be supposed capable of forming distinct ideas of the reverence and duty she owed her Creator, which improved with her growing years, till her piety and virtue attained to that degree of eminence, which rendered her the admiration and delight of the whole circle of her acquaintance. This opinion is confirmed in one of her own addresses to the divine Being, in which she has these words : ' My infant hands were early lifted up to thee, and I soon learned to know and acknow- ledge the God of my fathers.' Her serious turn of mind was doubtless the result of a religious education improved and enforced by her natural disposition ; for though she possessed an uncom- mon sprightliness of temper, she entertained such a reverential awe for the Divine Majesty, as fully disposed her for the performance of the- most solemn act of devotion. Some persons, from passages that occur in her Devout Exer- cises, have been induced to think that the liveli- ness of her disposition might interrupt her de- votion, as she complains of her want of due fer- vour ; but this language must be attributed to her great humility ; under a sense of the imperfec- tion of the best religious duties of which the most shining professors, as fallen creatures, can be capable ; since after they have exerted their utmost efforts in promoting the cause of their Divine Master, they are still but unprofitable servants. As painting and poetry have ever been deem- ed sister arts, from the resemblance they bear to each other ; originating in the power of im.agina- tlon, and centering in a picturesque description of nature ; it is no matter of wonder that those LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. who in early life discover an inclination for the one, should in the course of time have a taste for the other, and be qualified to judge of its beauties, though they have not produced any spe- cimens of their skill in its execution. Mrs. Rowe discovering an inclination to paint- ing, when she had hardly strength and steadiness of hand to guide the pencil ; her indulgent fa- ther observing her propensity to the art, employ- ed a master to instruct her, and she acquired such a knowledge of it, as to render it a source of occasional entertainment during the whole course of her life. An ingenious acquaintance of this accomplished person observes, that ' pro- bably she cultivated ti>e art, as it afforded her op- portunities of gratifying her friends with pre- sents of her best productions ; for she kept very few of them herself, and those only sucb as she judged unworthy the acceptance of others.' It must appear to every one acquainted with her literary productions, that she was naturally inclined to harmon}^, and most delighted with music of the grave and solemn kind, as best adapted to the sublimity of her ideas, and the elevated sentiments of devotion she entertained for the greatest and best of Beings. But though she discovered in many instances an inclination to painting and music ; poetry had the ascendency in her mind, and was the favour- ite and most constant object of her pursuit. In this art she acquired a degree of eminence in early life, and such was the force of her genius for poeticatdisplay, that it pervaded her prosaic compositions, which are fraught with a ] the beautiful images, bold figures, and flowery dic-^ tion that enforce and adorn her productions in LIFE OF MRS. ROVVE. verse, as v/ill be evident from perusing her fa- xniliar letters, which bear the stamp of an inspir- ing muse. She began indeed to evince her pro- pensity for versification as soon as she was capa- ble of writing; and in the year 1696, v/hen she had attained to the twenty-second of her age, published, at the desire of two literary friends, a collection of poems on various occasions, which there is ground to suppose did not comprise the vvhole of her productions, as the writer of the preface intimates that the author might after- wards be prevailed on to oblige vhe world with a second part in no respect inferior to the for- mer. She assumed the poetical name of Philornela, [the nightingale] under which her productions were ushered into the v/orld ; whether by her own choice, or at the instance of her friends, as a compliment to her merit, cannot be ascertained. From her known modesty the latter seems most probable ; and that desiring her name might be concealed, the appellation of Philomtla was sub-- stituted for it, as happily allusive to the melliflu- ous strains of her poetry, which bear a resem- blance to the plaintive notes of the nightingale, according to the description of the great Milton. Sweet bird that sliunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy At the age of twenty, her poetical talents at- tracted the notice of the noble family of Thynne, which resided at Longleat. They were so charm- ed with a little copy of her verses which acci- dentally fell into their hands^ that they had the greatest desire to see the fair author, and there- LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. 9 fore sent her a most polite and pressing invita- tion to their vilhu The invitation according to the forms of good breeding, was accepted by the young lady, and from thut moment a friend- ship commenced that terminated but with life : a friendship that redounded not more to the ho- nour of our female bard, in being admitted to a familiarity with persons of rank so superior in the outward distinctions of life ; than to the com- mendation of an elegant taste, and discriminat- ing judgment, in the noble personages, who were thus liberally disposed to afford their sanction to such promising talents. So highly did the family esteem the accomplishments of their visitant, that to add to their splendour, the honourable Mr. Thynne, son to the Lord Viscount Wey- mouth, voluntarily undertook to instruct her in the French and Italian languages ; and so rapid was the progress of his fair scholar, that she was but a few months under his tuition, before she was able to read Tasso's Jerusalem with equal facilit} and propriety. It is not to be wondered that such an union of accomplishments, mental and personal, should procure the possessor a train of humble and im- portunate suitors. Amongst these it is said was the much-admired bard Matthew Prior, who of- fered to take her as partner for life. If this cir- cumstance is kept in view during the perusal of Prior's Poems, it will appear, that allowing the author to be under the influence of love as well as the muse, the concluding lines in his answer to the pastoral in Love and Friendship, by Miss Singer, are not without foundation in truth, and that she was the nameless lady to whom' the same 10 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. author inscribes the following copy of verses.* But Mn Thomas Rowe was the man reserved to enjoy with this accomplished woman the reci- procal pleasures of connubial bliss. Mr. Thomas Rowe was born in London, in the year 1687; he was the eldest son of the Rev. Benoni Rowe, a divine of profound learn- ing and sound judgment, much admired for his powers of eloquence in the pulpit, and respected for his engaging manner in social converse. T he husband of our author had to boast an honoura- ble descent ; but as he rested his fame on per- sonal merit, and disdained to shine by a borrow* cd light, he declined any honours he might have derived from his ancestry, ^as incompatible with that true dignity which cemres alone in virtue. He gave proofs of extraordinary abilities and a peculiar desire after rm.pixiY^^i|ient at a very early period of life, being able to read as soon almost as he could speak. Disdaining those trivial amusements and tinsel gewgaws to which chil- dren in general are attached, his mind was prin* cipally intent on books, and if he was occasionally prevailed upon by the solicitations of his com- panions to join in their puerile diversions, he discovered rather disgust than pleasure in the pursuit of them, and was anxious to abandon them and return to the nobler employment of acquiring knowledge. He was initiated in classical learning at Epsom, and by his assiduous application made such a profi^'iency in that branch of education, as gained him the peculiar favour of his master, and re- * See Prior's Poems, in Cooke's British Poets, which form a part of his Uniform Pocket Library. LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. 11 «pect of his school-feilows ; which he considered as the most gratifying reward that could possibly result from all the efforts he had exerted to ob- tain it. He was afterwards sent to the Charter- house-school, and put under the tuition of Doc- tor Walker, a divine, eminent for his own learn- ing, and the number of excellent classical scholars, who received their education from him in that ancient nursery of polite learning. Rowc acquired the same degree of superiority over his school-fellows at the Charter-house as he had done at Epsoni, insomuch that the Doc- tor, after he had finished his classical studies, and was a master of the Latin, Greek and He- brew languages, persuaded his father to send him to one of the English Universities. But Mr. Rowe, whether from the influence of his own political or religious opinions, or any other prevailing motive cannot be determined, chose rather to send his son to a private academy in London, and some iime before his death remov- ed him to the university of Xeyden, where he studied the Jewish Antiquities under Witsius, Civil Law under Vitrarius, the Belles Lettres under Perizonius, and Experimental Philosophy under Senguerdius. From this mart of learning he returned, an accomplished scholar, with a vast accession of treasure in books he had purchased, and knowledge he had acquired, without any taint of his morals, which he had preserved as uncorrupt, as if he had been under the control of the most rigid inspection. Mr. Rowe, from education and principle, was zealously attached to the cause of civil and reli- gious liberty. He had imbibed the most gene- rous sentiments from his familiar acquaintance 12 LIFE OF MRS. ROW^^.. with history, and the renowned authors of an- cient Greece and Rome. During his residence at Leyden, he had examples continually before him of the benefit resulting from freedom, as the parent of industry, the nurse of the arts and sciences, and the grand source of social bliss. Fraught with generous and exalted ideas, he could not on his return to his native country but see with concern, principles adopted and acted upon by some men in power, subversive of its li- berties, its glory, and its happiness. As he detest- ed tyranny of every kind, but particularly that which is exercised over the reason and conscience of mankind, he opposed with a laudable zeal the arbitrary strides that were made to suppress re- ligious toleration, justly deeming the slavery of the mind as the most abject and ignominious that can possibly be entailed upon rational beings. His writings will perpetuate his patriotism and philantrophv, as they evidently shew him to have been the advocate of virtue and the friend of mankind. From his love of liberty proceeded his attachment to the illustrious house of Hano- ver, in which he had the satisfaction of living to see the succession to the British throne take place, and he would often congratulate his friends on that happy and memorable event. As Mr. Rowe's desire for the acquisition of knowledge admitted of no bounds, he was inde- fatigable in the pursuit of it, and therefore de- voted all his morning hours to study, till the time of his being seized with the distemper which proved mortal. His library consisted of a most extensive and judicious collection of books y and as he was continually nxaking addi- LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. 13 tlons to it, amounted, a^i it is said, at his death to above five thousand volumes. His mind was stored with knowledge of every kind, which added to a most retentive memory and an inexhaustible fund of wit, rendered him a most lively and entertaining companion ; so that his society was courted and prized, throughout the whole circle of his acquaintance. He was an excellent judge of poetry, and seems himself to have possessed the requisites for a poet, such as a lively imagination, aptitude for expression, and fluency of diction; but as he did not cultivate the art, as his leading passion, he cannot be supposed to have attained to any degree of eminence in it. His principal study was history, for which he was peculiarly qualified, by his universal read- ing, vast memory and exquisite judgment. He had formed a design of compiling the lives of all the illustrious persons of antiquity omitted by the famous Grecian Biographer Plutarch; and to qualify himself for that arduous undertaking, had perused v/ith the utmost «ittention all the an- cient Historians, both Roman and Grecian, In- deed he executed his design in part, for he wrote eight lives which v/ere published after bis de- cease as a' supplement to the work of that much- admired Biographer, in v/hich he discovers great knowledge of ancient history in particular, and of human nature in general. The style is easy, concise and nervous, the facts related are authen- ticated by indubitable testimony, and the obser- vations and Inferences founded on the most im- partial and equitable principles. Dr. Chaiidler, a dissenting minister of great genius, learning and probity, wroie a preface to B 14 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. Rowers Lives, in which he expresses his esteem for the author in the following words : ^ He must be insensible to true merit, and to all just regards to the public good, that can look over these valuable remains, without finding in him- self a true respect and esteem raised for the au- thor ; and his own heart inspired within encreas- ing love to the liberties and welfare of his country.' Besides these lives, he had prepared for the press the life of Thrasybulus, which was- submitted to the revisal of Sir Richard Steele, but from causes not known never published. Mr. Rowe being at Bath in 1709, was intro- duced by a friend to the company of Miss Singer, who lived in a recluse manner in a spot not far distant from that city. He had a predilection for her from her writings, which he had read with the greatest delight, as well as from the favour- able report he had heard from several of her ac- quaintance ; but when he had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with her, he was captivated by the union of so much beauty, wit, and virtue, and from an admirer soon became a suitor. As a proof of the high veneration in w^hich he held the qualifications of Miss Singer, both mental and personal, we shall cite the following extract from a poetical epistle he sent to a friend and neighbour of that lady, during the courtship. Youth's liveliest bloom, a never-fading grace, And more than beauty sparkles in her face : Yet the bright form creates no loose desires, "^ At once she <^ives and purifies our fires, C And passions, chaste as her own soul, inspires. j Her s^ uh Heav'n's perfect workmanship, design'd To bless the ruin'd ape, and succour lost mankind ; To prop ab;.mdr'n'd Virtue's sinking cause. And snatch from Vice its undeserved applause. LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. lo The happvpair, whose minds were so conge- nial, v/ere united in the bands of marriage in the year 1710, on which occasion a learned friend of Mr. Rowe wrote a Latin Epigram, of which the following is a translation. On the Marriage of Mr, Thowaa Rowe, and Miss hlizabeth dinger. No more, proud Gallia, bid the world revere Thy learned pcur, Le Fevre and Dacier : Britain maj^ boast ; this happy day unites Two nobler minds in Hymen's sacred rites : What these have sung;, while all th' inspiring nine Exalt the beauties of the verse divine ; Those (humble critics of th* immortal strain) Shall bound their fame to comment and explain. The transcendent virtues and elegant endow- ments of Mrs. Rowe could not fail to maintain the generous passion they at first excited in the breast of her husband, so susceptible of every tender emotion, and alive to every delicate feel- ing. He knew how to estimate the ixierits of his amiable consort, and to repay by the tenderest and most endearing caresses, the care and solici- tude she always discovered for his person and happiness. Some time after the marriage he took occasion to express his sentiments of con- nubial friendship and affection, in an ode ad- dressed to her under the name of Delia ; and as the following lines seem to have presaged events in a manner so agreeable to the wishes express- ed in them, we presume they will not be unac- ceptable to our readers. So long may thy inspiring page. And great example, bless the rising age ! 36 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. Long in thy charnriing prison mayst thou stay, Late, very late, ascend the well -known way^ And add new glories to the realnns or day I At least Heav'n will not sure this pray'r deny : Short be my life's uncertain date, And earlier far than thine the destin'd hour of fate ! Whene'er it comes mayst ihou be by. Support my sinking ^'rame, and teach me how to die. B^aiish desponding nature's gloom. Make me to hope a gentle doom, And fix me all in jv)ys to come. With su^imming eyes I'll gaze upon thy charms. And clasp thee, dying, in my fainting arms : Then gently leaning on thy breast Sink in soft slumbers to eternal rest, The ghastly form shall have a pleasing air. And all things smile while Heav'n and thou ar^^ there. As Mr. Rowe was not of a robust habit of body, a long series of intense application to stLidy might probably produce that decline of health, which allayed the happiness of connubial life, during the greater part of its short duration. About the close of the year 1714 he appeared to labour under a consumption, which in the course of a few months put a period to his life, on the 13th of May, 1715, when he was but just past the twenty-eighth year of his age. He was in- terred in the vault belonging to his family in the burial-place in Bunhill-fields, where on his tomb are only marked his name and the date of his birth and death. But ample justice was done to his memory by his amiable relict in the elegy she ^vrote on his death, which is justly deemed the most admirable of her poetical works. She con- tinued, indeed, to the last moments of her life, to testify in every instance the highest veneration and affection for his memory, a$ is evident from LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. X7 the poem she wrote on the anniversary return of the day on which he died. The noise and bustle of a town life by no means suited the contemplative disposition of Mrs. Rowe, nor could any thing reconcile her to a residence in London, during even the winter season, but the society of her husband ; so that as soon after his decease, as she could arrange her affairs, she retired to enjoy that solitude with which she was so highly delighted, to Frome in Somersetshire, in the vicinity of which she pos» sessed considerable landed property. Though upon her leaving town, she formed a resolution to revisit it no more, but pass the residue of her days in total solitude, she v\^as sometimes induc- ed to recede from that determination. She could not withstand the importunate solicitations of her honourable friend Mrs. Thynne, but passed some time with her in London, to console her on the death of her daughter ; nor could she on the melancholy occasion of the death of Mrs. Thynne herself, refuse compliance with the re- quest of the Countess of Hertford to reside some time with her Ladyship at Marlborough, to soften by her engaging conversation and friendly admonition, the very severe affliction she underwent fbr the loss of so excellent a pa- rent. She was also on some future occasions prevailed upon by the same illustrious lady, to spend a fev/ months with her at some of the Earl of Hertford's seats in the country. But she always quitted her retirement with much re- luctance, and discovered the greatest eagerness to return to it, as soon as ever she had fulfilled her engagements with her noble friends ! In the happiest hours of her retirement, she b2 18 LIFE QF MRS. ROWE. I romposed the greatest part of her works, and particuhirly her Friendship in Death, ' and the several Letters Moral and Entertaining.' ^ The drift of the Letters from the Dead, is (^as ex- pressed in the preface) to impress the notion of the soul's irarnortality, without which ail virtue and religion, with their temporal and eternal good consequences, must fall to the ground, and to make our mind familiar with the thought of our future existence, and contract as it were an habitual persuasion of it by writings built on that foundation, and addressed to the affections and imagination. The design both of these and the Letters mo- ral and entertaining evidently is, by presenting to the mind fictitious examples of the most disin- terested benevolence, and inflexible virtue, to animate the reader to the practice of whatever tends to ennoble human nature, and promote the happiness of mankind : and on the other hand, by pourtraying images of horror, and exhibiting characters disgusting in themselves, to deter the young and unwary from such pursuits, which if persevered in must embitter the present life, and endanger the happiness of the future. The ten- dency of such a design must highly recommend it, as the efforts of genius have been too frequent- ly exerted in disguising the native deformity of vice; and in palliating, if not justifying, immo- rality of conduct. ^ But this excellent lady (as observed by an eminent writer of the last age,) possessed so much strength and firmness of mind, and such a perfect natural goodness, as could npt be perverted by the largeness of her wit; and was proof against the art of poetry itself.' And it is added with great propriety by a mo- LIFE OF MRS. ROWTE. 1^" dern writer, ' that the elegant letters which gave occasion to remark this distinction in Mrs. Rowe's character, as a poiite writer, are not only chaste and innocent, but greatly subservieut to the truest interests of mankind ; and evidently designed by representing virtue in all its genuine beauty, to recommend it to the chuice and admi- ration of mankind. Our author, in the year 1736, w^s prevailed on by the importunity of some of her most intimate friends, to publish her History of Joseph, in ten books. This poem was the production of her juvenile days ; and when first printed went no farther than the marriage of the hero of the piece ; but at the express desire of an illustrious friend, that the narration might comprise the memorable circumstance of Joseph's discovering himself to his brethren, she added two other books, which she is said to have perfected in the course of three or four days ; and this latter part, her last work was published biit a few weeks before her death. She had retired some time before this impor* tant event took place, to her favourite recess at Frome. The business of her life, strange as it may seem to gay and dissipated minds, had been to prepare for death. She was blessed with a good constitution, which a long series of years had but little impaired ; but a few months before her dissolution, she was attacked by a disease, from the symptoms of which she herself as v/ell as her friends, found cause to apprehend danger. Though she ingenuously confessed she did not find herself entirely free from that alarm, from which human nature with its most exalted attain- ments cannot be exempt on so trying an occa- feO LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. sion ; yet when she reflected on the mercy of God through ihe mediation of the great Re- deemer, she found from a firm reliance on the same, such a degree of satisfaction and transport, that she said with tears of joy, ' she knew not that she had ever felt the like in all her life C and she repeated on this occasion Mr. Pope's verses, entitled 'The Dying Chrisiian,' in so. feeling a manner, as abundantly proved to her friends around her, that she was fullv impressed with the elevated sentiments of devodon und re- signation, which this exquisite piece of sacred poetry is calculated to inspire. Bui Mrs. Rowe recovered from thi^ alarming shock of her constitution ; and from her exact temperance, as well as perfect serenitv of mind, undisturbed by worldly cares or tumultnous pas- sions, her friends were encouraged to hope for a much longer continuance of a life soliscfid and desirable, than it pleased the great Disposer of all events to allot. On the very day on which she w^as attacked by the disorder, that in a few hours proved mortal, she seemed to those about lier to be in perfect healtli, and in the evening of it conversed w itji a friend, w^ith her usual alert- ness before she returned to her chamber. Soon after her servant hearing an vmusual noise in her mistress's room, hastened thither, and to her great consternation found her prostrate on the floor, speechless, and in the agonies of death. A physician and surgeon were immediately sent for, but all the means used were ineffectual, and she expired on Sunday morning, February 28, 1737', in the sixty-third year of her age. Her disease was supposed by the faculty to have been an apoplexy. From a religious book that was LIFE OF MRS, ROWE. 21 found lying open by her, and also soncie loose papers on which she had written some uncon- nected sentences, it appeared that she passed the latest moments of her life in the exercise of de- votion. It is remarked by a pious friend, that the sud- den departure of Mrs. Rowe, from this transi- tory state of existence, may be considered as a token of the divine favour in answer to her ear- nest entreaties at the throne of grace ; for as she was fearful that the violence of pain, or the lan- guor of decaying nature, might bring on a de- pression of spirits, or cause such indication of alarm on the view of approaching dissolution, as might reflect dishonour on her profession as a christian, her manuscript book of devotions con- tains frequent petitions to heaven, deprecating such a situation ; and she often expressed to her friends a desire of a sudden departure, especially when she was particularly affected by such appre- hensions. Indeed, we may adopt on this occasion the words of Mr. Graves, in alette^to a friend soon after her decease : ^ Though her death be universally lamented, yet the manner of it is ra- ther to be esteemed a part of her happiness. One moment to enjoy this life ; the next, or after a pause, we are not sensible of, to find ourselves got beyond, not only the fears of death, but death itself, and in possession of everlasting life, and ^ health and pleasure : this moment to be devoutly addressing ourselves to God, or employed in de- lightful meditations on his perfections ; the next in his presence, and surrounded with scenes of bliss perfectly UQvr and unspeakably joyous ; is a way of departing out of this life to be desired, not dreaded by ourselves, and felicitated, not con- 22 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. doled by our surviving friends : Mhen all things are in readiness for our removal out oi the world, it is a privilege to be spared the sad cere- mony of parting, and all the pains and struggles of feeble n^iture.' Though Mrs. Rovve possessed from nattire, great vivacity of temper and gaiety of disposi- tion, and seemc d peculiisrly adapted to enjoy the innocent pleasures and amusements of life ; yet her mind was so impressed with a sense of the superior bliss resulting from the contemplatioa of a future world, that she looked down with con- tempt on all sublunary objects, and aspired, with an holv ardour, to a state of perfection not to be attained within the narrow confines of a limited existence. When her friends congratulated her on the appearance of health and vigour, which were visible in her countenance, and expressed the pleasing prospect they had of the continuance of her life for a series of future years ; she would reply ' that it w^as the same as telling a slave his fetters were like to be lasting, or complimenting him on the strength of the walls of his dungeon.' Indeed, she expressed upon every occasion, a most ardent desire of entering upon a life of im- mortality, and frequently flattered herself with the expectation of its near approach, and in par- ticular a short time before her death, communi- cated to her religious friends her firm persuasion, that her continuance upon earth would be but of short duration, but without assigning any reason for her opinion. We do not lay any stress on such supposed presages, but only mention them on the authority of preceding biographers. This pious and exemplary christian, was in- terred at her own request under the same stone LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. «S with her father, in the iVIe ting-place at Frome, on which occasion a funeral sermon was preached by the niinir>ter of the same to a croaded audi- ence, wh{> i^evercd her character, and ternented her loss with uncommon tokens of sorrow. To the poor, her death was a particular source of af- fliction ; as to thv^m she wa:> a never-failing bene- factress, and her bounty was heightened by the condescending manner in which it was dispensed. The folio vving letters to several of her friends, for whom she entertained a particular esteem and affection, were found in her cabinet, left there with her express desire that they should be deli- vered according to address immediately after her decease. To the CO UXTESS of HE R TFORD. MADAM, THIS is the last letter you will ever receive from me j the last assurance I shall give you on earth, of a sincere and steadfast friendship ; but when we meet again, I hope it will be in the height of immortal love and ecstacy : Mine, per- haps, may be the first glad spirit to congratulate your safe arrival on the happy shore. Heaven can witness how sincere my concern for your happiness is : thither I have sent my ardent wishes, that you may be secured from the flatter- ing delusions of the world, and after vour pious example has been long a blessing to mankind, may you calmly resign \o\ir breath and enter the confines of unmolested jov, I am now taking my farewel of you here ; but 'tis a short adieu, for I die with full persuasion 24 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. that we shall soon meet again. But oh ! in what elevation of happiness ! in what enlargement of miud^ and perfection of every faculty ; what transj)c*»^ting reflections shall we make in the ad- vantages of which we shall find ourselves eter- nally possessed! To Him that loved us and wash- ed us in his blood, we shall ascribe immortal glory, dominion, and praise for ever. This is all my salvation and all my hope ! that name in whom the gentiles trust, in whom all the families on the earth are blessed, is now my glo- rious, my unfailing confidence ; in His merits alone I expect to stand justified before infinite purity and justice. How poor were my hopes, if i depended on those ^vorks, which my own vanity, or the partiality of men call good ; and which examined by divine purity, would prove, perhaps, but specious sins. The best actions of my life would be found defective, if brought to the test of unblemished holiness, in whose sight the heavens are not clear. Where v/ere my hopes, but for a Redeemer's merits and atone- ment ! how desperate, how undone my condition ! With the utmost advantages I can boast, I should start back and tremble at the thoughts of appear- ing before the unblemished majesty. O Jesus, what harmony dwells in thy name ! Celestial joy and immortal life is in the sound ! Let angels set thee to their golden harps ! Let the ransomed nations for ever magnify thee. What a dream is mortal life ! What shadows are the objects of sense ! Ail the glories of mortality, my much-loved friend, will be nothing in your view at the awful hour of death ; when you must be separated from the whole creation, and enter on the borders of the immaterial world. LIFE €F MRS. ROWE. 25 Something persuades me, this will be my last farewell in this world : Heaven forbid it should be an everlasting parting ! May that divine pro- tection, whose care I implore, keep you steadfast in the faith of Christianity, and guide your steps m the strictest paths of virtue. Adieu, my most dear friend, till we meet in the paradise of God. Eliz, Rowe. To the EARL of ORRERY. %. MY LORD, THERE seems to be something presaging in the message you ordered me to deliver to your charming Henrietta, when I meet her gentle spirit in the blissful regions, which I believe will be very soon. I am now acting the last part of my life, and com.posing myself to meet the uni- versal terror with a fortitude becoming the prin- ciples of Christianity. It is alone through the great Redeemer's merits and atonement, that I hope to pass undaunted through the fatal dark- ness. Before him Death, the grisly tyrant flies, He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes. All hurnan greatness makes no figure to my prestmt apprehension ; every distinction va- nishes, but those of virtue a|i^ real merit. It is this which gives a peculiar regard for such a cha- racter as your's, and gives me hopes your exam- ple will not fall short of those of your illustrious ancestors. The approaches of death set the world in a true light j its brightest advantages c 26 LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. appear no more than a dream, in that solemn period : the immortal mind will quit a cottage, perhaps with less regret than it would leave ihe splendour of a palace, and the breathless ctust sleep as quietly beneath the grassy turi, as under the parade of a costly monument* These are insignificant circumstances to a spirit doomed to an endless duration of misery or bliss. It is this important concern, my lord, that has induced me to spend my time in a peaceful retirement, rather than to waste it in a train of thoughtless amusements* My thoughts are grown familiar with the solemnity of dying, and death seems to me to advance, not as an inflexible tyrant, but as the peaceful messenger of liberty and happi- ness. May I make my exit in that elate manner those charming lines of Mr, Pope describe. The world recedes, it disappears ; Heav'n opens on my eyes, my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend, lend ycur wings ! 1 mount ! I fly ! O grave I where is thy victory ? O death ! where is thy stiiig? The nearer I am approaching to immortality, the more extenbive and enlarged I find the prin- ciples of amity and good will in my soul: from hence arise the most sincere wishes for your hap- piness, and for the charming pledges your lovely Henrietta left. Oh ! my lord, if you would dis- charge the sacred trust, keep them under your own inspection. This will not reach you, my lord, till I am past the ceremony of subscribing Your humble Servant, Eliz. Rowe. LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. V To MR. JAMES THEOBALD. SIR, THE converse I have had with you has been very short, but I hope the friendship begun by it, will be transmitted to the regions of per- fect amity and bliss. It would not be w^orth while to cherish the impressions of a virtuous friendship, if the generous engagement Vv^as to be dissolved with mortal life. Such a thought would give the grave a deeper gloom, and add new horrors to the fatal darkness. But I confess I have brighter expectations, and am fully persuaded that these noble attach- ments which are founded on real merit, are of an immortal date. That benignity, that divine cha- rity, which just warms the soul in these cold regions, will shine with new lustre and burn with an eternal ardour, in the happy seats of peace and love. My present experience confirms «ie in this truth ; the powers of nature are droopii>g, the vital spark grows languid and faint ; while my affection for my surviving friends was never more warm, my concern for their happiness was never more ardent and sincere. This makes me employ some of the last part of my time in writing to three or four persons, whose merit re- quires my esteem, in hopes this solemn farewell will leave ^ serious impression on their minds. I am going to act the last and most important part of human life ; in a little time I shall land on the immortal coasts, w^here all is new, amaz- ing and unknown : but however gloomy the pas- sage appears : h LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood, Stand dress'd in living green : So to the Jews old Canaan stood. While Jordan roird between. Dr. Watts. Nature cannot but shiver at the fatal brinks, unwilling to try the grand experiment, while the hopes of Christianity can alone support the soul in this solemn crisis. In this existence the eter- nal spirit whispers peace and pardon to the dying saint, through the atonement, and brightens the shadow of death, w^ith some glimmering of im- mortal light. Tell Mrs. Theobald I hope to meet her in the shining realms of love and un- mingled bliss— Where crown'd with joy, and ever-blooming youth, Th^ jocund hours dance in their endless round. Eliz. Rowe. To 3IRS\ SARAH ROWE. MY DEAR MOTHER, I AM now taking my final adieu of this world, in certain hopes of meeting you in the next. I carry to my grave ray affection and gra- titude to your family, and leave you with the sin- cerest concern for your own happiness, and the welfare of your family. May my prayers be an- swered when I am sleeping in the dust ! O may the angels of God conduct you in the paths of immortal glory and pleasure. I would collect the powers of my soul, and ask blessings for you with all the holy violence of prayer. God Al- LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. 29 mighty, the God of your pious ancestors, who has been your dwelling-place for many genera- tions, bless you ! Tis but a short space I have to measure ; the shadows are lengthening, and my' sun declining. That goodness which has hitherto conducted me, will not fail me in the last concluding act of life ; the name which I have made my glory and my boast, shall then be my strength and my salvation. To meet death with a becoming fortitude, is a part above the power of nature, and which I can perform by no power or holiness of my own ; for oh ! in my best estate, I am altogether vanity, a wretched, helpless sinner ; but in the merits and perfect righteousness of God my Saviour, I hope to appear justified at the supreme tribunal, where I must shortly stand to be judged. Eliz. Rowe. Mrs. Rowe w^as agreeable in person, she spoke gracefully ; her voice was singularly sweet and harmonious, and admirably adapted to convey in all its charms, the elegant language that flowed from her lips. Her countenance indicated a softness and benevolence beyond description, and yet commande^j that degree of awe and' venera- tion, which sense and virtue so naturally inspire. From her converse with persons in the higher circles of life, her manners were refined, and she carried an ease and politeness of behaviour into her retirement ; but though elegant in her de- portment, she was merely neat in her apparel, and seems to have conquered all desire of com- plving with the fashionable follies of the time, and the vain pomp and paf-ade of life ; so that she seemed to have soared above her sex, in re- c2 so LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. sistlng the force of custom so prevalent in every age. The business of the toilet did not interfere with those nobler pursuits, which tend to the ac- complishment of the mind, however they may detract from the ornament of the person ; as she exhibited the example in herself, she recom- mended the practice to the whole circle of her acquaintance. In early life she discovered that inclination to retirement, so congenial to the votaries of the muses, which she retained to the latest period of her life. Her company, prior to marriage, was courted by the great and the opulent; and if prompted by the rules of politeness to accept of occasional invitations, she quitted solitude with reluctance, and made her visits to town as short as possible. Mrs, Rowe discovered the same inclination to solitude, after her husband's death, which she had done before, and as she advanced in life seemed more and more disposed to retire from the busy world, notwithstanding the entreaties of her friends, who used every effort to prevail upon her to alter her conduct, and indulge them with her entertaining and instructive conversa- tion. Persons of a recluse temper, though by a rigid virtue they may be guarded against the violence^ of sensual passions, are frequently known to indulge supercilious austerity, a rigid censoriousness of the conduct of others, and many disgusting and unsocial propensities : but none of these disagreeable qualities could be im- puted to Mrs. Rowe, who was as remarkable for every social virtue, as for a strict adherence to the positive injunctions of religion, and thought the indulgence of those inclinations, to which LIFE OF MRS. ROWlfi. 31 men are prone from the prevalence of passions incidental to them in the present state, less cri- minal, than settled habits of barbarity, and the want of that philanthropy, which is the greatest ornament of human nature. She possessed a mind unruffled by any of the common incident-s of life, and a sweetness of disposition that could not be affected, either by adverse occurrences, or the infirmities of age it- self; and had too much philosophy to be angry at little casualties, which she would only turn into subjects of pleasant and agreeable raillery. She was so placid in her behaviour towardaher inferiors and domestics, that her servant who lived with her near twenty years, never observed in her mistress any inclination to wrath, or dis- position to resentment, but against flagrant in- stances of impiety and immorality; in which cases it is commendable to indicate tokens of in- dignation. Mrs. Rowe had a most settled aversion to the practice of scandal and calumny, and v*^as scru- pulously tender of the character of her neigh- bours. In a letter to a lady, with whom she had long lived in habits of intimacy; she writes in the foliowing manner : ' I can appeal to you if ever you knew me make an envious, or an ill- natured reflection on any person on earth. The foliies of mankind would affbrd a wide and va- rious scene, but charity would draw a veil of darkness here, and chuse to be for ever silent, leather than expatiate on the melancholy theme.' Detraction was so odious in her opinion, as not to he-justified by the liveliest sallies of w^t, or palliated by the most specious pretences of be- ing introduced for the purpose of entt rtainnient. If such frivolous topics were introduced when S2 , LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. she was present, she would not hesitate on proper occasions to express her detestation of it : and surely to assert the cause of the absent, when character is unjustly traduced, or extenuate foi- bles or errors, if not of an injurious tendency, argues a genuine and laudable magnanimity. Of envy her mind was too exalted to be sus- ceptible, but always disposed to do justice to merit wherever it was found, nor could any thing give her a more sensible pleasure, than to find cause for commendation. But though she was thus liberally inclined to comiuend what was praise- worthy ; a sense of duty and regard to the truest inter- sts of mankind, compelled her some- times to undeitake the disagreeable task of re- proof, which she had the power of softening by the means of gentle remonstrance and aifecting dissuasive. Sometimes she had recottrse to ob- lique insinuation and innocent artifice to disguise her admonitions ; and it is remarked, that she has been Xrequently observed to commend per- sons of distinguished eminence for one kind of moral worth, before some of her friends, who were deficient in that particular virtue, in hopes they might be struck with the beauty of the ex- anq.le, which she proposed in a manner so little apt to give offence. Her conversation was sin- guhirly pleasing, as she had a fund of wit,- and conveved her ideas in elegant language, and a fluency of diction which were universally admir- ed, and particularly so as she delivered her sen- timents with unaffected ease, and openness of behaviour. Though Mrs. Rowe's accomplishments from earlv life, had been the theme of much eulogium, and obtained her the commend'.ition of su^h ap- proved judges of merit, as might have justified LIFE OF MRS. ROWE> 33 a degree of vanity in a female author ; yet the whole tenor of her behaviour evinced a modest diffidence and amiable humility ; being affable and courteous to persons of every rank and de- gree in life. Her mind was too exalted to be captivated by fashionable amusements ; she con- sidered play when adopted merely for diversion, but as an art for losiug time and drowning reflec- tion ^ but if followed from mercenary motives, as one of the greatest pests of society. She seemed naturally inclined to favour the diver- sions of the theatre, especially those of the tra- gic kind, which she conceived to have in general a moral tendency ; but as entertainments of a different tendency were frequently interspersed with them, or added to them, she thought it in- consistent with the strictness of her profession to countenance them by her presence. She disclaimed every kind of luxury a» dero- gatory to the dignity of human beings, who are endowed with reason and designed for immor- tality ; and was wholly unconcerned as to the provisions for her table ; nor did she discover the least anxiety as to the nature of her food, or the manner in which it was dressed ; and if there v\ras any defect in either of these instances, was so far from giving way to resentment, that she made such little casual disappointments the subject of pleasant raillery. She avoided as much as possible all parties of pleasure, as well as all formal visits, as far as decency would allow. Indeed her mind seemed so enveloped in the con- templation of a future state, that she had no re- lish for any earthly enjoyment. Avarice she justly deemed the most sordid and ignoble of the human passions, and often 34 Life of mrs. rowe. expressed the utmost concern at its governing in- fluence over the actions of mankind. She was so totali) free from it herself, that it is said she did not know her own estates from others, till some motives of prudence obliged her to inform her- self^ when she apprehended she was soon to leave them ; and was so far from a rigorous scrupulosity in exacting her due, that her negligence and un- concern for those matters counteracted very es- sentially her worldly interest : in short, hei^dis- interestedness surpassed human conception, in proof of which we cite the following instances on the authority, and in the words of a former biographer. ^ She let her estates beneath their intrinsic value, as appeared by the ccmsiderable rise of the rents after her decease ; and was so gentle to her tenants, that she not only had no law-suit with any of them, but would not so much as suf- fer them to be threatened v/ith the seizure of their goods, on neglect of payment of their rents. When one of them who owed her an hundred pounds, carried oft all his st<»ck in the night, she could not be prevailed upon to embrace an oppor- tunity in her power of seizing it afterwards ; and if he had not in this manner quitted the estate, upon receiving some just menaces without her knowledge, it is more than probable, that her ex- cess of goodness would have always prevented her from having recourse to rigorous methods to eject him, and compel him to do her justice.' It would be easy to add several other instances, highly prejudical to her interest, in which she voluntarilv departed from her right, when she had the highest claim of equity; she could not bear the mention of injustice without tremblings LIFE OF MRS. ROWE. ^ and the tenderness and delicacy of her con- science,, with regcird to this sin, was so great, that she hardly thought she could keep far enough from it. ^ 1 can appeal to thee (says she in an address to God), how scrupulously I have acted in mat- ters of equity, and how willingly 1 have injured myself to right others.' She spoke with much warmth of the extreme danger of any dishonest and fraudulent practice, and expressed her won- der, how persons could die with any repose of mind, under the least degree of such a kind of guilt. Such was the modesty of our author, that to prevent any eulogium that might have been past on her literary talents, she would not permit any of her works to be published in her own name, except a few poems, the productio^is of her ear- lier years. She retained the same lowliness of mind to the latest period of her life, as appears from the orders that she left in writing to her servant ; after having desired that her funeral might be by night, and attended only by a small number of friends, she adds, ^ charge Mr. Bow- den not to sav one word of me in the sermon* I would lie in my father's grave, and have no stone, nor inscription over my vile dust, which I gladly leave to oblivion and x:orruption, till it rise to a glorious immortality.' Mrs. Rowc was conscientiously scrupulous in the discharge of all the relative duties of life. Her father she loved and revered, and was assi- duous in her attention to all his wants, and the fulfilment of all his desires, and to express her sense of filial duty ; she has been heard to say, * That she would rather die than displease him.* 36 LIFE OF MRS. ROWK. And she sympathized Avith him in the anguisfa. of his last sickness, in so sensible a degree, chat it occasioned a convulsion, iVom the effects of which she was never entirely free during dit re- mainder of her life. She attended to the duties of the married state, with the same exactness, and gave proof in every instance of the highest esteem and most tender affection for her hus- band ; endearing herself to him by the most gen- tle and engaging manners. She never thwarted his inclinations, though not always consonant with her own, and by interposing her tender of- fices alleviated the burthens, and enhanced the enjoyments oi life. If Mr. Rowe, who did not possess the same degree of placidity as his amia- ble consort, broke out occasionally into any ex- cesses of anger, instead of having recourse to the means oi reprehension, she endeavoured by the most soothing endearments to restore him to reason and reflection ; and it was her constant study by all the allurements of persuasion to lead Mr. Rowe on to the practice of those exalted virtues, for which her own example was so emi- nent. In his last illness, which was of long du- ration, she attended him with indefatigable assi- duity ; and performed with strictest care all the offices suited to thvit melancholy occasion. Af- ter he expired, she could scarce be persuaded to quit his breathless clay, and testified her sincere regard for his memory, by continuing in a state of perpetual widowhood. In domestic life her behaviour was amiably condescending and affable, she treated her ser- vants with the utmost kindness, caused every thing nutritive and medicinal to be administered to them when they laboured under any sickness^ LIFE OP MRS. ROWE. 5?' and did not think it a degradation to sit by their bed-side and read to thenri irom books of" piety and devotion. As she was so excellent a mis- tress, she rarely had cause to dismiss her ser- vants, who seldom left her but with a view of changing their condition by marriages. She had a due sense of fidelity in servants, and reposed an unlimited confidence in those who had given proof of their possessing that commendatory qualification^ In her friendships she was warm, generous and sincere ; happy in finding merit to commend in those whom she respected ; and tender and can- did in reproving their errors. It afforded her peculiar satisfaction to render them services ; but her grand aim and principal endeavour was to instil into their minds the love of virtue, and direct their attentions to their most important in- terests, which could not be essentiallj- promoted but by a true regard to the doctrine and practice of the christian religion. In this momentous pursuit, she contributed to accelerate their pro- gress, by her own precept Ttnd example, and thereby exhibited the most unquestionable test of real friendship. As the most immaculate character is not free from the shafts of envy and malice, Mrs. Rowe, highly amiable as she was m her general conduct, escaped not the slander of malevolence, which branded her v/ith the taint of enthusiasm and hypocrisy ; but this she sustained through the support of conscious innocence, and so far from entertaining even an idea of resentment, con- sidered it only as affording her an opportunity for the exercise of the godlike virtue of forgive- ness. 38 LIFE OF MUS. ROWE. Her charity was extensive beyond bounds ; to want was a sufficient recommendation for relief; she could not pass by misery and indigence with- out sympathy, or turn a deaf ear to tlie cry of the widow or the orphan. She devoted indeed the greatest part of her income to acts of bene- vdlence, and found the highest gratification in denying herself the luxuries and superfluities of life, that she might be conducive to the happi- ness of those who laboured under a destitution of its comforts and its necessaries. The first time she accepted a compensation from the bookseller for any of her productions, she generously presented the whole sum to a fa- mily in distress ; and it was generally believed that she applied whatever she received in future on the same account, to benevolent and charitable purposes. It is said that upon a singular occa- sion, when she had not by her a sum of money large enough to supply the necessities of another family, which she much respected, she readily sold a piece of plate for that purpose, a circum- stance to the probability of v/hich we can only be reconciled by the very extraordinary character of whom it is. related. Though she was not much disposed to distribute alms in the street, } et when she went abroad she would furnish herself with pieces of coin of different value for the relief of casual objects, observing ^ that it was fit some- times to give for the credit of religion, when other inducements were wanting, that the profession of Christianity might not be charged with covetous- ness,' a vice so abhorrent to her nature, that scarce any grosser kind of immorality could more effectually exclude from her friendship. ^ I never,' said she, ' grudge any money, but when it is laid LIFE' OF MRS. ROWE. 3^ out on myself, for I consider how much it would buy for the poor.' Besides the sums of money she gave away, and the great number of religious books she dis- pensed to the poor, she worked with her own hands to clothe the necessitous ; it being her fre- quent employment to make garments of different kinds and proportions, and bestow them on those who were destitute of raiment. Her feelings for the distresses of others were so exquisite, that she was often seen to shed tears at the con- ditions of the unhappy. But these were /the tears of generous compassion, not of feminine weakness ; for she had too much christian forti- tude to weep ov^er her own sorrows. She was indeed so sensibly affected with the state of the poor when they laboured under sickness, that she not only sent her servant to know what relief and comforts they stood in need of, but visited them herself in the m.ost wretched hovels, and even when they v»rere afflicted with malignant and con- tagious distempers. She took extreme delight in contributing to the education^of the children of necessitous pa- rents, whom she caused to be taught to read and work, and furnished with clothes, bibles and other necessary books. Nor did she confine this charitable institution to Frome where she resid- ed, but extended it to a neighbouring village where part of her estate lay. If she met occa- sionally in her walks with children perfectly un- known to her, and found that the poverty of their parents prevented them from sending them to schools, she added them to the number of those who were taught at hef own expence. She un* dertook herself the task of instructing these 4t LIFE OF MRS, ROWE. children in the principles of the christian reli- gion ; and nothing could exceed the grief and concern she expressed, if any of them deviated from the paths of virtue, into which they had been conducted through her patronage ; but the joy and rapture she felt when any of them disco- vered the happy effects of her tender care for their present and future welfare. So extensive was her benevolence, that she subscribed to the public charity-school at Frorae, though the children educated therein were in- structed in the forms of religion peculiar to the church of England, from which she took the li- berty to dissent. But her charity was not con- fined to any particular sect, as she cordially es- teemed sincere christians of ever}' denomina- tion. Nor was her beneficence limited to those who from their extreme indigence might be lite- ralls' denominated poor^ for, as she often observ- ed, it was one of the greatest benefits that could be done to mankind, to free them from the cares and anxiety that attend a narrow fortune, and in conformitv to tViis observation, she was frequent- ly known to make considerable presents to per- sons whose circumstances were far from being jiecessitous. It is a matter of surprise, that Mrs. Rowe out of the produce of a moderate estate should have been able to perform so many acts of benevo- lence, and contribute to such a variety of chari- table institutions: indeed she expressed her own surprise at this circumstance to an intimate friend. * I am surprised,' said she, ^ how it is possible my estate should answer all these things, and yet I never want money.' In this she seeni- ed to allude to the goodness of divine Provi- THE PREFACE. THE admirable author of these devotional papers has been in high esteem among the inge- nious and polite, since so many excellent fruits of her pen, both in verse and prose, have appeared in public. Shj was early honoured under the feigned nam<- of Philomela^ before the world was allowed to know Miss Elizabeth Singeu, by the name drawn from her family <, or that of Mrs, Rovve, which she acquired by marriage. Though many of her writings that were pub- lished in her lifetime discover a pious and hea- venly temper, and a wrrm zeal for religion and virtue, yet she chose to conceal the devotions of her htart till she got beyond the censure and the applause of mortals. It was enough that God, whom she loved with ardent and supreme affec- tion, was witness to ail her secret and intense breathings after him. In Feiruary last he was pleased to call her out of our world, and take her to himself. Some time after her decease, these manuscripts were transmitted to me, all inclosed in one sheet of paper, and directed to me at Newington, by her own hand. In the midst of theiir I found her letter, which entreated me to review them, and commit them to the press. This letter I have thought necessary to shew the world, not so much to discover my right to publish these pa- pers, as to let the reader see something more of that holy and heavenly character which she maintained in a uniform manner^ both in life and death. It is now almost thirty years ago since I was ^ PREFACE. honoured with her acquaintance ; nor could her great modesty conceal all her shining graces and accomplishments ; but it is not my province to give a particular account of this exceUent woman, who has blessed and adorned our nation and our age. I expect her temper, her conduct, and her virtues, wilf be set in a just and pleasing light among the memoirs of her life, by some near re- lations, to w^hom the care of her poetical pieces, and her familiar letters, is committed. These Devout £xerches are animated with such fire as seems to speak the language of holy pas- sion, and discovers them to be the dictates of her heart ; and those who were favoured with ^her chief intimacy will most readily beheve it. The style, I confess, is raised above that of common meditation or soliloquy ; but, let it be remem- bered, she was no common Christian. As her virtues were sublime, so her genius was bright and sparkling, and the vivacity of her imagina- tion had a tincture of the muse almost from her childhood. This made it natural to- her to ex- press the inward sentiments of her soul in more exalted language, and to paint her own ideas in metaphor and rapture, near a-kin to the diction of poesy. The reader will here find a spirit dwelling in flesh, elevated into divine transports, congenial to those of angels and unbodied minds. Her in- tense love to her Cod kindles at every hint, and transcends the limits of mortality. I scarce ever met with any devot^nal writings which gave us an example of a soul, at special seasons, so far raised above everjLthing that is not immortal and divine. ^^ - Yet she is consci(5l|&i»f her frailties too. She PREFACE. ou sparkling glories of the skies, your blandishments are vain, while I pursue an excellence that casts a reproach on all your glory. I would fain close my eyes on all the various and lovely appearances you present, and would open them on a brighter scene. I have desires vvhich nothing visible can gratify, to which no material things are suitable. when shall I find objects more entirely agreea- ble to my intellectual faculties ! My soul springs forward in pursuit of a distant good, which I fol- low bv some faint ray of light, that only glim- mers by short intervals before me : O when will it disperse the clouds, and break out in full splen- dour on my soul ! But what will the open vision of thy beauties effect, if, while thou art but faintly imagined, I love thee with such a sacred fervour ! to what blessed heights shall my admiration rise, when 1 shall behold thee in full perfection ; when DEVOUT EXERCISES. 59 I shall see thee as thou art, exalted in majesty, and complete in beauty ! how shall I triumph then in thy glory, and in the privileges of my own being ! what ineffable thoughts will rise, to find myself united to the all-sufficient Divinity, by ties which the sons of men have no names to express, by an engagement that the revolution of eternal vears shall not dissolve ? The league of nature shallbe broken, and the laws of the mingled elements be cancelled ; but my relation te) the al- mighty God shall stand fixed and unchangeable as his own existence : Nor life^ nor deaths nor an^ geh'^ nor principalities^ nor powers^ nor things pre^ sent^ nor things to- come^ shall ever separate me from his love, ^^^ > Triumph, O my soul, and rejoice ! look for- ward beyond the period of all terrestrial things. Look beyond ten thousand ages of celestial bles- sedness ; look forward still, and take an immea- surable prospect ; press on, and leave unnum- bered ages behind, ages of ineffable peace and pleasure ; plunge at once into the ocean of bliss, and call eternity itself thy own. There are no limits to the prospect of my joy ; it runs parallel with the duration of the infinite Divinity ; my bliss is without bounds ; O when shiiU the full possession of it commence ! II. The truth and goodness oj God* ENGRAV'D, as in eternal brass, The rrtighty promise shines ; Nor can the pow'rs of darkness raze Th/se everlasting lines. The sacred word of grace is strong As that which built the skies ; The voice (b ^t rolls tlit^ scars along Speaks ail the promises. 60 DEVOUT EXERCISES. And they are all built on the immutable truth and goodness of thy nature. Thou d'>st not speak at random like vaiu men ; but whatever thou hast engaged to perform is the result of eternal coun- sel and design. Thou hast uttered nothing that thou canst see occasion to dter on a second. re- view ; thou canst promise nothing to thy own da- mage, nor be a loser by thy utmost liberality. Thou art every way qualified to make good thy eng-igements by the fulness of thy riches and power. _i Nor hast thou any necessity to flatter thy crea- tures, or to say kmder things to them than thou meanest to fulfil.?., Mi^tu^able. man can bring no advantage to thee, nor ha^ He any thing to claim, from thee. By what b^nent has he prevented thee ? By what right can he dem.and the least of thy favours ? Thy engagements art: all free and un- constrained ; founded on thy own beneficence, and not on the merits of thy creature. While I consider this, my expectations rise, I set no li- mits to my hopes ; I look up with confidence, and call thee my Father^ and, with an humble faith, I claim every advantage that tender name imports. My heart ion fides in thee with stead- fastness and alacrity ; tear and distrust are in- consistent with my thoughts of the beneficence of thy nature. Everv name and attribute, by which thou hast revealed thyself to man, confirms my faith. Thy life, thy being, is engv^ged : I may as well ques- tion thy existence as thy faithfulness : as sure as thou art, thou art just and true. The protesta- tions of the most faithful friend I have, cannot give me half the -.onsolation that thy promises give me. I hearvain man with diffidence. I bid my or THE HEART. 6i soul beware of trusting false mortality ; but I hear thy voice with joy and full assurance. Thy words are not writ on sand, nor scattered by the fleeting winds, but shall stand in force when heaven and earth shall be no more. Eter- nal ages shall not diminish their efficacy, nor al- ter what the mouth of the Lord hath spoken. I believe, I believe with the most perfect assent : I know that " thou art, and that thou art a re- warder of them that diligently seek thee ;" I feel the evidence, for thou hast not left thyself without a witness in my heart. III. Longing ajter the Enjoyment of God. MY God, t?o thee my sighs ascend; every complaint I make ends with thy name : I pause, I dwell on the sound, I speak it over again, and find that all my cares begin and end in thee. I long to behold the supreme beauty. I pant for the fair original of all that is lovely; for beauty that is yet unknown, and for intellectual plea- sures yet untasted. My heart aspires, ray wishes fly beyond the bounds of creation, and despise all that mortality can present me with. I v/as formed for celestial joys and find mys'^lf capable of the entertain- ments of angels. V/hy may I not begin my hea- ven below, and taste at least of the springs of pleasure that fiow from thy right hand for ever? Should I drink my fill, these fountains are still exhaustless ; millions of happy souls quench their infinite desires there ; millions of happy orders of beings gaze on thy beauty, and are mide partakers oTthy blessedness ; but thou rtrt stUi undiminished : no liberality can waste the store of thy perfection ; it has flowed from eter- F 62 DEVOUT EXERCISES nity, and runs for ever fresh ; and why must I perish tor want ! My thirsty soul pines for the waters of life : Oh ! w^ho will refresh me w4th the pleasurable draugjit ? How long shall 1 w^ander in this de- sert land, where every prospect is w^aste and bar- ren ? I look round me in vain and sigh still un- satisfied. Ch ! who will lead me to the still wa- ters, and make me repose in green pastures, where the weary are for ever at rest ! How tedi- ous are the hours of expectation ! Come, Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, While thou dost ever, ever stay ; Thy long deferring wounds me to the quick, My spirit graspeth night and day : O shew thyself to me, Or take me up to thee. Dispatch thy commission ; give me my work, and activity to perform it ; and let me, as a hire- ling, fulfil my day. Lord, it is enough ; what am I better than my fathers P they are dead, and I am mortal. I'm but a stranger and a pilgrim here In these wild regions, wand'rin^ and forlorn, Restless and sighing for my native home, Longing to reach my weary space of life, And to fulfill my task. O haste the hour Of joy and sweet repose ! Transporting hope I Lord, here I am waiting for thy commands, at- tending thy pleasure ; O speak, and incline my ear to hear ; give me my work, let me finish it, and gain my dismission from this body of sin and 4eath ; this hated clog of error and guilt, of cor- OF THE HEART. • 60 ruption and vanity. Oh ! let me drop this load, and bid these scenes of guilt a final adieu ! I have waited for thy ^>alvation^ Lord ; when wilt thou let me into thy holy habitation ! How long shall I pine at this distance from thee ! What can I speak to shew thee my pain, to utter my anguish when I fear the loss of my God ! O speak an assuring word, and confirm my hope ! Ti'ansporting moment ! wli: a wilt thou appear To crown my hopes, and banish all my fear ? Again, O my father and my eternal friend, I breathe out mv requests to thee in this land of fatigue and folly ! What is this life, but a sorry, tiresome round, a circle of repeated vanities. Happiness has never been seen in it since sin and folly entered ; all is empty appearance, or vain labour, or painful vexation. Suffic'd with life, my languid spirits faint, And fain would be at rest. O let me enter These sacred seats ; and after all the toil Of life, begin an everlasting sabbath ! Yet again, O Lord, I ask leave to tell thee, / have waited for thy salvation^ and hourly languish- ed after the habitations of my God. My heart grows sick, and I almost expire under these de- lays. What have I here to keep me from thee ? what to relieve the tedious hours of absence ? I have pronounced all below the sun vanity and vexation, all insipid and burdensome. Amidst health and plenty, friends and reputation, thoa art my only joy, my highest wish, and my su- preme delight. On thee my soul fixes all her hopes ; there I rest in a celesti^alm. O let il ^;> «4 DEVOUT EXERCISES Bot be broken witli earthly objects ; let me live unmolested with the cares or delights of sense ! O let me flee From all the world, and live alone to thee. IV. God my Supreme my only Hope. f Why do I address thee, my God, with no more confidence ? Why do I indulge these re- mains of unbelief, and harbour these returns of infidelity and distrust ? Can I survey the earth, €an I gaze on the structure of the heavens, and ask if thou art able to deliver ? Can I call in question thy ability to succour me, when I con- sider the general and particular instances of thy goodness and power ? One age to another, in long succession, hath conveyed the records of thy glory. In all generations thou hast been our dwells ing place : my fathers trusted in thee^ and -were de^ livered. They have encouraged me, mv own ex- perience has encouraged me, to trust in thee for ever. The sun may fail to rise, and men in vain ex- pect its light ; but thy truth, thy faithfulness, can- not fail ; the course of nature may be reversed, and all be chaos again, but thou art immutable, and canst not by any change, deceive the hopes of them that trust in thee. I adore thy power, and subscribe to thy goodness and fidelity ; and what farther objection would my unbelief raise ? Is any thing too hard for God to accomplish ? Can the united force of earth and hell resist his will ? OF THE HEART. 65 Great God ! how wide thy glories shine I "j How broad thy kingdom, how divine [ C Nature and miracle, ^nd fate and chance, are thine. 3 Therefore I apply myself immediately to thee, and renounce all the terror and all the confidence that may rise from heaven or earth besides. Not from the dust my joys or sorrows spring : Let ail the baleful planets shed Thdr mingled curses round my head, Their rtiingled curses 1 despise Let but the great, th' eternal King Look through the clouds, and bless me with his eyes. Let him bless me, and I shall be blessed : bless- ed without reserve or limitation ; blessed in my going out and coming in, in my sitting down ai d rising up ; blessed in time, and blessed to ;.ll eternity. That blessing from thy lips will influ- ence the whple creation, and attend me wherever I am. it shall go before me as a leading li^ht, and follow me as my protecting angel. Whi n I lie down it will cover me. I shall rest )jn ath the shadow of the Mo^ High, and dwell safely in the secrets of his tabernacle. " Thy kingdom ruleth over ail, O Lord ! and thou doest according to thy will in the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth." I confess and acknowledge thy providence. The v/ays of man are not at his own disposal, but all hi- goings are ordered by thee ; all events are in thy hands, and thou only canst succeed or dis- appoint his hopes. If thou blow on his designs, they are for ever blasted ; if thou ble^iS them, nei- ther earth nor hell can hinder their success ; therefore I applv mv^plf *!>>-:>-: r^^-^r! . - ; r; 66 DEVOUT EXERCISES for not all created power can assist me without thee. Hence from my heart, ye idols flee, Ye sounding names of vanity ! No more my tongue shall sacrifice "^ To chance and nature, tales and lies : C Creature, without a God, can yield me no supplies, j Not all the power of man on earth, nor angel nor saint in heaven, can help or relieve me in the least exigence, if my God hide himself, and stand afar off from me. Second causes are all at thy di- rection, and cannot aid me till commissioned by thee. Lord, when my thoughtful soul surveys Fire, air and earth, and stars, and seas, I call them all thy slaves : Commission'd by my Father's will. Poison shall cure, or balm shall kill ; Vernal suns, or zephyr's breath, May burn or blast the plants to death, That sharp December saves. What can winds or planets boast But a precarious pow'r ? The sun is all in darkness lost. Frost shall be fire, and fire be frost, When he appoints the hour* At thy command nature and necessity are no more ; all things are alike easy to God. Speak but thou the word^ and my desires are granted : say, Let there be lights and there shall, be light. Thou canst look me into peace, when the tumult of thoughts raise a storm within# Bid my soul be still, and all its tempests shall obey thee. I depend only on thee ; do thou smile, and all the world may frown : do thou succeed my af- OF THE HEART. W fairs, and I shall fear no obstacle that earth or hell can put in rny way. Thou only art the object of my fear, and all my desires are directed to thee* Human things have lost their being and their names, and vanish into nothing before thee ; they are but shades and disguises to veil the active Di- vinity. Oh! let me break through all these se- parations, and see and confess the great, the go- verning cause. Let no appearance of created things, however specious, hide thee from my view ; let me look through all to thee, nor casta gliince of love or hope below thee. With a holy contempt let me survey the ample round of the creation as lying in the hollow of thy hand, and every being in heaven and on earth as immovea- ble by the most potent cause in nature, till com- missioned by thee to do good or hurt, O let thy hand be with me to keep me from evil, and let me abide under the shadow of the Almighty ! I shall be secure in thy pavilion. To thee I fly for shelter from all the ills of mortality. V. God a present Help^ and ever near^ THOU wast found of me, O my God ! when I sought thee not, and wilt thou fly me when I seek 'thee ? Am I giving my breath to the wind, and scattering my petitions in the air ? Is it a vain thing to call upon God, and is there no pro- fit in crying to the Alnaighty I ^^ A; t thou a God afar off^md not near at hand r'^ is there any place exempt from thy presence, any distance whence my cries cannot reach thee ? Can any darkness hide me from thy eyes ? or is there a 68 DEVOUT EXERCISES corner of the creation unvisited by thee.? ^ost thou not fill heaven and earth, and am I not sur- rounded by thy immensity ? Are my desires unknown to th«e ? or is there a thought in my heart concealed from thee ? Dost not thou that hast formed the ear, hear ? Canst thou forget the work of thine own hand ? or, re- tired far in the^ heavens, full of thine own happi- ness, canst thou leave thy creation to misery and disorder, helpless and hopeless : Are the ways of man at his own disposal, and his paths undi- rected by thee ? Is calling on the living God no more than worshipping a dumb idol ? Canst thou, like them, disappoint and mock thy adorers ? Art thou unacquainted with the extent of thy own power, that thou shouldst promise beyond thy ability to perform ? or artihou ^' as a man, that thou shoulcjst lie, or the son of man, that thou shouldst re])ent .^" Is thy faithfulness uncertain, and thy power precarious ? Are those perfections imaginary for which men adore thee, and thy gra- cious names insignificant tides? ^^ Do the chil- dren of men in vain put their trust under the sha- dow of thy wings ? Art not thou a present help in the time of trouble V^ and is there no security in the secret places of the Most High ? Whither then shall I look in my distress ? to whom' shall I direct my prayer ? from whom shall! expect re- lief, if there is no help in God for me ? But, oh ! what unrighteousness have my fa- thers ever found in thee ? what injustice can I charge thee with ? what breach of truth, or want of pity ? Have the records of thy actions ever been stained with the breach of faidi fulness ? Art thou not my only hope, and mv long experienced support ? Have I ever found help from the ■ OF THE HEART. 6S ture, when thou hast failed me ? Have I, or can I have a greater certainty than thy word to de- pend on? Can any other power-defend or deliver like thee ? Thou art '' a rock, and thy work i» perfect ; for all thy ways are judgment : a God of truth, and wiihout iniquity : just and right art thou." With mv last breath I will witness to thy truth and taithfi:»,lness, and declare thy goodness to the children of men. VI. God^ an alUmffident Good^ and rrnj only Happiness* Why is my heart so far from thee, My God, my chief delight ? Why are my thoughts no more by day With thee, no more by night ? * Why should my foolish passions rove ? Where can such sweetness be As 1 have tasted in thy love, As I have found in ihee? WHERE can I hope to meet such joys as thy smiles have given me ? where can I find plea- sure so sincere and unaliayed ? When I have en- joy^id the light of thy countenance, and the sense of thy love, has not all my soul been filled ? Have I found any want or emptiness ? Has there been any room left for desire, or any pros- pect beyond, besides the more perfect enjoyment of my God ? Have not all the glories of the world been darkened, and turned into blackness and deformity ? Hov/ poor, how contemptible have they appeared ! or rather, have they not all disappeared and vanished as dreams and sha- T% DEVOU r EXERCISES dows in the noon of day, and under the blaze of the sun-beams r i have never found Batisfaetion in any thing but in God ; why then do i wander from him .'' why do I leave the fountain of living waters for broken cisterns.^ why do I ab«mdon the full ocean in search of shallow streams ? What ac.ount can I give for folly like this I I can promise myself nothing from the creatures ; those expectations shall deceive ^e no more. ^ ill, thou, my God, thou art the only object of my houc-s and desires : it is thou only canst make me happy. li tiiou frown, my being is a curse ; thy indig- nation is hell with all its terrors. Let me never feel that, and I defy all things else to make me miserable. I seem independent on all na- ture, to thee only I apply myself. Hear me, thou beneficent Author of my being, thou support of my life ; to thee I direct my wishes, those de- sires which thou wilt approve, while I ask but the happiness I was created to enjoy. Oh ! fix all my expectations, on thee, and free me fi^om this levity and inconstancy. Look gCiUly down, almighty Grace, Prison me round in thy embrace ; Pity the heart that would be thine, And let thy pow'r my Icve confine. Suffer me never to start from thee ; such a confinement were sweeter than liberty^ ; " Thy yoke is easy and thy burden light.'' I shall bless the chain that binds me to thee. Oh ! give me such a view of thy beauty as shall fix my volatile heart for ever ; such a view as shall determine all its motions ; and be a constant conviction how unreasonable it is to wandei* from thee. OF THE HEART. 71 Is it that I relish any thing beyond thy love ? Oh ! no. I appeal even to tbee, who canst not be deceived, and knowest the inmost secrets of of my souL Thou knowest where the balance of my love falls, and that my wanderings are not deliberate, that it is not by choice that 1 forsake thee. I grieve, I sigh for my folly : shouldst thou forgive me, I can never forgive myself, for I know it is inexcusable. I want nothing when I am possessed of thee ; without thee I want all things. Thou art the centre of all my passions ; i have no hope but what is thine, no joy but what flows from thee ; my greatest fears are those of losing thee ; my inmost care is to secure thy favour. This is the subject of my deepest anxiety ; every sigh I breathe ends in thy name ; and that loved name alone allays every anguish of my soul, and calms its wildest tempests. From thy frowns or favour all my joys or sor- rows spring: thy frowns can make me infinitely miserable, thy favour can make me infinitely blessed. I can defy heli, and smile in the face of death, whilst I can call thee mifie. My God ! still let me ^less the sound, and part v/ith all things, rather than renounce my property in thee; let me hold it to my last breath, and claim it with my expiring sighs. Secure of thee, nothing can terrify my soul ; all is peaceful and serene within, eternal love and immortal pleasure : I desire no more ; imag'na- tion stops here, and all my Welshes are lost in eternal plenty, fdy God ! more cannot be asked, and with less I should be infinitely miserable. The kingdoms of the skies should not buy my title to thee and. ihy love : the blessedness of ail 72 BEVOUT EXERCISES creatures is complete here, for God himself is blessed in himself for ever. What can I add ? for all my words are faint, Celestial love no eloquence can paint ; No mure can he in mortal sounds exprest, But vast eternity shall tell the rest. I VII. A Covenant with God, INCOMPREHENSIBLE Being! wha searchest the hearty and tr lest the reins of the chiU dren cf mcn^ who kno^vest my sincerity, and my thoughts are all unveiled to thee ! I am sur- rounded with thine immensity ; thou art a pre- sent, though mvisible, witness of the solemn affair I am now engaged in. I am now taking hold of my strength that I may make peace with thee, and entering into articles with the Al- mighty God. These are the happy days long since predicted, when '^ one shall sav, I am the Lord's, and another shall call himself bv the name of Israel, and another shall subscribe with his hand to the Lord ; and I will be their God, and they shall be my sons and my daughters, saith'the Lord Jehovah." With the most thankful sincerity I take hold of this covenant, as it is more fuHy manifested and explained in thy gos))el by Jesus Christ ; and, hum. ?lv accepting thy proposals, I bind my- self to thee by a sacred and everlasting obliga- tion. By a free and deliberate action, I do here ratify the articles which v/ere made for me in my baptism, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit j I religiously devote myself OF THE HEART, ft to thy service, and entirely submit to thy conduct, I renounce the glories and vanities of the w orld, and choose thee as my happiness, my supreme felicity, and everlasting portion, I make no articles with thee for any thing besides ; deny or give me what thou wilt, I will never repine, while my principal treasure is secure. This is my de- liberate, my free and sincere determination ; a determination which by thy grace, I will never retract. Oh ! Thou, by whose pov/er alone I shall be able to stand, '^ put th)' fear in my heart, that I may never depart from thee." Let not the world, with all its flatteries, nor death, nor hell, w^lth all their terrors, force me to violate this sacred vow. Oh ! let me never live to abandon thee, nor draw the impious breath that would deny thee. And now let surrounding angels witness for me, that I solemnly devote all the pov/ers and faculties of my soul to thy service ; and when I presumptuously employ any of the advantages thou hast given me to thy dishonour, let them testify against me, and let my own words con- demn me. Eliz. RowE. Thus have I subscribed to thy gracious pro- posals, and engaged myself to be the Lord's ; and now let the malice of men, asd the rage of devils, combine against me, I can defy all their stratagems ; for God himself is become my friend, Jesus is myall-sufficient Saviour, and the Spirit of God, I trust, will be my Sanctifier and Comforter. O happy day ! transporting moment ! the brightest period of my life ! Heaven with all its 74 DEVOUT EXERCISES light smiles on me. What glorious mortal can now excite my envy ? what ^cene to tempt my ambition could the whole creation display ? Let glory call me with her exalted voice ; let pleasure, with a softer eloquence allure me ; the world, in all its splendour, appears but a trifle, while the infinite God is my portion. He is mine by as sure a title as eternal veracity can confer. The right is unquestionable ; the conveyance unalter- able ; the mountains shall be removed, and the hills be dissolved, before the everlasting obliga- tion shall be cancelled. VIII. A Thank-offering for saving Grace. " BLESS t^e Lord, O my soul ! and all that is within me bless his holy name : bless the Lord, and forget not all his benefits ; who redeemed thy life from destruction, and crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercy ;" who brought thee out of the mire and clay, and set thy feet upon a rock ; who broke thy fetters, and freed thee from the miserable bondage of sin. I lay a wretched slave pleased with my chains, and fond of my captivity, fatally deluded and undone, till love, almighty love, rescued me. Blessed effect of unmerited grace ! 1 shall stand for ever an illustrious instance of boundless mercy : to that I must entirely ascribe my salva- tion, and thro' all the ages of eternity I'll re- hearse the wonders of redeeming love, and tell to listening angels what it has done for my soul. I'll sing the endless miracles of love : For ever that my lofty theme shall prove. OF THE HEART. 75 My glorious Creator ! why did I employ thy thought before I had a being? why from all eternity was an immortality designed me, and my birth allotted me in a land illuminated with the rays of sacred light ? I might have been in- voking the powers of hell with detestable cere- monies, instead of adoring the omnipotent God. But when thousands are lost in these delusions, why am I thus graciously distinguished ? Instead of being born among the shameful vices of im- pious parents, and an heir to their curses, why am I entitled to the blessing of religious ances- tors ? why, when I was incapable of choice, was I devoted to the God that '^ keeps covenant and mercy to a thousand generations of them that fear him ?" Why, when I knew thee not, didst thou sus- tain me ? but Oh ! why, when I knew thee, and rebelled against thee, why didst thou so long suffer my ingratitude ? why did thy watchful pro- vidence perpetually surround me, crossing all the methods I took to undo myself? why was I not cursed with my own wishes, and left to the quiet possession of those vanities I delighted in ; those toys which I foolishly preferred to all the trea- sures of thy love ? why didst thou pursue me with the offers of thy favour when I fled thee with such aversion ; and had fled thee for ever, if thou hadst not compelled me to return ? Why did the Spirit strive so long with an ob- stinate heart, which resisted all its motions, and turned thy patience into provocation and guilt? why am I not undone by those pleasing snares in which I have seen so many deluded wretches perish ? Like them I despised the unsearchable riches of thy grace ; w^ith them I had been con- tent to share the sorry portion and pleasures of -76 DEVOUT EXERCISES this world, if thou hadst let me alone, and I should never have mquired after thee. But why wast thou found of one that sought thee not ? O v/hy ! but '^ because thou wilt be merciful to whom thou wilt be merciful." Therefore again, v/ith astonishment and de- light, I look back on the methods of thy grace ; and again I consider inysfeif lost in an ab^'ss of sin and rnercy ; when there was no eye to pity me, no hand but thine to assist me, thou madest it then the time of love. Never was grace more free and surprising than thine is ; never was there a more obstinate heart than mine, and never such unconquerable love as thine. How gloriously hath it triumphed over my rebellious faculties ; how freely has it can*» celled all my guilt ! Could I have made the^least pretence to me- rit, or liPiVe challenged any thing from thee, the benefit had been less exalted ; had there been any foundation for human pride, my corrupt heart would soon have taken the advantage, and have robbed thee of thy honour, by ascribing the glo- rious work to the strength of my own reason, or a natural tendency to virtue ; but here my vanity is for ever silenced, I am lost in the boundless abyss. O height ! O depth ! O length and breadth immeasurable ! '' How unsearchable are thy ways. Almighty Love^ and thy paths past find- ing out!" Let me here begin my eternal song, and as- cribe '^ salvation and honour, dominion and ma- jesty, to Him that sits on the throne, and to the Lamb for ever," who has loved me, and ransom- ed me with his blood ; ransomed me from a vo- luntary bondage, from the most vile and hopeless OF THE HEART. n captivity, a captivity from which nothing- but that invaluable purchase could have redeemed me. Infinite love ! Almighty grace ! Stand in amaze, ye rolling skies'! Bring hither your celestial harps, ye benefi- cent beings, who amidst the height of your hap- piness, express a kind regard for man : teach me the language of paradise, the strains of im- mortality. But, oh ! it is all too feeble ; the tongues of seraphims cannot utter what I owe mv Redeemer, From what misery, my adorable Saviour, hast tliou rescued me ! From error, from sin, from snares and death, from infernal chains, eternal horror, and the blackness of dark- ness for ever. Nor here my glorious benefactor stayed \ but still went on to magnify the riches of his grace, and entitled me to an endless inheritance, and an immortal crown ; to the fruition of God, and the unutterable joys that flow from his presence. Mysterious depths of boundless love My admiration raise ; O God, thy name exalted stands Above my highest praise. IX. Evidence of sincere Love to God. IF I love thee not, my blessed God, I know not what 1 love : if I am uncertain of this, I am uncertain of my existence. If I love thee .ot, what is the meaning of these pathetic ex- pressions? My God, my all! thou spring of G 2 7B DEVOUT EXERCISES jny life, and fountain ©f my happiness ! my ^reat reward, and my exceeding joy ! the eter- nal object of my love, and supreme felicity of my nature ! Does not my heart attend my lips in all this language ? How can this be, if my soul does not love thee ? O my God, if I love thee not, what is the mean- ing of this constant uneasiness at thy absence ? from whence proceeds this painful anxiety of mind about thy love, and all these intense, these restless desires after thee ? ^^Why are all the satis- factions of life insipid without these ? Without my God, what are riches, and honours, and plea- sures to me? I should esteem the possession of the world but a trifle, or rather my eternal da- mage, if it must be purchased with the loss of thy favour. Thy benignity is better than life, and the moments in which I enjoy a sense of thy love are the only happy intervals of my life. 'Tis then I live ; it is then I am truly blessed : it is then I look down with contempt on the little amusements of the world, and pity them that want a taste for these exalted pleasures. How calm, how peaceful, in those seasons, are all the regions of my soul ! I have enough, 1 ask no more. Can they languish for the stream who drink at the overflowing fountain ? I have all the world, and more ; I have heaven itself in thee ; in thee I am completely and securely blessed, and can defy the malice of earth and hell to shake the foundation of my happiness, while thou dost whisper thy love to my soul. O blessed stability of heart! O sublime satisfaction! Hast thou not told me that tliou art mine by inviolable engagement, when my soul devoted itself sin- eerely to thee ? Does not thy word assure me. Of THE HEART. 79 " that the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed ; but thy kindness shall not depart, nor the covenant of thy peace he broken V^ Hast thou not terminated my wishes, O Lord, in thyself, and fixed my wandering desires ? Is it for riches or honour, for length of days, or pleasure that I follow thee with daily importuni- ties ? Thou knowest these are not the subject of my restless petitions : do I ever balance these toys with thy favour? Oh! no; one smile of thine obscures all their glory. When thou dost bless my retired devotions with thy presence, I can wink all created beauty into blackness. When I meet thee in my solitary contemplations, with what contempt do I look back on the lessening world ! How dazzling is thy beaiitv ! how divine I How dim the lustre of the world to hine I HowduU are its entertainments to the pleasures of conversing with thee ! Oh ! stay, in those happy moments, cries my satisfied soul : Stay, my Beloved, with me here : Stay till the morning star appear; Stay till the dusky shadued me, and that truth which has never deceived me, and is engaged never to abandon me. Transporting assurance ! What further security can I ask, what security can I a2 DEVOUT EXERCISES wish, beyond eternal veracity ? '' The moun- tains, shall depart, and the hills be removed; but thy kindness shall not depart, nor the cove- nant of thy peace be broken ;" that covenant which has been sealed by the blood of the Son of God, and in that holy sacrament I have re- ceived the pledges of thy love. Thou didst graciously invite me into that communion, and met me there v/ith the most unmerited favour. Fear not, sayest thou, poor trembling soul, for I am thy Redeemer, and thy mighty Saviour, the Hope of Israel, and in my name shall all the nations of the earth be blessed : ^^ I am gra- cious and merciful, long suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth." These are the titles by which I have revealed myself, to men. I came the expected Messiah, the Star of Jacob, and the Glory of the Gentiles ; I came from the fulness of ineffable glory, in the form of man, to redeem the race of Ada.m ; I am will- ing and able to save, '' and whosoever comes to me, I v/ill in no wise cast away." Fear not : I had kind designs towards thee from eternity ; and by these visible signs of my body and blood I seal my love to thy soul : take here the pledge of heaven, the assurance of everlasting happi- ness. ' ris enough, replied my transported sonl ; divide the world as thou v/ilt, let others unen- vied share its glory ; thy love is all I crave. I am blessed with that assurance, I am surround- ed with the joys of paradise ; every place is a heaven, while my Beloved is mine, and I am his. OF THE HEART. 85 If all the monarchs, whose command supreme Divide the wide dominion of this ball, Should offer each his boasted diadem, I wouid not quit thy favour for them all : These trifles with contempt I would resign ; The world's a toy while 1 can call thee mine. Let God and angels witness for me, that I re- nounce the world, and choose thy love as my portion; witness that I sacrifice my darling sins to thee; and from this moment solemnly devote myself to thy service. Thus did I engage myself to be the Lord's, and thus didst thou graciously condescend to seal the privileges of the new covenant to my soul. And, O let the solemn transaction never be forgotten ! let it be writ in the volumes of eternity ; let it be engraven in the books of un- alterable destiny ; there let the sacred articles stand recorded, and be had in everlasting re- membrance, XI. Thou art ?ny God. O GOD ! thou art my God; thou art thy own blessedness, the centre of thy owni desires, and the boundless spring of thy own happiness. Thou art immutable and infinitely perfect, and therein consists thy blessedness ahd glory ; but that thou art my God it is from thence flows all m)' consolation ; this glorious privilege is my dignity and boast. '^ Thou art my Gcd, and I will praise thee ; my father's God, and I w^ill exalt thee. The Lord liveth, and blessed be my Rock, and let the God of my salvation be exalted. Thy benignity is better than life, there- fore my lips shall praise thee." 84 DEVOUT EXERCISES I have all Aings in possessing thee ; I find no want, no ^emptiness within ; my wishes are an- swered, and all my desires appeased when I be- lieve my title to thy favour secure. Whatever tempests arise, whatever darkness surrounds me, yet thou art my God ; I cry, and the storms are appeased, and the darkness vanishes. I find my expectations from the world disappointed, my friends false, and human dependance vain ; but still thou art my God, my unfailing confidence, my rock, my everlasting inheritance. Death and hell level their darts against me, but with a heavenly tranquillity I cry, *•' Thou art my God : I dwell on high ; my place of defence is the mu« nition of rocks. My hiding-place, my refuge, tow*r, And shield art thr.n, () Lord: I firmly anchor all m\ hopes, On thy unerring word. While thou art mine what can I fear? Can Om- nipotence be vanquished? Can almighty strength be opposed ? When it can, then and not till then, shall I want security ; then, and not till then, shall my confidence be shaken, and my hopes confounded. Thou art my God. Let me again repeat the glorious accepts, andhear the pleasurable sounds,* let me a thousand and a thousand tunes repeat it ; it is rapture all, and harmony : the harps of angels and their tongues, what notes more melo- dious could they sing or play ? What but these transporting words give the emphasis to all their joys ? On this they dwell, it is their eternal theme, Thou art 7ny God. Like me, every se- OF THE HEART. 85 raph boasts the glorious property, and . owes his happiness to those important words : in them unbouaded jo; s are comprehendctd. Paradise it- self, ail heaven is here described ; all that is pos- sible to be uttered of celestial blessedness is here contained* My God my all-sufficient good, iVIy portion and my choice ; lu thee my vast desires are fiU'd, And all my powers rejoice. My God, n)y triumph, and my glory, let others- boast of what they will, and pride themselves in human securities'; let them place their confi- dence in their wealth, their honour, and their nu- merous friends ; I renounce all earthly depen- dance, and glory only in my God, From him alone my joys shall rise, And run eternal rounds ; Beyond the limits of the skies, - And all created bounds. When death shall remove all other supports, and force me to quit my title to the dearest names below, in my God I shall have an unchange- able property •. that engagement shall remain firm, when I shall lose my hold of all other en- joyments; v.hen all human things vimish w^ith an everlasting flight, I shall bid them a joyful adieu, and breathe out my soul with this triumphant exclamation. Thou art my God^ my inheritance, my eternal possession : nor death, nor hell, shall ever separate me from thy love. . Thou art my God. Let me survey the extent of my blessedness ; let me take a prospect of my 85 DEVOUT EXERCISES vast possession : let me consider its dimensions : O height! O depth i O length and breadth im- measuiable ! I have all that is -worth possessing. Thou art 7ny God, But what have I uttered ? Is mortality permit* ted to speak these daring words ? Can the race of man make such glorious pretensions ? Thou thyself canst give no more : thou that art thy ow n happiness, and the spring of joy to all thy crea- tures J w^ith thee are the fountains of pleasure ; and in thy presence is fulness of jov ; immortal life and happiness flow from thee, and they are necessarily blessed v. ho are surrounded with thy favour ; thou art their God, and thou art my God^ to everlasting ages. Earth flies, with all the charms it has in store ; Its snares and gay temptations are no more. Creatures no more of entity can boast, The streams, the hills and tow'ring groves are lost. The sun, the stars, and the fair fields of light Withdraw, and now are banish'd from my sight, And God is all in all. XII, Confession of Sin ^ vjith Hope of Pardon. BREAK, break, insensible, heart ! let con- fusion cover me, and darkness, black as my own guilt, surround me. Lord, what a monster am I become ! How hateful to myselt for offending thee ! how^ much more detestable to thee, to tht e against whom I have offended ! Why have I provoked the God on whom my being every mo- ment depends ; the God, w^ho out of nothing ad- vanced to me a reasonable and immortal nature, and put me in a capacity of being happy for ever ; OF THE HEART. H7 the God whose goodness has run parallel with my life ; who huvS preserved me in a thousand dangers, and kept me even from the ruin I court- ed, and even while I repined at the providence that saved me ; How often has he recovered me from eternal miserv, and brought me back from the very bor- ders of hell, when there was but a dying groan^ but one faint sigh between me and everlasting perdition ! When all human help failed, and my mournful friends were taking their last farewels ; when every smiling hope forsopk me, and the horrors of death surrounded me, to God I cried from ihe depths of misery and despair ; I cried, and he was entreated, and rescued my life from destruction; he '' brought me out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock." A thousand in« stances of thy goodness could I recount, and all to my own confusion. Could I consider thee as my enemy, I might forgive myself; but when I consider thee as my best friend, my tender father, the sustainer of my life, and author of my happiness, good God ! what a monstrous thing do I appear, who have sinned against thee ! Could I charge thee with severity, or call thy laws rigorous and unjust, I had some excuse : but I am silenced there by the conviction of my own reason, which assents to all thy precepcs as just and holy. But, to heighten my guilt, I have violated the sacred rules I approve ; I have provoked the justice I fear, and I have offended the purity I adore. Yet still there are higher aggravations of my iniquity ; and what gives me the utmost confu- sion is that I have sinned against unbounded love «8 ©EVOUT EXERCISES and goodness. Horrid ingratitude! Here lies the emphasis of my folly and misery ; the sense of this torments me, can I not sav, as much as the dread of hell, or the fears of losing heaven ? Thy love and tender compassion, the late pleas- iflg subects of my thoughts are on this account be- come my terror. The titles of an enemy and a judge scarce sound more painful to my ears, than those of a friend and a benefactor, which so shamefully enhance my guilt : those sacred n^mes confound and terrify my soul, because they furnish my conscience with the most ex- quisite reproaches. The thoughts of such good- ness abused, and such clemency affronted, seem to me almost as insupportable as those of thy wrath and severity. O whither shall I turn ? I dare not look upv/ard, the sun and stars upbraid me there. If I look downward, the fields and mountains take their Creator's part, and heaven and earth conspire to aggravate my sins. Those common blessings tell me how much I am in- debted to thy bounty ; but, Lord, when I recal thy particular favours, I am utterly confounded. What numerous instances could I recount ! Nor has my rebellion yet shut up the fountain of thy grace : for yet I breathe, and yet I live, and live to implore a pardon : Heaven is still open, and thethroneof God is accessible. But oh! with what confidence can I approach it ; what motives can I urge, but such as carry my own condemnation in them ? Shall I urge thy former pity and indulgence ? This were to plead against mvself : and yet thy clemency^ that clemency which I have abused, is the best argument I can bring ; thy grace and OF THE HEART. t9 clemencfy, as revealed in Jesus, the Son of thy love, the blessed Reconciler of God and man. O whither has my folly reduced me ? With what words shall I choose to address thee ? " Pardon my iniquity, O Lord, for it is great. '^ Surprising argument ! yet this will magnify thy goodness, and yield me an eternal theme to praise thee : it will add an emphasis to all my grateful songs, and tune my harp to everlasting harmony. The ransomed of the Lord shall join with me, while this glorious instance of thy grace ex- cites their wonder, and my unbounded gratitude : thus shall thy glory be exalted. O Lord God, permit a poor worthless creature to plead a little with thee. What honour will my destruction bring thee ? what profit, what triumph to the Almighty will my perdition be ? Mercy is thy brightest attribute ;'this gives thee all thy loveliness, and completes thy beauty. By names of kindness and indulgence thou hast chosen to reveal thyself to men ; by titles of the most tender import thou hast made thyself known to my soul : titles which thou dost not yet disdain, but art still compassionate, -" "" ready to pardon. But that thou hast or wilt^^— g^f^*^^^^ O my God! aggravates m\: 6^ilt. And v/ilt thou^ indeed, forgivt- m«^-^ Wilt thou remit the gloomy score, and rej^^i^e the privilege I have forfeited ? Wondrous love ! astonishing benignity ! let me never live to repeat my ingratitude ; let me never live to break my penitent vows ; let me die ere that unhappy moment arrive. H 2 90 DEVOUT EXERCISES XIII. The Absence of God on Earth* WHAT is hell^ what is damnation, but an exclusion from thy presence ? 'Tis the want of that which gives the regions of darkness all their horror. What is heaven, w^hat are the satisfac- tions of angels, but the views of thy glory ? What but thy smiles and complacence are' the springs of their immortal transports? Without the light of thy countenance, what 4)rivilege is my being ? what canst thou thyself give me to countervail the infinite loss ? Could the riches, the empty glories, and insipid plea- sures of the world recompense me for it ? Ah ! no : not all the variety of the creation could sa- tisfy fne while I am deprived of thee. Let the ambitious, "the licentious, and covetous, share these trifles among themselves : they are no amusement for my dejected thoughts. There was a time (but ah ! that happy time is past, those blissful minutes gone) when, with a modest assurance, I could call thee ^ my Father, -^--^^ almighty friend, my defence, my hope, and my ex^.._^ great reward :' But those glorious advantages Si^ i^^|.^ those ravishing prospects withdrawn, and to my ^.^mbling soul thou dost no more appear but as a couo^arning fire, an inac- cessible majesty, my severe judgt, qnd my omni- potent adversary ; and who shall deliver me out of thy hands ? where shall I find a shelter f-om thy wrath ? what shades can cover me from thy all-seeing eye ? One glance from thee, one piercing ray, Would kindle darkness into day : OF THE HEART. 91 The veil of night is no disguise, Nor screen from thy all-searching eyes : Through midnight shades thou find'st thy way, As in the blazuig noon of day, ' But will the Lord cast ofF for ever ? Will he be favourable no more ? Has God indeed forgot- ten to be gracious V Will he shut out my prayer for ever, and must I never behold my Maker? Must I never meet those smiles that fill the hea- venly inhabitants with unutterable joys ; those smiles which enlighten the celestial region, and make everlasting day above ? In vain then have these wretched eyes beheld the light ; in vain am I endued with reasonable faculties and immortal principles : Alas ! what will they prove but ever- lasting curses, if I must never see tht face of God ? Is it a dream, or do I hear The voice that so delights my ear ? Lo, he o'er hills his steps extends. Ana, oouiiaiii^ fion, the ciifFs, descends : Now like a roe outstrips the wind. And leaves the panting hart behuid. * I have waited for thee as they that wait for the morning,' and thy returns ar»^ more welcome than the springing day-light alter the honors of a mdancholy night ; more welcome than ease to the sick, than water to^ the thirsty, or rest to the weary traveller How undone was I without thee f In vain, while thou wert absent, the world hath tried to entertarn me : all it could oifer was like jests to a dying man, or like recreations to the damned. 0\\ th f:vo ir alone f\>y tranquil- lity depends : depriyed of that, I should sigh for n DEVOUT EXERCISES happiness in the midst of a paradise : ' thy lov- ing kindness is better than life/ And if a taste of thy love be thus transporting, what ecstacies shall I know when I drink my fill of the streams of bliss that flow from thy right hand for ever ! But when When slrall this happy day of vision be ? ^ When shall 1 make a near approach to thee, > Be lost in love, and wrapt in ecstacy ? 3 Oh ! when shall I behold thee all serene, Wichout this envious cloudy veil between ? ^Tis true, the sacred elements* impart "^ Thy virtual presence to my faithful heart; > But to my sense still unreveal'd thou art. j This, though a great, is an imperfect bliss, To see a shadow for the God I wish : My soul a more exalted pitch would fly. And view thee in the heights of majesty. XIV. Baniskment from God for ever, * DEPART from me, yo c^^vaea ^ Oh ! let me never hear thy voice pronounce those dreacl- ful words. With what terror would that sentence pierce my heart, while it thunders in my ears ! Oh ! rather speak me into my primitive nothing, and with one potent word finish my existence. To be separated from thee, and cursed with im- mortalitv, vv^ho can sustain the intolerable^oom .'' O dreadful state of black despair. To see my God remove, And flx my doleful station where I must not taste his love-— The Lord's Supper OF THU HEART. 9S nor view the light of thy countenance for ever. Unutterable woe ! there is no hell beyond it. Separation from God is the depth of misery. Blackness of darkness, and eternal night, must Hiecessarily involve a soul excluded from thy presence. What life, what joy, what hope is to be found where thou art not ? I want words to paint my thoughts of that dismal state. Oh ! let me never be reserved for the dreadful expe- rience ? rather let loose thy wrath, and in a mo- ment reduce me into nothing. ^' Depart from thee!" Oh! w^hither should I go from thee ? ^^ Into utter darkness ?" That makes no addition at all to the wretch's misery that is banished from thy face. After that fear- ful doom I should, without constraint, seek out shades as dark as hell, being most agreeable to my own despair, and in the horrors of eternal night bewail the infinite loss. The remembrance of that lost happiness would render celestial day insufferable. The light of paradise could not cheer me without thy favour; the songs of angels would but heighten my an- guish, and torment me with a scene of bliss which I must never taste. The sight of thy fa- vourites, and the glories of thy court, would but excite my envy, and fill me with madness, while I considered myself the object of thine eternal indignation: nor could all the harmony of heaven allay the horror of that reflection. The groans of the damned, and the darkness of the infernal caverns, would better suit my grief. I'here to the cries of tormented ghosts, and to the sound of eternal tempests, I might join mv wild complaints, and lament the loss of infinite bliss, and curse my ov/n folly. But all the n DEVOUT EXERCISES plagues below, if I might speak my present thoughts, bhould rxOt extort a blasphemous re- flection on the divine atiributes; for i know I deserve eternal misery, and even in hell I think I should confess thy justice. Thy long experi- enced clemency, 1 am sure, ought to silence my reproaches lor ever, and to all eternity leave thee unblemished with the imputation of cruelty. But oh! what agonies would the remembrance ol thy foj mer lavours excite? what exquisite remorse would it give me to recal those happy moments when thou didst bless my retired de« votions with thy presence ? After 1 had relished those divine entertainments, how bitter would the dregs of thy wrath be? Whither would thy frowns sink me, after 1 have enjoyed the light of thy countenance ? If I must lose thy favour. Oh! let me forget what that word imports, and blot for ever from my remembrance the joys th it a sense of thy love has excited! let no traces of those sacred transports be left on m) soul. But must I depart from thee into everlasting fire? Double and ^dreadful curse! and yet un- quenchable flames, and infernal chains, (if I can judge in this life of such awful futurities) would be less terrible than the sense of those lost joys. That loss would endure no reflection ; the review would be for ever insufferable; the ages of eternity could not diminish the exquisite regret; still it would excite new and unutterable anguish, and rack me Vv'lth infinite despair. Blessed God, pity the soul whose extremest horror is the doom of an eternal departure from thee. Draw mv spirit into the holiest and the nearest union v/ith thyself that is possible, while it OF THE HEART. 9$ dwells in this flesh; and let me here commence that delightful residence and converse with God, which neither death nor judgment shall ever de- stroy, nor shall a long eternity ever put a period to it. XV. The Glory of God in his Works of Creation^ Providence^ and Redemption. MY being immediately flows from thee, and should I not praise my omnipotent Maker? I received the last breath 1 drew from thee, thou dost sustain my life this Vv^y moment, and the next depends entirely on thy pleasure. 'Tis thie dignity of my nature to know, and my happiness to praise and adore my great Original. But, oh! thou Supreme of all things, how art^hou to be extolled by mortal man ! ^^ I say to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worms, Ye are my brethren. My days are as an hand's breadth, and my life is nothing before thee ; and thou art the same, and thy years never fail. From ever- lasting to everlasting thou ai^^ God ;" the incom- prehensible, the immutable Divinity. The lan- guage of paradise, and the strains of celestial eloquence, fall short of thy pv.rft ctious; the first born sons of light lose themselves hi blissful astonishment in search of thy excellencies ; even the}', with silent ecstacy, adore thee, while thou art veiled with inefiable splendour. The bright, the bless'd Divinity is known And comprehended by himself alone. 96 DEVOUT EXERCISES Who can conceive the extent of that power, whi^h out of nothing brought materials lor a rising world., and Irom a gluomy chaos, bid the harmonious universe appear I Confusion heard thy voice, and wild uproar Stood rui'd ; stood vast infinity coiifin'd. At thy word the pillars of the sky were framed, and its beauteous arches raised , thy breath kin- died the stars, adorned the moon with silver rays, and gave the sim its flaming splendour. Thou didst prepare for the waters their capacious be.d, and by thy power set boui.ds to the raging billows : by thee the vallies were clothed in their flowery pride, and the mountains crowned with groves. In all the wonderful eff'eets of nature we adore and coni'css thy power ; thou utterest thy voice in thunder, and dost scatter thy light- ning abroad ; thou ridest on the w ings of the wind, the mountains smoke, and the forests trem- ble at thy approa:h ; the summer and winter, the sh:tdy night and the bright revolutions of the day, are thine. These are thv glorious works, parent of good ! Almisihi' ! thine this miiversal frame : Thus wonci'rous they I thyself how wond'rous then I But, O what must thy essential majesty and beautv be, if thou art thus illustrious in thy works ! If the discoveries of thy power and wis- dom are thus delightful, how transporting are the manifestations of thv goodness? From thee every thing that lives receives its breath, and by thee are all upheld in life. Thy providence reaches the least insect ; lor thou art good, and thy care OF THE HEART. 97 extends to all thy works. Thou feedest the ravens, and^dost , provide the young lions their prey : thou scatterest thy blessings with a liberal hand p,n thy whole creation ; man, ungrateful man, largely partakes thy bounty. Thou cause st the rain to descend, and makest thy sun to shine on the evil and unthankful : " for thou art good, and thy mercy endureth for ever." As the Creator and Preserver of men, thou art gloriously manifest ; but, oh ! how much more gloriously art thou revealed, as reconciling ungrateful enemies to thyself by the blood of thy eternal Son ! Here thy beneficence displays its brightest splendour ; here thou dost fully disco- ver thy most magnificent titles, The Lord^ the Lord God^ inercijul and gracious^ long ^yfftring^ and ahiindant in goodness I ^^ How unsearchable are th) ways, and thy paths past finding out !'' Infinite depths of love, never to be expressed by human language ! And yet should man be silent, the stones themselves would speak, and the mute creation find a voice to upbraid his ungrateful folly. ^ XVI. Longing for the coming of Christ. - COME, Lord Jesus, come quickly: oh! come, lest my expectations faint ; lest I gro\T weary, and murmur at thy long delav. I am tired with these vanities, and the world grows every day more unentertaining and insipid ; it has now lost its charms, and finds my heart insensi- ble to all its allurements. With coldness and contempt I view these trai si ory glories : inspir- ed with nobler prospects, and vaster expecta^ I ^8 DEVOUT EXERCISES tions, by ^aitfi I see .the promised land, and every day brings me nearer the possession of my heavenly inheritance. Then shall 1 see God and live, and face to face behold my triumphant Re- deemer : » And in his favour find immortal light. Ye hours and days, cut short your tedious flight j Ye months and years ( if such allotted be In this detested, barren world for me) With hasty resolution roll along ; I languish with impatience to be gone. I have nothing here to linger for ; my hopes^ my rest, my treasure, and my joys are all above ; iny soul faints for the courts of the Lord, in a dry^nd thirsty land, where there is no refresh- ment. How long " shall I dwell iif Meshech, and sojourn in the tents of Kedar ?" Wlhen will the wearisome journey of life be finished ? when shall I reach my everlasting home, and arrive at my celestial country ? My heart, my wishes are already there ! I have no engagement to delay my farewel, nothing to detain me here ; but wander an unacquainted pilgrim, a stranger, and desolate, far from my native regions. My friends are gone before, and are now tri- umphing in the skies, secure of the conquest, possessed of the rewards of victory. They sur- vey the field of battle, and look back with plea- sure on the distant danger: death and hell for ever vanquished, leave them in the possession of endless tnmquillity and joy ; while I, beset with a thousand snares, and lired wkh continual toil, unsteadily maintain the field, till active faith steps in, assures me of the conquest, and OF THE HEART. 99 shews me the immortal crown ! 'Tis faith tells me, that '^ light is .sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart :" it assures me that " my Redeemer lives, and that he shall stand at the last day on the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God : whom I shall see for my- self, and not another ; and these eyes shall be- hold, though my reins be consumed within me. Amen, even so come. Lord Jesus." This must be the language of my soul till thou dost appear, and these my impatient breathings after thee. Till I see thy salvation, my heart and my flesh will pine for the living God. *' Grant me, O Lord to fulfil, as a hireling, my days ;" shorten the space, and let it be full of action. 'Tis of small importance how few there are of these little circles of days and hours, so they are but well filled up with devotion, and with all proper duty. XVIL Seeking after an absent God, OH ! let not the Lord be angrv, and I, who am but dust, will speak. Why dost thou with- draw thyself, and suffer me to pursue thee in vain? if I am surrounded with thy immensitv, why am I thus insens^ible of thee ? why do I not find thee, if thou art every where present ? I seek thee in the temple, where thou hast often met me ; there I have seen the traces of thv ma- jesty and beauty ; but those sacred visions bless Mny sight no more. I seek thee in my secret re- tirements, where I have called upon thv name, and have often heard the whispers of thy voices 100 DEVOUT EXERCISES that celestial conversation hath often reached and raptured my soul ; but I am solaced no more with his divine condescensions. I listen, but I hear those gentle sounds no more ; I pine and languish, but thou fleest me ; still I wither in thy absence, as a drooping plant for the reviv* ing sun. O when wilt thou scatter this melancholy darkness ? when shall the shadows flee before thee ? when shall the cheerful glory of thy grace dawn upon my mind at thy approach ? I shall re- vive at thy light, my vital spirits will confess thy presence ; grief and anxiety will vanish be- fore thee, and immortall joys surround my soul. Where thou art present, heaven and happiness ensue ; hell and damnation fills the breast where thou art absent. While God withdraws, I am encompassed with darkness and despair ; the sun and stars shine with an imcomfortable lustre ; the faces of my friends grow tiresome ; the smiles of angels would fail to cheer my languish- ing spirit. I grow unacquainted with tranquil- lity ; peace and joy are empty sounds to me, and words without a meaning. Tell me not of glory and pleasure, there are no such things without my God ; while he w^ith- draw^s, what delight can these trifles aff'ord ? All that amuses mankind are but dreams of happi- ness, shades, and fantastic appearances. What compensation can they makc^ for an infinite good departed ? All nature cannot repair my loss : heaven and earth would offer their treasures m vain; not all the kingdoms of this world, noi* the thrones of archangels, could give me a re- compense for an absent God. OF THE HEART. Itl O where can my grief find redress ! whence can I draw Satisfaction, when the fountain of jo\ seals up its streams ? My sorrows are hope- less till he return ; without him my night will never see a dawn, but extend to everlasting darkness ; content and joy will be eternal stran- gers to my breast. Had I all things within the compass of creation to delight nie, his frowns would bhist the whole enjoyment : unreconciled to God, my soul would be for ever at variance v/ith itself. Even now, i^ hile I believe thy glory hid from me but vviih^a transient eclipse, while I wait for thy return as for the dawning day, my soul suf- fers inexpressible agonies at the delay ; the mi- nutes seem to linger, and days are lengthened into ages: but. Lord, what keener anguish should I feel, did I think thy presence had totally- forsaken me; did I imagine thy glory should no more arise on my soul ! My spirits fail at the supposition: I cannot face the dreadful appre- hensions of my God for ever gone. Is it not hell in its - ost horrid prospect, eternal darkness, and the undying worm, infinite ruin, and irre- parable damage? Compared to this, what were all the plagues that earth could threaten, or hell invent ? What is disgrace, and poverty, and pain ? what is all that mortals fear, real or imagi- nary evils ? they are nothing compared to the terrors which the thought of losing my God ex- cites O thou, who art my boundless treasure, my infinite delight, my all, my ineffable portion, can I part with thee? I may see without light, and breathe without air, sooner thim be blessed without my God. Happiness separate from thee I 2 102 DEVOUT EXERCISES were a contradiction, an impossibility (if I dare speak it) to Omnipotence itself. I feel a flame which the most glorious creation could not satis- fy, an emptiness which nothing but infinite love could fill. I must find thee, or weary myself in an eternal pursuit. Nothing shall divert me in the endless search, no obstacle shall fright me back, no allurement withhold me, nothing shall flatter or relieve my impatience ; my bliss, my heaven, my all depends on the success. Shew me where thou art, O my God, conduct me into thy presence, andlet my love confine me there for ever. XVIII. Appeals to God C07icerning the Siiprema* cy of Love to Him, O GOD, when I cease to love and praise thee, let me cease to breathe and live ; when I forget thee, let me forget the name of my hap- piness, and let every pleasing idea be razed from my memory. When thou art not my supreme delight, let all things else deceive me : let me grow unacquainted with peace, and seek repose in vain : let delusions mock my gayest hopes ; let my desires find no satisfaction till they are terminated all in thee. When I forget the satis- faction of thy love, O my God ! let pleasure be a stranger to my soul ; when I prefer not that to my chiefest joy, let me be insensible of all de- light y when thy benignity is not dearer to me than life, let that life become my burden and my pain. Search the inmost recesses of my heart, and if thou findest any competitor there, removed the darling vanity, and blot every name but thine OF THE HEART. lO'S from my breast. Let me find nothing but emp- tiness in the creature, when I forsake the all- sufficient Creator ; let the streams be cut off when I wander away and abandon the fountain. Let me be destitute of assistance, when I cease to rely on thee : let my lips be for ever silent, when they refuse to acknowledge thy benefits, and make not thee the subject of their higher praise. Let no joyful strain enter at my ears, when thy name is not the most delightful sound they can convey to my heart. I have been pronouncing heavy curses on my- self, if thy love be not my chief blessing ; yet, O my dearest good, my portion, and my only felicity, might I not go on farther still, and even venture immortal joys on the sincerity of my love to thee ? Blessed Lord, forgive these dan- gerous efforts of a mortal tongue, which are the mere out-breakings of a fervent affection. I could even dare to pledge all my hopes and pre- tensions to future happiness, (and O let not my heart deceive me !) I think I could risk them all, if thou thvself art not the object of my brightesli hopes, and the light of thy countenance the height of that expected happiness. If I desire any thing in heaven or on earth in comparison of thee, I am almost ready to say, Banish me as an eternal exile from the light of paradise : even that piiradise would be melan- choly darkness without thee, and the obscurest corner of the creation, blessed with thy pre- sence would be more agreeable. Oh ! where could I be happy remote from thee ? what imagi- nable good could supph thy absence? Say, O my God, do I not love thee ? 104 DEVOUT EXERCISES Shall I call the holy angels to witness ? shall i call ht^ayen and eixrth to witness ^,s^ill not the most high God himself, the possessor of heaven and e^irth, condescend to witness the ardour and sincerity of my love ? With what pleasure do I reflect on the obliga- tions by which 1 have devoted myself to thee ! My soul collects itself, and with an entire ass nt giv s up all its powers to thee. I would bind mvself unto tlite beyond all the ties that moitals ktiow^ Ye ministei^ of light, give me your flames, ar>d t^ ach me your celestial forms ; let all He noble and pxithetic, and solemn as \ our ow^n immortal vows, and I will jovfully go through them all to rnnd rriyself to m} God for ever. Say, now, ye h-ivens and earth, sw, ye holy angels, and O thou all knowing God, say, do I not love thee? XIX. A dtv out Rapture ; or^ Love to God 'dux- pressible. THOU radiant sun, thou moon, and all ye sparkling stars, how gladly w^ould I leave your pleasant light to see the face of God ! ye crystal streams, ye groves and flowery lawns, my inno- cent delights, how joyfully could I leave you to meet that blissfid prospect ! and you, delightful faces of my friends, I would this moment quit you all to see him whom my soul loves ; so loves, that I can find no words to express the unutterable ardour. Not as the miser Ipves his W'ealth, nor the ambitious his grandeur ; not as the libertine loves his pleasure, or the generous man his friend ; these are flat similitudes to des- OF THE HEART. 105 eribe such an intense passion as mine. Not as a man scorched in a fever longs for a cooling draught ; not as a weary traveller wishes for soft repose ; my restless desires admit of no equal comparison from these. I love my friend ; my vital breath and the light of heaven are dear to me ; but s ho rid I say I love my God as I love these, I should belie the sacred flame which aspires to infinity. ' 1 is thee, abstractly thee, O uncreated beautv ! that I love. In thee my wishes are all terminaied; in thee, as in iheir blissful centre, all my desires meet, and there they must be eternally fixed : it is thou alone that must constitute my ever- lasting happiness. Were the harps (;f angels si- lent, there would be harmony for me in the whispers of thy love :• were the fields of light darkened, thy smiles would bless me with ever- lasting day ; the vision ol thy face will attract my eyes, nor give me leisure to waste a look on other objects to all eternity% any farther th m God is to be seen in his creatures. All their beams of grace, and joy, and glory, are derived from thee, the eternal Sun, and will merit my attention no farther than they reflect thy image, or discover thy excellencies^ Even at this distance, encompassed with the shades of death, and the mists of darkness ; in these cold melancholy regions, when a ray of thy love breaks in on my soul, when through the clouds I can trace but one feeble beam, even that obscures all human glory, and gives me a contempt for whatever mortality can boast. What wonders then will the open vision of thy fare effect, when I shall enjoy it in so sublime a degree, that the magnificence of the skies will 106 DEVOUT EXERCISES not draw my regard, nor the converse of angels divert mv thoughts from thee? Thou wilt en- gross my everlasting attention ; and I should abound in felicity, if I had nothing to entertain me but immediate communion with the infinite Divinity. Mend thy pace, old lazy Time, and shake thy heavy sands ; make shorter circles, ye rolling planets ; when will your destined courses be ful- filled ? Thou restless sun, how long wilt thou travel the celestial road ? when will ;hy starry- walk be finished ? when will the commissioned angel arrest thee in thy progress, and, lifting up his hand, swear by the unutterable name, that time shall be no 7nore ? O happy period \ my im- patient soul springs .forward to salute thee, and leaves the lagging days, and months, and years, far behind. ^' Haste, my beloved, and be like a roe, or a young hart on the spicy mountains," I pine, I die for a sight of thy countenance: O, turn the veil aside, blow away the separat- ing cloud, pull out the pins of this tabernacle, break the cords, and let fall the curtain of mor- tality ! O let it interpose no longer between me and mv perfect bliss. I feel those flames of di- vine love which are unextinguishable as the lights of heaven ; nor death itself shall quench the sa- cred ardour. Ye ministers of light, ye guardians of the just, stand and w^tnqss to my vows : and in an hum- ble dependance on thy grace, O Jesus, may I not venture to bid these thy flaming ministers protest against me when I change my love, and stand my accusers at the last judgment ! When I prove false to thee, may I not venture to say OF THE HEART. 107 to them all, Bring in your a vv.ful evidence, and proclaim my perjury i For you have listen'd while the sacred name That kindles hi each heavenly breast a flame ; You hsten'd while it melted on my tongue, Fiow'd from my lips, and graced the midr.ight song, BJess'd was the time, and sweetly tied the hours, While holy love employ 'd my noblest pow'rs ; The heav'ns appear'd, and the propitious skies Unveil *d their inmost glories to roy eyes. Oh, stay I 1 cry'd, ye happy moments stay, Kor in your flight snatch these delights awayi^ 1 ask no more the rising sun to view, To mortals and their hopes I bid adieu. These heavens and this earth have been wit- ness to my vov^s : the holy angels have been wit- nesses, and all will join togetl^r to condemn me .when I violate m^y faith : strengthen and confirm it, O my Saviour, and make the bonds of it im- mortal. If I were only to reason upon this subject, I might say, what motive could cinh, what could hell, what could heaven itself propose to tempt my soul to change its love ? what could they lay in the balance against an infinite good? what could be thrown in as a stake against the favour -of God t Ask the happy souls who know what the light of his countt nance imports, who drink in joy and immortality from his smiles ; ask them what value they set on their enjoyments ? ask them v/hatin heaven or earth shouldpurchase one moment's interval of their bliss ? ask some radi- ant seraph, amidst the fervenv^v of his raptures, at v/hat price he values his happiness ? and when thi-se have named the purchase, earth and hell may try to balance mine. Let them spread the \ 108 DEVOUT EXERCISES baits that tempt deluded men to ruin ; let riches, honour, beauty, and bewitching pleasure appear in all their charms, the sensuality ol the present and past ages, the Persian delicacy, and the Roman pride ; let them uncover the golden mines, and disclose the ruby sparkling in its bed ; let them open the veins of sapphire, and shew the diamond glittering in its rock, let them all be thrown into the balance ; alas ! their weight is too little, and too light. Let the pa- geantries of state be added, jmperial titles, and the ensigns of majesty ; put in all that boundless vanity imagines or wild ambition craves, crowns and sceptres, regal vestments and golden thrones ; the scales still mount, 7 brow in the world entire ; 'tis unsusbtantial, and light as airy vanity. Are these thy highest boasts, O deluding world ? Ye ministers of darkness, have you no- thing else to offer ? are these your utmost pro- posals ? are tht-se a comj^ensation for the favour of God ? Alas ! that boundless word has a mean- ing which out^veighs them all : infinite delight, inconceivable joy, are expressed in it ; the light of his countenance signifies more than angels can descrii)e, or mortality imagine : and. shall I quit all that an everlasting heaven means for emptv shadows ? Go, ye baffled tempters, go offer your toys to madmen and fools : they all vanish under my scorn, and cannot yield so much as an amuse- ment to mv aspiring thoughts. The sun, in all its spacious circuit, beholds nothing to tempt my w ishesr These winding skies, in all their am- pl vround, contain noth* :g eqi'al to my desires, my ambition has far diilerent ends, and other OF THE HEART. 4§1 prospects in view ; nothing below the joys of angels can satisfy me. Let me explore the words of life and beauty, and find a path to the dazzling recesses of the Most High : \6t me drink at the fountain-head of pleasure, and derive all that I want from origi- nal and uncreated fulness and felicity. Oh, divine love ! let me launch out into thy pleasurable depths, and be swallowed up of thee: let me plunge at once in immortal joy, and lose myself in the infinite ocean of happiness. Till then 1 pine for my celestial country ; till then I murmur to the winds and streams, and tell the solitary shades my grief. The groves are conscious to my complaints, and the moon and stars listen to my sighs. By their silent lights I talk over my heavenly concerns, and give a vent to my divine affections in mortal lan- guage ; then looking upward, I grow impatient to reach that milky way, the seat of joy and im- mortality, y Come love, come life, and that bless'd day For which I languish, come away ; When this dry soul these eyes shall see, And drink the unseal'd source of Thee. O come, I cry, thou whom my soul loveth ! I would go on, but want expression, and vainly struggle with the unutterable thought. Tell me, ye sons of light, who feel the force of the celestial fires, in what language you paint their violence ? Or do the tongues oif seraphs faulter I Does the language of paradise want emphasis here, and immortal eloquence fail? Surely your happiness is more perfect than all vour descriptions of it : heaven echoes to your K tit DEVOUT EXERCISES charming notes, as far as they reach, while di- vine love, which is all your song, is infinite, and knows no limits of degree or duration. Yet I would say. Some g;ntle spirit, come and instruct me in your art ; lend me a gokUn harp, and guide the sacred flight ; let me imi- tate your devout strains ; let me copy out \ our harmony ; and then, Some of the fairest choir above Shall flock around my song, With joy to hear the name they love Sound from a mortal tongue. Blessed and immortal creatures, I long to join with you in your celestial style of adoration and love. I long to learn \our ecstacies of worship and joy, in a language which mortals cannot pro- nounce, and to speak the divine passion of my soul in words which are now unspeakable. XX. Self Reproof for Inactivity. IS it possible that I should one day be rapt almost into the third heavens, and, ere a few weeks have passed over me, I should find mvself creeping among the insects of the earth, and almost as meanly busied as they ? Can divine love, which exalted me lateh into flaming trans- ports, so far subside and grow cool within me? Can it leave me so inactive as I now feel myself? What shall I do to shame my conscience with reproaches, and renew the flame of religious .zeal and vigour ? OF THE HEART. Ill Alas ! how does the activity of men about the little affairs of haman life condemn my negli- gence in matters of everlasting consequence ! Does the fond lover with such anxiety and impa- tience pursue the object of his wishes ; and shall not divine beauty and infinite loveliness inflame my desires to a nobler height, and excite my languishing devotion ? Are the ambitious so restless and solicitous tq make themselves great, and to purchase the ve- neration of fools ? do they lay such mighty pro- jects, and compass their designs with such pain anu Uiiuiv.ci*t^^ *v,* **»^*vr j^c»gcaijiryanagauay tiities; and shall I, who am a candidate for heaven, a probationer for celestial dignity, lose my title for want of diligence ? shall 1 faint in the noble strife, when God and angels are ready to assist me, and jcvery moment's toil will be recompensed with eternal ages of rest and triumph? See, see, the moments fly, the labour shortens, and the immense reward draws near; the palm Oi victory, the starry crown, are in view ; the happy realms and fields of light entertain me with their glorious prospect. Rouse thee, my soul, to th^:; most active pursuit of those felici- ties ; waken all ihy sprightly powers ; and let it never, never be thy reproac h, that the vigour and intenseness of thy labours fall short of the pretensions of thy desires; or that thy holy in- dustry should sink so far below the fervour of those affections, which, in a devout hour, thou hast pronounced inexprtjssible. O Lord, what a mutable thing is man ! v/hat frailty works in this flesh and blood, and. hangs heavy upon our better powers! 'Tis grace, divine grace alone, can keep alive that immortal spark iJ2 DEVOUT EXERCISES within us, which came first from heaven, and first taught our hearts to arise and spring upward. Preserve and complete thy own work, almighty Grace. "^ XXI. A joyful View of approaching Death, O DEATH, where is thy sting ? where is thy boasted victory ? The conquest is mine ; I shall pass in triumph through thy dark dominions; and through the grace of the Son of God, my di- viiiJ VZ^^J^:^: ^ ^^^"^^ ^^Ppear there, not a captive, but a conqueror. O king of terrors, where are thy formidable |ooks? I can see nothing dreadful in thy aspect: iiioi^ cipucieiresi; witn no toKcns ui v^%.««».»«.^ , iwjt dost thou come with summons from a severe judge, but gentle invitations from my blessed Re- deemer, who has passed gloriously through thy territories in his way to his throne. Thrice welcome, thou kind messenger of my liberty and happiness ! a thousand times more welcome than jubilee to the wretched slave, than pardon to a condemned malefactor. I am going from darkness and confinement to immense light and perfect liberty; from these tempestuous re- gions to the soft and peaceful climes above; from pain and grief to everlasting ease and tranquil- lity. For the toils of virtue, I shall immedi- ately receive its vast rewards : for the reproach of fools, the honour and applause of angels. In a few minutes I shall be higher than yonder stars, and brighter far than they. I shall range the boundless aether, and breathe the balmy air of paradise. I shall presently behold my glorious OF THE HEART. 113 Maker, and sing hallelujahs to my excilted Sa- viour. And now come, ye bright guardians of the just, conduct me through the unknown and trackless sether, for you pass and repass the celestial road continually; you have commission not to leave me till I arrive at Mount Sion, the heavenly Jeru- salem, the city of the living God; till I come to the innumerable company of angels, and the spi- rits of just men made perfect. Hold out faith and patience ; it is but a little while, and your work will be at an end ; but a few moments, -and these sighs and groans shall be converted into everlasting hallelujahs ; but a few weary steps, and the journey of life will be finished. One effort more, and I shall have gained the top of the everlasting hills, and from yonder bright summit shall presently look on the dangers I have escaped in my travels through the wilderness.. Roll faster on, ye lingering minutes; the nearer my joys, the more impatient I am to seize them : after these painful agonies, how greedily shall I drink in immortal ease and plea- sure ! Break away, ye thick clouds ; be gone, ye envious shades, and let me behold the glories ye conceal ; let me see the promised land, and sur- vey the happy regions I am immediately to pos- sess. How long will ye interpose between me and my bright sun ? betv/een me and the uncloud- ed face of God ? Look up, my soul, see how sweetly those reviving beams break forth ! how they dispel the gloom, and gild the shades of death. O blessed eternity ! with what a cheerful splendour dost thou dawn on my soul ? With K 2 114 DEVOUT EXERCISES thee comes liberty, and peace, and love, and endless felicity : but pain, and sorrow, and tu- mult, and death, and darkness, vanish before thee for even 1 am just upon the shores of those happy realms where uninterrupted day and eternal spring reside ; yonder are the delectable hills and harmonious vales which continually echo to the songs of angels. There the blissful fields extend their verdure, and there the im- mortal groves ascend. But ho\y dazzling is thy prospect, O city of God, of whom such glori- ous thing are spoke ! In thee " there shall be no more night, nor need of the sun or moon, for the throne of God and of the Lamb is in the midst of thee ; and the nations that are saved shall walk m thy light, and the kings of the earth shall bring their glory and honour unto thee : and there the glorious Lord shallbe to us a place of defence, a place of streams and broad rivers;" and the voice of joy, and the shout ^f triumph, shall be heard in thee for ever. There holy souls perpetual sabbaths keep, And never are concerned for food or sleep; There new-conne saints with wreaths of light are crown'd, While ivory harps and silver trumpets sound There flaming seraphs sacred hymns begin, And raptur'd cherubs loud responses sing. Bly eyes shall there behold the King in his beauty; and oh! how ravishing will the aspects of his love be ! What unutterable ecstacies shall I feel, when I meet those smiles which enlighten heaven, and exhilarate all the celestial regions ; when I shall view the beatific glory, without one interposing cloud to eternity : when I shall drink OF THE HEART. 115 my fill at the fountains of joy, and in those rivers of pleasure that flow from his right hand for ever. XXII. A Devout Resignation of Self to the Dc- vine Poxver and Goodness* MY all-sufficient friend, " my shield, and my exceeding great reward!" I have enough; unbounded avarice can covet nothing beyond thee ; the soul v/hom thou dost not suffice de- serves to be eternally poor. Thou art my su- preme happiness, my voluntary choice: 1 took thv love for my treasure in that blessed day when I entered into covenant with thee, and became thine : I made no articles with thee for thy friendship, the honours and pleasures of the world, but solemnly renounced form all, and chose thy favour for my single inheritance, leav- ing the conduct of my life entirely to ihee. These were my vows, and these I have often renewed ; and shall I now retract such sacred obligations, and alter a choice so just and rea- sonable ? Forbid it, gracious God ! let me^never be guilty of such madness. The Vv^orldhas often disappointed my most confident expectations, but thou hast never deceived me. In all my distress I have found thee a certain refuge, ^' my shield, my fortress, my high tower, my deli- verer, my rock, and he in whom I trust." Whc^n there was none to save me, thy powerful hand has set me free ; thou hast redressed my griev- ances, and dissipated my fears ; thou hast brought me light out of obscurity, and turned my darkness into day. 116 DEVOUT EXERCISES When the world could afford me nothing but tempest and disorder^ with thee I have found repose and undisturbed tranquillity. Thou hast been my long experienced refuge, my unfailing confidence, and i stedfastly depend on thee for my future conduct. I cannot err when guided by infinite Wisdom. I must be safe in the arms of eternal love, to which I humbly resign my- self. Let me have riches or poverty, honour or contempt ; whatever comes from thy hands shall be thankfully received. I would hear no voice but thine, nor make a step but where I am /ol- lowing thee. If thou wouldst leave me to choose for my- self, I would resign the choice again to thee. I dread nothing more than the guidance of' my own blind desires : I tremble at the thoughts of such a fatal liberty ; avert, gracious God, that miserable freedom ! Thou foreseest all events, and at one single view dost look through eternal consequences ; therefore do thou determine my circumstances, not to gratify fny own wild de- sires, but to advance thy glory. Thou hast an unquestionable right to dispose of me ; I am thine by necessary ties and volun- tary engagements, wdiich I thankfully acknow- ledge, and solemnly renew : deliberately and entirely I put myself into thy hands. Whatever interest I have in this world I sacrifice to thee, and leave my dearest enjoyments to thy dispo- sal, acknowledging it my greatest happiness to be guided by thee. '' Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of himP' that thou w^ho art supremely blessed and independently happy shouldst concern thyself with human affairs, and condescend to make our OF THE HEART. IIT wants as much thy care as if mortal miseries could reach ihee, and interrupt immortal bles- sedness ! thou wouldst make us sensible of thine indulgence by the most tender similitudes : £1 father's gentle care but faintly shadows thine, and all we can conceive of human pity iali^ short of thy compassion. Thou uost seem to share in all our calamities, and svmiiathize in all our ^^\*:^^ j^^Q triend flies toour assistance with all the speed that love brings thee ; nor canst thou ever want methods to reijcivc uiose that con-* fide in thee. Thy providence finds or makes its way through all oppositions ; the streams shall roll back to their fountains, the sun shall stand still, and the ^^'I'rse of nature be reversed, rather than thou want means to bring thy purposes to pass. No obstacle puts a stand to thy designs, nor obstructs thy methods : it is thy will that makes nature and necessity : who can stay ihy hand, or say unto thee, What doest thou ? Thy counsel shall stand, and thou wilt do all thy pleasure. Nothing is impossible for thee to accomplish : wherever I cast my eyes, I see instances of thy power : the extended firmament, the sun and stars, tell me what thou art able to perform ; they attest thy omnipotence, and rebuke my unbelief. The whole creation pleads for thee and condemns my infidelity. Almighty God, forgive my diffidence, while I confess it is most inexcusable. Thy hand is not shortened, nor are the springs of thy bounty sealed ; thv ancient miracles have not exhausted thy strength, nor hath perpetual beneficence im- poverished thee ; thy power remains undimi- nished, and thy mercy eudureth for ever. That ai8 DEVOUT EXERCISES dazzling attribute surrounds me with transport- ing glories : which way soever 1 turn, 1 meet ihc bVight conviction ; 1 cannot recal a day of my past life on whivh some signature of thy goodU Bess is not stamped. ! who hath tasted of thy clemency In v> renter measure, or move (ft than T? Which way sce'er 1 tarn my tace or i^vt, 1 see thy mercy, and thy glory meet. ,In whatever thou hast granted, or whatever thou hast denied me, thy beneficence has been mingled with every dispensation ; thou hast not tuken.the cidvantage ot my follies, nor been se- vere to my sins, but hast remembered my frame, and treated me with the utmost indulgence. Giory be to thy name for ever. XXIII. Redeeming Love. ALMIGHIY love, the theme of every heavenly song ! infinite grace, the wonder of argels I forgive a mortal tongue that attempts thy praise ; and yet should man be silent, the mute creation would find a voice to upbraid him. But oh ! in what language shall I speak ? vv ith what circumstance. shall i begin? shall I roll back the volunies of eternity, and begin v/ith the glorious "design that determined man's redemp- tion before the birth of lime, before the con- fines of Creation were fixed? Infinite years before the day. Or heavens began to roll I OF THE HEART. 11* Shall I speak in general of all the nations of the redeemed r* or, to excite my own gratitude, shall 1 consider myself, my vvorihiesii self, in- cluded, by the eternal decree, among lae nuii^- ber of those who should hear oi a r\edecm .'s name, aud be marked out a partaker oi thji im- mense privilege ^ Beiore the fouiidations oi ^he hills were iaia, the gracious design was fot uk L, and the blessed plan ox it schemed out beiOie the curtains of the sky were spread. Lord, what is man f what am I f what is ul the huQAan race, to bj thus regarded.^ O naricw thoughts, and narrower worcs ! here cont. ss your defects ; these are heights not to be reached by you. Adorable measures of inhnite clemenc\ ! unsearchable riches of grace ! with what asto- nishment do i survey you ! I am swallowed and lost in the glorious immensity. Ail hail, ye di- vine m) steries ! ye glorious paths of the un- searchable Deity ! let me adore, though I can neve r express you. Yet should I be silent, heaven and earth, nay- hell itself will reproach me : the damned themselves would call me ungrateful, should I fcdl to celebrate that grace whose loss they are for ever lamenting ; a loss that leaves them for ever desperate and undone. ' Fis this grac^ wdiich tunes the harps of heaven, and yields them an immortal subject of harmony and praise. The spirits of just men made perfect fix their contemplations here ; they adore the glorio.is mystery, and while they sing the wonders of re- deeming love, they ascribe sublime and living honours to him that sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, forever. And infinitely vvorthy art thou, O Lord, to receive the gratciul homage. Who 120 DEVOUT EXERCISES shall not praise and magnify thy name ? who shall deny the tribute of thv glory ? But, alas ! what can mortal man add to thee ? what can nothingness and vanity give ? We mur- mur from the dust, and attempt thy praise from the depths of misery ? yet thou dost condescend to hear and listen to our broken accents^ amiust the hallelujahs of angels our groans ascend to thee, our complriims reach ihit : from the height of thy happiness, and from the exaltations of eternal glory, thou hast a rc^gard to man, poor wret hed nian ! thou recei\ est his homage with delight, his praises mingle with the harmony of angels, nor interrupt the sacred concord. Those natives of heaven, those morning stars sing toge- ther in their heavenly beatitudes, nor disdarifn lo let the sons of earth and mortality join with them in celebrating the honours of Jesus, their Lord and ours. To him be every tongue devoted, and let every creature for ever praise him. Ameii. XXIV. Pleading for Pardon and Holiness. IMMORTAL spring of life, the fountain of all existence, the first and last, "without be- ginning of days, or end of years," before the heavens were created thou wast, and shalt remain unchans^ed, while they wax old and decay. I'hou art infinitely blessed in thyself, thy glory ad mils of no addition ; the praises of\ angels cannot heighten thy heippiness, nor the blasphemies of hell diminish it. Thou canst do every 4:hing, and thy power finds no obstacle. '^ Thou madest heaven and earth, the sea and the fountains of water ; thou doest according to thy will m the OP THE HEART. l%h armies of heaven, and amongst the inhabitants of the earth ; thou holdest the waters in the hol- low of thy hctnd^ and measurest out the heavens with a span : thou comprehendest the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighest the mountains with scales, and the hills in a balance : thou co- verest thyself with light as with a garment," and art surrounded w ith inaccessible splendour : *' Thou art glorious in holiness, fearful in praises ; the heavens are not clean in thy sight, and thou chargest thine angels w4th folly : what then is man that driiiketh in iniquity like water? what is man, that thou art mindful of him ? or the son. of man that thou dost thus visit him r" 'Tis be- cause thou art good, and thy mercy endureth for ever ; mercy is thy prevailing attribute. Thou art compassionate, and infinitely gracious, and hast fully manifested thy love and beneficence to the race of man, in the glorious methods of our redemption from everlasting bondage and death by thy Son Jesus. Therefore vfitli the lowest reverence, and most humble gratitude, 1 desire to prostrate mj^ self before thee, acknowledging it my greatest honour and undeserved privilege to approach the Lord, and bow myself before the high God ; I that am unworthy to utter thy tremendous name, or once' to lift up my eyes to heaven. To my own confusion I here confess I have abused the mercy which I now implore, and injured that goodness and forbearance by my sins which I am now addressing myself to. I have forfeited the verv benefits I ask, and despised those sacred privileges which I am forced to plead : I can scarce use any motive but what would carry it to my own condemnation. Shall I implore thy L 122 DEVOUT EXERCISES mercy by the gracious terms of the new covenaiat, sealed by the blood of thy eternal Son? Alas! that gracious covenant I have violated, and pro- faned its sacred seals : I have sinned against ihe clearest light, and the tenderest instances of love: I have not only broken my obligations to thee as my Creator, but the stronger engagements of thy adoption, even the glorious privileges of being admitted into thy iamily, and numbered among the children of God. But still those very circumstances that aggra- vate my guilt exalt th} mercy ; here the freeness andlTiaguificence of thy grace will display itself; here thou wilt answer the indulgent title of a father in its tenderest extent. I have no sins too great ior iufinice clemency to pardon. Thou art God, and not man ; and as the heavens are high above the earth, so high are thy ways of com- passion above all human methods. I dare not set bounds to thy goodness, nor af- firm, that thus far ^ and no fart/itr diwiw^ patience extends. Thou hast pardoned and restored me to thy favour too often for me now to despair ; my penitent sighs were never rejected, nor my humble requests unanswered. I have always found the heavens open, and the throne of God accessible through the blood of a Redeemer. By hi^ agony and bloody sweat, by his cross and passion, by his painful death and glorious resur- rection, I implore thy pardon: he has made a fiul atonement, and divine Justice will dema: d no further satisfaction. " To him give all the prophets witness, that, through his name, whoso- ever believes in his name shall receive remission of sins." OF THE HEART. 123 O blessed Jesus ! the hope of the Gentiles, the salvation of the ends of theearth, the great Messiah, the promised Saviour, wlio doth answer thc-se glorioas titles in their utmost signification, to thee,, my certain, my experienced refuge, I iiy : O Son of God, hear me ; O Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on me. O eternal Spirit, the promised Comforter, come v/ith all thy sacred consolations; come, and be as dew to the drooping flowers, as rain to the parched ground ; oh ! come with thy reviving light, and dispel the darkness that be- clouds my soul ; break in like the sun after a me- lancholy night. One beam of thine would melt this frozen, this obdurate heart, and kindle in my soul the spark of holy love ; breathe upon my cold aflections, and raise them to a sacrecl flame. Searcher of hearts ! from whom nothing is concealed, whose penetrating eyes find out hj/- pocrisy in its darkest disguise ; thou knowest the desires of my soul, and art my impartial witness, that I kneel not here for the riches and honours of the world ; that I am not prostrated before thee for length of days or pleasure ; but that it is the kingdom of God, and the righteousness thereof, that I seek. Give me not my portion v/ith the rich and great, but let me have my hum- ble lot with thy children ; let me bear contempt and derision, and suffer reproach with the peo- ple of God^ rather than enjoy the pleasures of sin, which are but for a season. Thy favour is the end of all my vv^ishes, the constant subject of my prayer. Oh ! thou, whose ears are open to the wants of all thy crea- tures, who hearest the young ravens when they cry from their nest to thee, who givest the men 154 DEVOUT EXERCISES of the world the transitory things they choose, wilt thoii deny the desires which thou thyself dost inspire and approve ? O let me be filled with the righteousness which I hunger and thirst af- ter, and be satisfied with thy likeness. Thou canst not be diminished, whatever perfection thou dost communicate to the creatures ; endless liberality could not make thee poor. I ask not privileges above the capacitv of my nature, nor aspire to the perfections of angels ; I only beg that I may reach those heights of holi- ness and divine love, which souls, invested by a mortal body like mine and incumbered with the same human passions, have attained. But in vain I strive to imitate those bright examples thou hast set before me ; without thy assistance all myendeavours will prove successless. Fhou knowest the frailty of my nature, and the migh- ty difficulties I have to encounter: I have not only the allurements of the world, but all the stratagems of hell to encounter with, and a treacherous heart within, ready on all occasions to betray me into sin and endless perdition : O let my impotence and danger awaken thy compas- sion. Remember thy former benignity, O Lord, and let that engage thee to grant me new supplies of that gra for me ; forget not their vows and solemn dedication of me to thee. Oh ! recal thy ancient favours, and renew thy former mercy to a family which has been thme in a succession of ages. Let me invoke thee now^by a nearer propriety : my covenant God, my Father, and my Friend f If by all those tender names I have ever known the-, forget me not. By those sacred engagements, O Lord, I entreat thy return. If all thy past fa- vours were real, if all was waking bliss, and not a gay delusion. O restore my heaven again* Life of my soul, light of my eyes, return : come, and bring all thy sacred consolations : once again let me experience those holy joys that thy presence imparts, once again let me hear thy voice, once again be blessed with thy smiles. Oh I hear, and to my longing eyes Restore thy wonted light, And suddenly, or 1 shall sleep In everlasting night. Blessed Saviour, in thee we behold the face of God as a reconciled father ; and dost thou with- draw thyself? O how welcome will thy return be I how like the breaking of immortal day will thy presence chet-r me ! how dearly shall I prize my happiness ! how fearful shall I be of every 130 DEVOUT EXERCISES thing that M^ould offend thee ! how joyful in the blessed discovery and possession of thy love ! I'd whisper my bliss to the listening streams and groves. Vd carve thy passion on the bark, And ev'ry wounded tree Shall droop, and bear sonae mystic mark ' That Jesus dy'd for me. The^swains shall wonder when they read, Inscrib'd on all the grove, That Heav'n itself came down and bled To v/in a mortal's love. Bat why do I flatter myself with these de- lightful scenes ? I find thee absent still : I mourn and complain as one unpitied. What is life while thou art absent ? Oh ! return and bless me with thy presence, thou who knowest my dis- tresses, and art acquainted with my secret cares. Thou v/ho art the witness of my mid- night sighs, and dost hear v/hen at the dawning day I call thee ; but still thou answerest not, and seemest deaf to n>y prayers. I am, 'tis true, a worthless wretch ; but, vile as J am, thou hast, in thy immense compassion, brought me into covenant with thee. My beloved is jnine^ and I am his. He is my siin, though he refuse to shine ; Though for a moment he depart, I dwell for ever on his heart, Tor ever he on mine. Nothing can break the sacred union : but for this confidence I were undone ; but for this beam of hope I were lost in eternal darkness. " Why art tliou disquieted, O my soul, and why art thou OF THE HEART. 151 cast down M^ithin me ? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise him for the light of his countenance ;'^ I shall yet welcome his return, I shall yet hear his cheering voice, and meet his favourable smiles. But why, O my God, this long suspense? why do these intervals of night and darkness abide upon me, and torment my heart so long? wilt thou deny a bliss so easily granted ? I ask no more than is lawful for mortality to wish: 1 ask not the visions of angels here below, nor the beatitudes of perfected spirits: I ask but what thou hact bid me seek, and given me hopes to obtain ; I ask that sacred fellowship, that ineffa- ble communion, v. ith which thou favourest thy saints. Oh ! let me hear those heavenly whispers that give them the foretastes of immortal pleasure ; let me be sensible of those divine approaches that kindle celestial ardour in their souls ; let me meet those beams that darken all mortal beauty: let me enjoy, atthis earthly distance, those smiles that are the bliss of angels in heaven. Though 'tis but darkly, and afar oiT, yet let me feel their influence ; it will brighten the passage of hfe, it will direct me through its mazes, and gild its rough and gloonmy paths ; it will raise the flames of sacred iove,- it will awakenvthe divine principle within me, and set it a glowing through all my powers. I abandon^ I shall forget the vanities below, and the glories of the world will be no more ; but while thou, O my God, hidest thy f;?ce, I lose my sun. I languish and die ; yet to thee I will lift up my eyes, to thee 1 will lift up mv soul. 132- DEVOUT EXERCISES Come, Lord, and never from me go ; This world's a darksome place : Ifir.d no pleasure here oelow, When thou dost veil thy face. XX VIL Breathing after God^ and weary of the World. 'Tisno mean beauty of the ground That has allur'd my eyes ; I faint beneath a nobler wound, Nor love below the skies. If words can reach the heights of love and gratitude, let me pour out the secret ardour of my soul : O let it not offend thy greatness that dust and vanity adores and loves thee. If thou hadst gi^'en me other capacities, and formed any thing more suita'jle to my wishes, I might have found a lower happiness, and been content with something below the infiaite Deity ; but the scanty creation affords nothing to satisfy me, and I follow thee by a divine instinct and mere ne- cessity of nature Mv life is useless, and my being insignificant without thee ; my reason has no proper employ- ment ; love, the noblest passion of my soul, has no object to answer its dignity. I am re- duced to absolute poverty ; my nature is entire- ly ruined, I am lost, eternally lost, undone, and abandoned to despair, if I am deprived of thee. There can be no reparation made for an infinite loss ; nothing can be instead of God to my soul. I have willingly renounced all things else for thy sake : all the sentiments of tenderness and OF THE HEART. . 131 delight that my soul ever feels for any earthly object, is mere indifference, compared to my ^ove to thee, and it grows into hatred when that object stands as thy rival or competitor. This is the conquering, the superior flame, that draws in j^nd swallows up all the other ardours of my nature. iVIy engagements with 'all terrestrial things are broken : the names of father, of brother, or of friend, are no more ; abstracted from thee, these tender titles give me neither confidence nor joy, and are mere insignificant names, but as thou dost give them an emphasis; they are nothing at all without thee ; and with, thee, what infinite good can be an addition ? The soul can hold no more, for God is all. He only t^quals its capacious grasp, He only overfills to spaces infinite. Thou art my God, and I have enough : my soul is satisfied. I am entirely at rest Divide the vain, the perishing creation to the miserable wretches that ask no other portion j let them, unenvied, possess the honours, and riches, and pleasures of the world ; with a lavish hand di- vide them away : these things are but as the dust of the balance to the happy soul that knows what the light of thy countenance imports. Af-^ ter that, there can be no relish left for the low delights of mortality^ Lost m the high enjoyments of thy love, What glorious mortal could my envy move ? Ye ineffable delectation-:^^ of divine love, let me h:r^e n> sentiment of ^ T tsure left but for \ ou. Mj Gj J revealing his glories and his graces in M 184 DEVOUT EXERCISES Jesus Christ his Son, is sufficient for my eternal entertainiment. VV^hat if ail former ideas of visible things were wiped from my soul? what if I had no imagina- tion, no memory, no traces left of any thing but the joys I have found in thy presence, and the assurances of thy everlasting favour ? Those are the only past moments I recal wiih pleasure ; and, oh ! let all the vast eternity before me be spent in these satisfactions. Vanish, ye terres rial scents! fly away, ye vain objects of sense ! 1 resign all those poor and limited faculties by which Jou are enjo) ed ; let me be insensible to all your impressions, if they do not lead me to my God. Let chaos come again, and the fair face of nature become an uni- versal blank : let her glowing beauties all fade away, and those divine characters she wears be effaced, I shall be happy : the God of nature, and the original of all beauty, is my God. What if the sun were extinguished in^ the skies, and all the ethereal lamps had burnt out their golden flames ? I shalldwellin light and im- mortal day, for my God will be ever with me. When the groves shall no more renew their verdure, nor the fields and vallies boast any longer their flowery pride ; when all these lower heavens, and this earth, are mingled in univer- sal ruin, and these material images of things are no more, I shall see new regions of beaut) and pleasure for ever opening themselves in the di- vine essence, with all their original glories. But O how various, how boundless, how transporting will the prospect be ! O when shall I bid adieu to phantoms and delusions, and con- Verse with eternal realities ? when shall 1 drink OF THE HEART. 135 at the fountain-head of essential life and blessed- ness ? . And then, O what ! l)iit ask not of the tongues of men, For angels cannot tell. Let it suffice, Tfivseif, my S'ml, shall feel thy own full joys, • And hold them fast for ever. Oh ! break my fetters, for I must be gone. Bring my soul out of prison ! I am straitened ; the whole creation is t90 narrow for m? : I sick- en at this confinement, and groan and pant for liberty. How sweet are the thoughts of enlarge- ment ! My soul is already on the wing, and practises imaginary flights : I seem to reach the heaven of heavens, where God himself resides. It is good for me to be here. But ah, how soon the clouds of mortal sense Arise, and veil the charming vision. Alas ! what do I here in this waste and dread- ful wilderness ; this dismal region, where our delights are vanishing, and the \ery glimpses of future felicity we enjoy, are so soon cvershad- ed and surrounded with real horrors ? Alas ! what do I here, wasting that breath in sighs and endless complaints that was given me to bless and praise the infinite Creator i Alas ! what do I here among strangers and enemies,- in this wild unhospitable place, far from my home and all the subjects of my solid delight ? My wishes, hopes, my pleasure, and my love, My thoughts, and noblest passions, are above. 1~$6 DEVOUT EXERCISES ^ What do I here in the dominions of death and sin, in the precincts and range of the powers of darkness ? Here they lay their toils, and set their fatal snares ; but, Lord, what part have they in me ? I have bid defiance to the powers of dark- ness, in thy strength, and renounced my share in the vanities of the world. I am a subject of another kingdom, and dare not enter into any terms of peace and amity with the irreconcile- able adversaries of God and my soul, which in- habit these treacherous and sinful regions. '-'' The friendship of this world is enmity with God." Death and destruction are in its smiles ; I stand on my guard, and am every moment in danger of surprise ; oh ! when will deliverance come from on high ! When, my soul, O when shall thy release fronri cumb'rous flesh Pass the great seal of heav'n I What happy hout^ Shall give thy thoughts a loose to soar and trace The intellectual worla I What glorious scenes shall open when once this mortal partition falls, when these walls of clay shall totter, and sink down into dust! ie w^aters of life, ye torrents of immortal pleasure, how impetuously will you then roll in upon me, and swell and fill up all the capacities of jo} in my nature ! Every faculty shall then be filled, and every wish shall end in unutterable fruition. a When I awake into immortal light, I will be satisfied with thy likeness." These exprtss- Ifss desires will die into 'everlasting raptures : hope and languishing expectation will be no more ; hut present, complete, and unbounded satisfactions will surround me : my God, my OF THE HEART. ^^^ God himself, shall be my infinite, my unutter- able, joy : all the avenues of pleasure shall be opened before me, the scenes of b*.auty and prospects of delight. ^^ Everlasting joy shall be upon my hea 1, and sorrow and sighing shall fly away for ever," There will be no more intervals of grief and sin : sin, that insupportable evil, that worst, that heaviest burden. Here the painful and deadly pressure lies ; it is this that hangs as a weight on all my joys ; but thanks be to my God, I can say I sincerely detest and hate this vilest of slaveries, this cursed bondage of cor- ruption ; I long for the glorious liberty of the sons of God ; I groan under this load of flesh, this burden of mortality, this body of death. But grant, O Lord ! that I may with patience continue in well-doing, and at last obtain glory and im mortality through my Redeemer's righ- teousness. '^ Sanctif) me through thy word of truth :" remember this request of my glorious Advocate. XXVIII. A Prayer for speedy Sanctif cation. O LORD God, great and holy, all-suffici- ent, and full of grace, if thou shouldst bid me form a wish, and take whatsoever in heaven or earth I hal to a ;k, it should not be the king- -doms of this world, nor the crowns of princes ; no, nor should it be the wreaths oi martyrs, nor the thrones of ar. hangels : mv request is, to be made holv ; this is mv high-st concern. Recti- fy tht- disorders sin has made in mv soul, and renew thy image there ; let me besatisfied with M 2 ^^ BEVOUT EXERCISES thy likeness. Thou hast encompassed my paths with mercy in all other respects, and I am dis- contented with nothing but my own heart, be- cause it is so unlike the image of thy holiness, and so unfit for thy immediate presence. Permit me to be importunate here, O blessed God, and grant the importunity of my wishes ; let me be favoured with a gracious and speedy answer, fori am dying while I am speaking; the very breath with which I am calling upon thee is carrying away part of my life : this tongue, that is now invoking thee, must shortly be silent in the grave ; these knees, that are bent to pay thee homage, and these hands, that are now lifted to the most high God for mercy, must shortly be mouldering to their original dust ; these eyes will soon be closed in death, which are now looking up to thy throne for a blessing. Oh! prevent the flying hours with thy mercy, and let thy favour outstrip the hasty moments. Thou art unchanged, while rolling ages pass along ; but I am decaying with every breath I draw ; my whole allotted time to prepare for heaven is but a point, compared with thy infinite duration. The shortness and vanity of my present being, and the importance of my eternal concerns, join together to demand my utmost solicitude, and give wings to my warmest wishes. Before I can utter all my present desires, the hasty opportunity perhaps, is gone, the golden minute vanished, and the season of mercy has taken its everlasting flight. Oh ! God of ages, hear me speedily, and grant my request while I am yet speaking, my frail existence will admit of no delay ; answer Kie according to the shortness of my duratioo, OF THE HEART. im ^d the exigence of my circumstances. My business, of high importance as it is, yet is limited to the present now, the passing moment j for all the powers on earth cannot promise me the next. Let not my pressing importunity, therefore, offend thee : my happiness, my everlasting hap- piness, my whole being is concerned in my suc- cess as much as the enjoyment of God himself is worth, is at stake. Thou knowest, O Lord what qualifications will fit me to hold thee ; thou knowest in what I am defective ; thou canst prepare my soul in an instant toenterinto thyholyhabitation. I breathe now, but the next morning may be death : let not that fatal moment come before I am prepared. The same creating voice that said, ^' Let there be light, and there was light," can in the same manner, purify and adorn my soul, and make me fit for thy own presence ; and my soul longs to be thus purified and adorned. O Lord, delay not, for every moment's interval is a loss to me, and maybe a loss unspeakable and unrepairable. Thy delay cannot be the least advantage to thee ; thy power and thy clemency are as full this pre- sent instant as they w^ill be the next, and my time as fleeting, and my wants as pressing. Remember, O eternal God, my lost time is for ever lost, and my wasted hours will never return, my neglected opportunities can never be recalled ; to me they are gone forever, and can- not be improved ; but thou canst change my sin- ful soul into holiness by a word, and set me now in the way to everlasting improvement. O let not the spirit of God restrain itself, but bless me according to the fulness of thy own b€>- 140 DEVOUT EXERCISES ing, according to the riches of thy, grace la Christ Jesus, according to thy infinite inconceiv- able love manifested in ihat glorious gift of thy beloved Son, wherein the fulness of thy Godhead was continued ; it is through his merit and me- diation I humbly wait for all the unbounded bles- sings I w^ant or ask for, - XXIX. Gratitude for early and peculiar Favours* LET me trace back thy inercy, O my God, from the first early dawn of life, and bless thee for the privileges of my birlh, that it was not in the land of darkness, where no ray of the gospel had ever darted its light ; where the name of a Saviour never had reached m\ ears, nor the transporting tidings of redemption from eternal misery had ever blessed my souL But how shall I express my gratitude for that grace which ordained mv lot in this happy land, one of the islands of whii:h it was long since prophesied, '^ They shall see thy glory, and trust in thv name? God has enlarged Japheth," even m the islands of tlie sea, *'• and made him to dwell in the t: nts of Shen\," in the inheritance of Abraham. I have ydcscvrnt from ^he Gentiles, who were once '' strmger*^ to the covenant. of grace, aliens from the coir.monwealth of Israel;" bat are now brought nigh h^ the blood oi sprink- ling. Jesns^, the great pt ace-maker, hath brought both near tn God, and to each other. I bless thee with all ,y powers for the privi- le?:-es of mv des; ent from pious ancestors ; that tj-r ,1 Vicic- h(-r-n their rhwlling-plac^^ from sre*^' •na- tion to generation, and hast not '^ taken ihy lov- OF THE HEART. 141 ing-kindness from their seed, nor suffered thy fuithiulness to titii." Thou hast extended thy mercy to me the last and least of all my. father's house, unworthy to wipe the feet of the meanest of the servants of my Lord ; and yet by an absolute act of good- ness, I am brought into thy family, and number- ed with the children of God. Even so it has seemed good in thy sighl, who '^ art gracious to whom thou wilt be grucious." I might have been a vessel of wrath, a trophy to thy justice, instead of a monument of thy mercy : how unsearchable thy ways ! how un- controlled and free ! 1 hou didst regard me in m^ low estate, in more than my original guilt and juisery ; for I had improved the wretch :*d stock, and been a voluntary as well as a natural slave to sin and death. From this ignominious slavery, thou, my great Redeemer, hast ransomed me ; hath brought me into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. I was a strang^'r, and thou didst take me in : naked, and thou hast clothed me with the spotless robes of thy own righteousness : I was hungry, and thou didst feed me; thirsty, and thou didst give me to drink of the fountain of life. -What am I, O Lord, and what is my father's house, that thou hast dealt thus graciously with me, in entering intoan everlasting covenant, signed and sealed, even sensibly sealed to my soul by the witness of thy Spirit? Lord, w^hy me rather than many that were companions of my early vanities and folh^ ? whence were the motives drawn but from thv sovereign pleasure ? how many are passed by that could have doii^ 142 DEVOUT EXERCISES thee more service, and leturncd a warmer ac- knowledgment to thy distingaishing bouniy r* Ye spirits of ju^t men madL- perfect, ) e ran- somed nations, iriunnphcint above, instruct me in the art of celesr.ai ttloquence ; tell me invvhat Strains of sacred hannony you express your gra- titude for this glorious redempticm, while in ex- alted raptures } ou sirg '' to him that loved and washed you in his own blood, and made vou kings and priests to God.'' XXX. " Aspiring after the Vision of God ifi Heaven* I BESEECH thee^ shew me thy glory. It was a moFtal in a state of frailty and imperfec- tion that made this bold but pious request, which I repeat on diiTerent terms : since none can see thy face and live, let me die to behold it. This i^ the only request I have to make, and this will I seek after, that I may behold the beauty of the Lord ; not as I have seen it ia thy sanctuary be- low, but in full perfection and splendour, as thou art seen by seraphs and cherubs, by angels and archangels, and the spirits of just men made perfect, O my God, forgive ray importunity: thou h:ist commanded me to love thee with all my heart, my soul, my strength, and hast by thy Spirit kindled the sacred flame in my breast. From this arises my present impatience : from hence the ardour of my desires spring. Can I love thee, and be satisfied at this distance from thee? can I love thee, and not long to behold thep in perfect excellence and beauty ? is it a OF THE HEART. AH crime to press forsvard to the end for which I was created ? A41 my wishes and my hopes of happiness terminate in thee. Does not the' thirsty traveller pine for some refreshing stream i would not the weary be at rest, or the wretched captive be free ? and shall not my thirsty, weary, captive soul, long for refreshment, liberty, and rest ? I am but a stranger, a pilgrim here, and have no abiding place ; this is not my rest, my home ; and yet if thou hast any employment lor me, though the meanest office in thy iamily, I will not repine at my stay. But, O Lord, thou hast no need of such worth- less service as 1 can pay thee ; thy angels are spirits,^ i|iy ministers ilames of fire ; thousands of tho^isands stand before thee, and ten thousand times ten thousand minister unto thee ; they at- tend thy orders, and fly at thy command. O deliver me from this t-urden of mortality, and I will serve thee with a zeal as pure and active as theirs. I can speak of thy loving-kindness to the chil- dren of rnen in a very imperfect manner : but then I will join with the celestial choir in prais- ing thee, and rehv arse to listening angels what thou hast done for ray soul. Here i have a thousand interruptions from the delighiful work, a thousand cold and darksome intervals ; v/hea my heart and tongue tivt both untuned, a thou- sand necessary disiractons that rise from the miseries of mortality ; but when these intervals of grief an] s n s'uiil cease, m^; soul shall dwell at ease, and be for ever glad, and rejoice m thj salvation. U4 DEVOUT EXERCISES XXXI. A Surrender of the Soul to God. COMMAND me what thou wilt, O Lord, give me but strength to obey thee, be thy terms ever so severe. O let us never part. I resign my will, my liberty, my choice, to thee ; I stand divested of the world, and ask only thy love as my inheritance. Give or deny me what thou wilt, I leave all the circumstances of my future time in thy hands : let the Lord guide me continually: here I am, do with mewhatseem- eth good in thy sight : only do not say, 1 hou hast no pleasure in me. ^ Let me not live to dishonour "?hee, t9 bring a reproach on thy name, to profane the blood of the Son of God, and grieve the Spirit of graced O take not thy loving kindness from me, nor suffer thy faithfulness to fail. Thou hast sworn by thy holiness, and thou wilt not lie to the seed of thy servants ; thou hast sworn, that the gene- ration of the righteous shall be blessed ; vest ine with this character, O my God, and fulfil this promise to a worthless creature. XXXII. Trust and Reliance on the Divine Promise* O LET not my importunity offend thee, for It is tht importunitv of faith ; it is my stead- fast belief in thv word that makes me persist ; thy v/ord and thv oath, '^ the two immutable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, give me strong consolation." 'lis this ihat makes me press forward to thy OF THE HEART. 145 throne, and with confidence lay hold on thy strength, thy wisdom, and thy faithfulness, on th\ goodness and tender compassion ; those glo- rious attribute s, for which *• the children-of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.' 'lis thy glory to be the confidence of the ends of ihe earth, and it was long since predicted, ^ That in thy name the Gentiles should trust.' Kind guardian of the world, our heavenly aid To whom the vows of all mankind are paid, we pay thee the highest hom.ige, and exalt thy infinite attributes by faith and confidence in thee. I know that thou art, anJ believe thee ^^ a re- warder of them that diligently seek thee." I will never quit my hold of thy promises, there I fix m ;/ hopv s ; I v/ill not let a little go, nor part with a mite of the glorious treasure : 1 humbly hope I have a rightful claim; thou art m\ (tocI, and the God of mv religious ancestors, the God of my mother, the God of my pious father ; dy- ing md breathing out his so^il, he gave me to thy care ; he put me into thy gracious arms, and de- livered me up to thy protection. He told me thou wotddst never leave nor forsake me ; he tri- umphed in diy long experienced faithfulness and truth, and gav e his testimony for thee with his latest breath. And now, O Lord God of my fathers, whose mercx has desctnded from 'jge to age, whose truth has remained unblemished and itiviolable, and whose love remahis without decav ; O Lord, the faithful God, and the true, keepirg •:ovenant and mercy to a thoa^an^l g •ncrati': rs, let me find that protection and blessing that the prayers of N 146 DEVOUT EXERCISES my dying father engaged for me: now, in the time of my distress, be a-present help : and if thou wilt this once deliver me, thou alone shalt be my iuture trust, my counsellor, and hope ; to thee 1 will immediately apply myself, and look on the whole force of created nature as insignifi- cant. I'o' thee I will devote all the blessings thou shalt give -my time, my life, my whole of this vvond's goods ; vvhaiever share thou shalt gra' iously allot me, shall surely be the Lord's. Oh ! hearken to the vows of my distress, and for thy own honour dt liver me from this perplex- ity which thou knowest, and reveal to me the abundance of mercy and truth. 'Twas my dtptrndance on thy promise and fidelity that brought me into this exigence ; I staggered not at thy promises through unbelief, but boldly ventured on the credit of thy word : I took it for my security : and can the strength of Israel repent ? canst theu break thy covenant, and alter the thing that is gone out of thy mouth ? *^ O God of A^»raham, God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob! this is thy name for ever, and this thy memorial to all generations;" the God before whom mv fathers walked, the God that fed me all my life long till now, and the argel that redeemed me from evil, bless me. Let the God of Jacob be my help, let the Almighty bless me ; let the blessings of nn father "'• pre- vail above the blessings of his progenitors, to the utmost bounds of the everlasting hills." Biess me according to thy own greatness, ac- cording to the unsearchable riches of thy grace in Christ Jesus ; he is the spring of all my hope, in whom all the promises of God are yea and OF THE HEART. 447 ameii ; he is the true and faithful witness, and has by his death sealed the divine veracity, and is become surety for the honour and faithfulness of the most high God. To this also the Holy Ghost, and the Spirit of truth, beareth witness. Oh! great Jehovah, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! the Lord God omnipotent ! hear and grant my request for the glory of thy mighty name ; that name which saints and angels bless TiViA love : let thy perfections be manifested to the children of men : let them say, There is a God that judgeth in the earth : let them confess thou dost keep thy covenant with the seed of thy servants, that thy righteousness is from age to age, and thy salvation shall never be abolished: let them see and acknowledge, that in the fear of the Lord is strong confidence, and his children have a place of refuge. Unshaken as the sacred hill, x\nd firm as mountainvS^be ; Firm as a rock the soul shall rest That leans, O Lord, on thee. MEMORANDUM. This act of faith in God was fully answered ; and I leave my testimony, that *^ the name of the Lord is a strong tower, and he knoweth them that put their trust in him." XXXIIL Application to the Divine Truth. HOWEVER intricate and hopeless m,y present distress may be to human views, 148 DEVOUT EXERCISES why should I limit .^the Almighty; or why should the Holy One'^^of Israel limit himself? Nature and necessity are thine ; thou speakest the word, and it comes to pass ; no obstacle can oppose the omnipotence of thy will, nor make thy designs ineffectual. Is thy hand at all shortened since the glorious period when thv mighty power and thy stretched out arm formtd the heavens and earth ; when these spacious skies were spread at ih\ command^ and this heavy globe fixed on its airy pillars? The Strang foundations of the earth Of old by thee were laid ; Thy hands the beauteous arch of heav'n With wond'rous skill have made. And " these shall wax old as a garment ; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed :" but shouldst thou, like these, de- cay, where were the hopes of them that confide in thee ? If in all generations thy perfections were not the same, what consolation could the race of men draw from the ancient records of thy wonderful works ? Why are we told, " thou didst divide the sea, to make a path for thy peo- ple through the mightv waters ? that thou didst rain brf^ad from heaven^ and dissolve the flinty rock in crvstal rills to give thy chosen nation drink r" Thou art he that distinguished Noah in the universal deluge, and preserved the floating ark amidst winds, and rains, and tumultuous billows. 'Twas thy protecting care that led Abraham from his kindred and his native countr}', and brought him safely to the promised land. ©F THE HEART. 14§ Thou didst accompany Jacob in his journey to Padcnaram, and gave him bread to eat, and rai- ment to put on, till greatly increased in substance, he returned to his father's house: he wrestled for a blessing ; he wrestled with the Almighty and prevailed. With Joseph thou v/entest down into Egypt, and didst deliver him out of ail his adversities, till he forgot his sorrovv s, and all the toil of his father's house, . Thou didst remember thy people in the Egyp- tian bondage, and looked with pitying eyes on their afiliction ; and, after four hundred and thirty years, on the very day thou hadst promis- ed, didst release and bring them out with tri- umph and miracles. Thy presence went with them in a pillar of a cloud by day, and a protect- ing fire by night: thy conquering hand drove out great and potent nations, and gave them entire possession of the land promised to their fathers; nor didst thou fail in the least circumstance of all the good things thou hadst promised. What a cloud of witnesses stand on record ! Joshua and Gideon, Jeptha and Samson, who, through f?ith, obtained promises. Thou didst command the ravens to feed thy holy prophet; and at the word of a prophet didst sustain the widow's family with a handful of menl. 1 hou didst walk with the three Plebrevrs in the fiery furnace ; thou wast present with Daniel in the lion's den to deliver him, because he trusted in thee. In what instance has the praver of faith been rejected? where were the righteous forsaken? who can charge God without charging him fool- N 2 15§ DEVOUT EXERCISES ishly? what injustice has been found in the judge of all the earth ? his glorious titles have stood unblemished from generation to generation, nor can any of his perfections decay, or rolling years make a change in the Ancient of Days. Are not his words clear and distinct, without a double meaning, or the least deceit? are they not such as may justly secure my confidence ? such as would satisfy me from the mouth of man, inconstant man, whose breath is in his nostrils, and his foundation in the dust ; unstable as wa- ter, and fleeting as a shadow ? And can I so slowly assent to the words of the Most High? Shall I trust impotent man, that has neither wis- dom nor might to accomplish his designs ; that cannot call the next breath or motion his own, nor promise himself a moment in all futurity ? Can 1 rest on these feeble props, and yet tremble and despond when I have the veracity of the eternal God to secure and support me? I know he will not break his covenant, nor suffer his faithfulness to fail : I dare attest it in the face of earth and hell : I dare stake my all for time and eternity on this glorious truth : a truth which hell cannot blemish, nor all its ma- lice contradict. Exert yourselves, ye powers of darkness, bring in vour evidence, collect your instances, begin from the first generations : since the world was peopled, and men began to call on the name of the Lord, when did they call in vain? when did the Holy One of Israel fail the expectation of the humble and contrite spirit ! Point out in your blackest characters the dismal period when the name of the Lord was no more a refuge to them that trusted in him ! Let the annals of hell be OF THE HEART. 15l produced, let them mark the dreadful day, and distinguish it with eternal triumphs. In vain \ou search; for neither heaven, nor earth, nor hell, have ever been witness to the least deviation from truth or justice: the Al- mighty shines with unblemished glory, to the -confusion of hell, and the consolation of those that put their trust in him. On thy eternal truth and honour I entirely cast myself: if 1 am deceived, angels and archangels are deluded too; they, like me,havcnodependcince beyond the divine veracity for their blessedness and immortality, 4hey hang all their hopes on his goodness and immutability ; if that fails, the ce- lestial paradise vanishes, and all its glories are extinct; the golden palaces sink, and the seraphic thrones must totter and fall. Where are your crowns, ye spirits elect ? where are your songs and your triumphs, if the truth of God can fail? A niere possibil.t) of that would darken the fields of light, and turn the voice of melody into grief and lamentation. » What pangs would rise even through all the regions of blessedness! what diffidence and fear w^oulcl sh'ike the heart of every inhabitant! what agonies surprise them all, could the word of the most high God be cancelled ! The pillurs of hea- ven might then tremlle, and the everlasting niountains bow; the celestial foundations might be removed from their place, and that no' lest structure of the hands of God, be chaos and eter- nal emptiness. But for ever '^ just and true 3re thv^ w^avs, thou King of Saints; blessid are all they that put their trust in thee ;" for thou art a certain refuge in the day of distress, and under the shadow of 152 DEVOUT EXERCISES thy wings I will n joiccc '^ My soul shall make her boast iri the LorcU and triiumph in his s^alva- tion ; 1 called on him in my distress, and he has delivered me from all my fears." Hallelujah. Here I dis/riiss my carnal hope, My fond desires recal ; I give my mortal interest up, And make my God my alU XXXIV. Glory to God for Salvation by Jesm and his Blood. LET me give glory to God before I die, and take shame and confusion to myself. I ascribe my salvation to the free and absolute goodness of God ; not by the strength of reason, or any natural inclination to virtue, but by '^ the grace of God I am what I am." O my Re- deemer, be the victory, be the glory thine ! I expect eternal life and^ happiness from thee, not as a debt, but a frt# gift, a promised act of bounty. How pof^ wotlld my expectations be, if I onlv look to b^ rewarded according to those works which my own vanity, or the partialit} of others, have called g&od, and which, if examined bv the divine purity, would prove but specious sins ! as such .1 renounce them : pardon them, gracioins Lord, and I ask no ?iiore ; nor can I hope for that, but through the satisfaction v hich hath been made to divine justice for the sins of the w^orld. O Jesus, my Saviour, what harmony dwells in thy name ! celestial joy, immortal life is in the sound ! OF THE HEART. tSB Sweet name ! in thv ench syllable A thousand blessM Arabics dwell ; M:>antciiris of myrrh, and beds of spices, And ten thousand paradises. Let angels set this name to their golden harps ; let the redeemed of the Lord for ever magnif}- it, O my propitious Saviour ! where were my hopes but for thee ? how desperate, how undone, were my circumstances ? I look on myself in every view I can take with horror and t ontempt. I was born in a state of misery and sin, and in my best estate am altogether vanity. With the utmost advantages I can boast, I shrink back, I tremble to appear before unblemished Majesty : O thou in whose name the Gentiles trust, be my refuge in that awful hour. To thee I come, my only confidence and hope. Let the blood of sprinkling, let the seal of the covenant be on me. Cleanse me from my original stain, and mv con- tracted impurity, and adorn me with, the robes of thy righteousness, by which alone I expect to stand justified before infinite justice and puritv. O enter not into judgment with me, for the best actions of m^ life Cannot bear thy scrutiny; some secret blemish has stained all mv'glorv. My devotion to God has been mingled with levity and irreverence ;' mv ch ritv to man with pride and ostentation. Some latent defect has attended mv best actions, and those verv ihings, which, perhaps, have been highly esteemed by men, have deserved contempt in the sight of God. % 154 DF.VOUT EXERCISES VAHien I survey the wond'rous cross On whic)i the Prinze cf Glnrv dy'd, My richest gam I count mv loss. And pour contempt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that T should boast. Save in the cross of Christ, my God-; All the vain things that chnrm me most, I sacrifice them to ihy blood. ^}iril 30, 1735, XXXV. A Review of Divine Mercy and Faith- Jhlness. I AM now setting to my seal that God is true, and It- aving this as my last testimony to the divine veracii) . I c an from numerous expt^ri- encts assert his faitHfi Iness, and witness to the certainly of his pr^^mises. " The word of the Lord has been tried, and he is a buckler to all those that put their trust in him." *^ O comt, all ye that fear the Lord, and I \vill tell you what he has done for my soul ; I will ascribe righteousness to my Maker " and leave my record for a people yet unborn, thut the ge- neration to come may rise up and praise him^ .Into whatever distress his wise providence lias.brought me, I have called on th*- Lnrd, and he hfeard me, and delivered me irorp ,^11 my fears ; I trusted in God, and he saved me. Oh ! let my experience stand a witness to diem that hope in his mercy ; let it be to the Jford for a praise and a glory. I know not where to begin the recitarof thy numerous favours. Ihou hast hid me in the OF THE HEART. 155 secret of thy pavilion, from the pride of man, and from the strife of tongues, when by a thou- sand follies I have merited reproach : thou hast graciously protected me, when the vanity of my friends, or the malice of my enemies, might have stained my reputation : thou hast covered me with th} feathers, and under thy wings have I trusted : thy truth has been my shield and my buckler : to thee I owe the blessing of a clear and unblemished name, and not to my own con- duct, nor the partiality of my friends. Glory be to thee, O Lord. Thou hast" led me through a thousand laby- rinths, and enlightened mv darkness. When shades and perplexity surrounded me, my light has broke forth out of obscurity, and my dark- ness been turned into noon day. Thou hast been a gaide and a father to me. When 1 knew not where to ask advice thou hast given me un- erring counsel ; Tht secr^rt cf the Lord has bten with nie^ and he has shenvn me his covenant. In how many seen and unseen dangers hast thou delivered me ! how narrow my gratitude ! how wide ihy mercy ! ho\y innumerable are thy thoughts of love ! how inrinite the instances of thy goodness ! how high above the ways and thoughts of man I How often hast thou supplied my wants, and by thv bount}' confounded my unbelief! thy be- nefits have surprised and justlv reproiched my diffidt nee ; my faith has often failed, but thy g odness has never failed. The world and all its flatte^es have failed, my own heart and hopes have failed, but thy mercy endures forever ^ thy faithfulness has never failed. 156 DEVOUT EXERCISES i The strength of Israel has never deceived mc, nor made me ashamed of my confidence. i hou hast never been as a deceitful brook, or as waters that fail, to my soul. In loving kindness, in truth, and in very faith- fulness, thou hast afflicted me. Oh ! how un- willingly hast ihou seemed to grieve me ! with how much indulgence has the punishment been mixed ! Love has appeared through the disguise of every frown ; its beams have glimmered through the darkest night; by every affliction thou h.st been still drawing me nearer to thyself, and removing my carnal props, that I may lean with more assurance on the Eternal Rock. Thy love has been my leading glory from the first intricate steps of life: the first undesigiiing paths 1 trod were marked and guarded by the vigilance of thy love : oh ! whither else had my sin and folly led me. How often h ive I tried and experienced thy clemency, and found an immediate answer to my pravers? Thou hast often literally fulfilled thy w^ord : I have a fresh instance of thy faithful- ness again : thou hast made xne triumph in thy goodness, and given a new testimony to the ve- racity of thy promises. And, after all, vvhat ingratitude, what insen- sibility, reip;ns in mv heart: Qh ! cancel it by the bl^od of the covenant: root out this mon- strous infidelity that still returns after the fullest evidence of thv trmh. Thou hast graciously condescended to ansv/er me in thy own time and wav, andyetl am again doubting thy faithfulness and care. Lord^ piiy me. I hclieve ; help my un- helhf* Go on to succour, go on to pardon, and at last conquer my diffidence. Let me hope OF THE HEART. 1^7 against hope, and in the greatest perplexity givQ glory to God, by believing what my own experi- ence has so often found, '' 'I'hat the strength of Israel will not lie ; nor is he as man, that he should repent," While I have memory and thought, let his goodness dwell on my soul. Let me not forget the depth of my distress, the anguish and im- portunity of my vows: when every human help failed, and all was darkness and perplexity, then God was all my stay. Then I knew no name but his, and he alone knew my soul in adversity. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. Long as I live, I'll bless thy name, My King, and God of love ; My work, and joy shall be the same In the bright worlds above. I have yet a thousand and ten thousand dt^li- verances to recount^ ten thousand unasked for mercies to recal ! no moment of my life has been destitute of thy care ; no accident has found ine unguarded by thy watchful eye, or neglected by thy providence. Thou hast been often found unsought by my ungr':iteful heart, and thy fa- vours have surprised me with great and unex- pected advantages : thou hasc compelled me to receive the blessings my foolish humour despised, and my corrupt will would fain have rejected. Thou hast stopped thy ears to the desires which would have ruined and undone me, when I might justly have been left to my own choice, for the punishment of my many sins and follies. How great my guilt ! how infinite thy mercy. o 158 DEVOUT EXERCISES Hitherto God has helped, and here I set up a memorial to that goodness which has never abandoned me to the malice and stratagems of my infernal foes, nor left me a prey to human craft or violence. The glory of his providence has often surprised me, when groping in thick dark- ness. With a potent voice he has said, ^^ Let there be light, and there was light." He has made his goodness pass before me, and loudly proclaimed his name, "The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious j" to him be glory for ever. Amen. XXXVI. Some dally Experiences of the gracious Methods oj Divine Pro^ideiiCe^ tome^ the least and most unworthy of all the Servants of my Lord* FIRST WEEK.* I. EVERY day'^s experience reproaches mj unbeli-jf, and brn:igs me some new evidence of thy faithfulness. Thou hast dispelled my fears, and, to the confusion of my spiritual foes, thou hast lieard the voice of my distress. But a f w hours ago I was trembling, and doubting if thoii wast indeed a God hearing my prayer ; and now I have a fresh instance of thy goodness, which,. with a grateful heart, I here record. May the iense of thy bent- fits dwell for ever on my soul. II. Thv mercies are new every morning ; again thou hast given me an instance of thy truth, * The division of thepe meditttloDS into sevens, by the pious writer, seenis to tell iis, that these were the devout tjiou^hts of six weeks of her iife. OF THE HEART, 13B " I trusted in God, and he has delivered me : I will love the Lord, because he has heard the voice of my supplication ; therefore will 1 call on him as long as 1 live." III. '^ As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the Lord is tried : he is a buckler to all that put their trust in him." He has punctually fui tilled the word on which I relied : bless the Lord, O my souL IV. Thy bounty follows me with an unweari- ed course ; language is too faint to express thy praise : no eloqumce can reach the subject. My heart is warm with the |)ious reflection ; 1 look upward, and silently Ijreatheout the unutterable gratitude that melts and rejoices my soul : I staggered at thy promise through unbelief, and yet ihou hast gi-acioasiy performed thy wordsl If we sometimes doubt or faulter in our faith, yet he ai)ideth fi;i liful who has promised. V. With the inorning light my health and peace are renewed : the cheering influence of the sun, and the sweeter beams of the divine favour, shine on my tabernack. Lord, v/hy me ? why am I a ransomed, pardoned sinner ? why am 1 rejoi- ing among the instances of sove-» reign grace and unlimited clemency .? VI. I boasted in thy truth, and thou hast not made me ashamed : my infernal foes are con- founded, while my faith is crowned with success. Oh 1 who hath tasted of thy clemencv In greater measure, or more oft, than I ? VII. As the week begun, so it ends with a series' of mercy; language and numbers fail to 160 DEVOUT EXERCISES reckon thy favours, but this shall be my eternal employment. Where nature fails, the day and night Divide thy works no more, My ever thankful soul, O Lord, Thy goodness shall adore. SECOND WEEK. I. I HAVE seen the goings of God my King in his sanctuary : but O how transient the view ! My sins turned back thy clemency, and yet I can celebrate the wonders of forgiving grace. II. Wl|at do I owe thee, O thou great Pre- server of men, for easy and peaceful sleep, for nights unmolested with pain and anxiety. Thou round my bed a gruard dost keep ; Thine eyes are open while I sleep. Not a moment slides in which I am unguarded by thv gracious protection. III. Thanks be to God, who has given me the victory through the Lord Jesus Christ. Thou didst deliver me from, the snare of the fowler, the craft and malice of hell, and kept me back from sinning agairst thee ; be thine the victory and praise, Hallelnjak. IV. '^ O Lord God of Israel, happy is the man that putteth his trust in thee." I left my burden at thy feet, and thou hast sustained me ; my cares are dissipated, my desires are answer- ed. " Oh ! who is a Godlike unto thee, near un- to all that call on thee ?" OF THE HEART. IGl V. Thy strength is manifest in weakness ; ^* Not unto me, Q Lord, but to thee, be all the glory." For ever thy dear charming name Shall dwell upon my tongue, And Jesus and salvation be The theme of every song. This shall be my employment through an eternal duration : 'tis that alone can measure my gratitude. The Lord Jehovah is my strength and salvation, he also shall be my song, VL Every day's experience confirms my faith, and brings a fresh evidence of thy good- ness. Thou hast dispelled my fears, and, to the confusion of my spiritua.1 foes, hearkened to the voice of my dLstress. VII. I will love the Lord, who has heard my supplications. I made my boast in his faithful- ness, and he has answered all my expectations. THIRD V/EEK. L MY last exigence will be the closing part of mv life. Oh! remember me then, mvGod* Thou who hast led me hitherto, forsake me not at lajt. Be my strength when nature fails, and the flame of life is just expiring ; let thy smiles cheer my gloomv hour ! oh ! then let thv gentle voice whis- per peace and ineffable consolation to my soul IL In six and seven troubles thou hast deli- vered me, ^ and been a covert from the tempest, a hiding place from the wind.' Hitherto God his h.iped, and I have dwelt secure ; and here I leave a memorial to thy praise, a witness against 'im DEVOUT EXERCISES all my future distrust of thy faithfulness and truth. III. Every day of mv life increases the sum of thy mercirs : tht^ rising and die setting sun, in its constant revolution, can witness the renew- al of thy favours. I hou wast graciouslv present in an imminent danger ; by thee my bones have been kept entire, and thou hast not suffered me to dash my feet against a stone, IV. *-*• Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not ail his bt- nefits ; who heals thy diseases, and pardons all thy sins." O thou, the great Physician of my body, as well as of my distempered soul, thou hast restored and saved me from death and hell. Blessed Je- sus, thou hast '^ taken my infirmities, and borne my sicknesses ; the chastisement of my peace was upon thee, and by thy stripes I am healed." V. I subscribe to thy truth, O Lord ; I at- test it in contradiction to infernal malice, to all the hellish suggestions that would tempt my heart to diffidence and unbelief, even agiinst re- peated experience, against the fullest evidences of the divine veracity. VL Oh ! thou who never slumberest, nor sleepest, this night thy watchful care has kept me from a threatening danger ; thy eyes were open while I was sleeping, secure beneath the covert of thy wings. VIL Another, and a greater deliverance has crowned the day ; I have found thy grace suffi- cient in an hour of temptation, thv strength has been manifest in mv weakness. Thine was the conquest, be the crown and glory thine for ever. By thee I have tirumphed over the strata- OF THE HEART. 101' gemft of hell; '' not unto me, but to thy name be the praise, O Lord." FOURTH WEEK. I. 'TIS not one of a thousand of thyfavours I can record ; but eternity is before me, an J th^.t unlim ted duration shall be- empiox ed to rct- hearse the wonders of thy grace. Then in ihe great assembly I will praise thee, I will de- -a-fe thy faithfulness, and tell to listening a ng- Is what thou hast done for mv soul, even tor me, ihe least in the familv, unworthy to wipe the feet of the meanest of the servants of the Lord. IL How numberless are thy thoiights of love to mv soul ; if [ should count them, they are more than the sand on the shore. Thou hast again reproved my unbelief, and given me a new conviction that my whole dependance is on thee? that second causes are nothing, but as thou dost give them efficacy ; all r.ature obeys thee, and is governed at thv command. in. O mv God, I am again ready to distrust thee, and call in question thy faithfulness. Oh! how deep has the cursed weed of infidelity root- ed itself in my nature ! but thou canst root it out. IV. Again I must begin the rehearsal of thy mercies, which will never have an end ; for thou dost renew the instances of thy goodness to a poor ungrateful sinner. Thou hast punctually fulfilled the promise on which I depended ; thou hast granted the request of my lips, and led me in a plain way, that I have not stumbled. 164 DEVOUT EXERCISES V. This day I have received an unexpected favour. I doubted the success indeed, but thoii hast gently rebuked my unbelief, and convinced me that all things are possible vvith thee, and that the hearts of the children of men are in thy hands. VI. Whether thou dost favour or aiRict me, I rejoice in the glory of thy attributes, in what- ever instance they are displayed. Be thy honour advanced, whether in mercy or in justice. I mast still assert the equity of thy ways, and as- tribe righteousness to my Maker. Yet let me plead with thee, O my God. Since mercy is thy darling attribute, oh! let it now be exalted: deal not with me in severity, but indulgence; for if thou shouldst mark Vvhat is amiss, who can stand before thee ? VII. Thoti dost heal my diseases and renew my life ; thou art the guardian of mv sleeping and my waking hoars. Glory to my God, whose eyes never slumber. . FIFTH WEEK. L THOU knowest my secret grief, where mv pain lies, and what are my doubts and diffi- culties. In thy wonted clemeiTcy, O Lord, dis- pel my darkness; leave me not to any fatal delusion in an affair of everlasting momt-nt. This is mv hoar of information and practice; bevond the grave no mistake can be rectified ; as the tree falls, so it m-ist for ever lie. II. Thy goodness still pursues me, O heavenly Father, with ^n un'wearied course j new in- stances of thy faithfulness reproach my unbelief. OF THE HEART. 165" I sent up my petition with a doubting heart, and yet thou hast graciously deigned to encourage my weak and staggering faich, which h;is ort'cn wavered and failed, even in the view of the brightest evidence of thy powi^r and truth. ili. Thou dost seem I'esolved to Icavt^ my unbelief without excuse, by renewing the gK' ri- ous conviction of thy clemency and truth.. O let not the imworthiness of the object turn back thy benignity from its natural course. IV. How many unrecorded mrcies have glided along with my fleeting moments into thoughtless silence, and long oblivion ! How prone is my^ ungrateful heart to forget thy bei?"- fits, or (oh ! amazing guilt) to make an ungrate- ful return! V. Oh ! never let my false heart relapse into distrust and unbelief again ! Thou hast rebuked my ioUy, and put a new song of prais^e into my m:iuth : let those infernal suggestions vanish that would once object against thy oft-experienc- ed truth. In this I would still triumph, ancl insult all the malice of hell. A time will come when thou shalt he glorified In thy saints, when thy truth and faithfulness shall appear in full splendour, when the beauty of thine attributes shall be conspicuous and clear from every blemish that the impiety of men, or the mali e of devils, have charged on thy most righteous providence. VI. Let me still assert that the ways of God are perfect justice and truth : I have a fresh in-!- stance of thy goodness to boast, and yet my un- grateful heart is even now ready to distrust. The Lord tn crease my faith : let thy renewed favours silence my unbelief, '' to shew that the Lord is upright ; he is my Rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him." i€6 DEVOUT EXERCISES VII. Teach me your language, ye ministers of light, that I may express my wonder and gratitude. O thou, who canst explain the secret meaning of my soul, take the praise tha^human words cannot express : accept those unutterable attempts to praise thee. SIXTH WEEK. L LET me go on, O most holy, to record thy faithfulness and truth ; let it he engraven in the rock ior ever ; let ii be impressed on my oul, anci impobsi!)le to be effaced. What artifice of hell is i I that so often tempts me to distrust thee, aj d joins with my native depravity to ques- tion thy truth ? II. Oh ! may I never forget this remarkable preservation; thy g. ntle hand supporttd me, and underneath were the everlasting arms. " 1 hou hast kept all my bones, not one of them is broken ;" thy n>ercy upheld me even when it foresaw my insensibility ar.d ingratitude. How does my guilt heighten thy clemenc) ! How wonderous is th\ patience, O Lord, and thy rich grace, that only gtntly rebuked mc, when thou mightest have taken severe vengeance on my sins ! III. Again I must begin the rehearsal of thy love. Thou hast eased my pain, scattered my fears, and lengthened out my days. Oh ! may piy being he devoted to thee ; let it be for some remarkable service that I am restored to health again. IV. I find thy mercies renewed with my fleet- ing days, and CO rehearse them shall be my glad GF THE HEART. ICf employment ; I trusted thee with my little affairs^ and chou h .st condescended to give me success. Lord, what is man, that thou thus graciously regardest him ? Even m} sins, my hourl) provo- cations, cannot put a check to the course ot thy beneficence ; it keeps on its conquering way against all the oppositions of my ingratitude and unbelief ; and hast thou not promised, O Lord^ it shall run parallel with my life, and ftiv^asure out my days ? V. Jesus, my never failing trust, I called on thy name, and thou hast iully answered my hopes ; let thy praises dwell on my tongue, let me breathe thv name to the last spark of life. Thou hast scattered my fears, and been gracious beyond all my hop. s ; my faint and doubting prayers have not been rejected ; but, oh ! how slow are my returns of praise, how backward my acknowledgments ! VI. Never have I trusted tliee in vain; Lord, increase my faith ; confirm it by a continued series of thy bounty ; add this favour to the rest ; for faith is the gift of God, an attainment above reason or natar^. I am now waiting for the ac- complishment of a promise ! O shew^ me thy mercy and truth ; add this one instance to the rest, and for ever silence the suggestions of hell, and my own infidelity. Vn. How rooted is this cursed principle of unbelief, that can yet distrust thee after so ma- ny recorded instances of thy love ! how long will it be ere my wavering soul shall entirely confide in thy salivation? Oh! mv God, pity my weakness, give new vigour to my faith, and let me take up my rest in the^ for even 3'h£ END* K ^•?i- i ti- K^^ fy. I ^.. .^- ^A. m.