A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life

The rudeness, ill-nature, or perverse behaviour of any of his flock, used at first to betray him into impatience; but it now raises no other passion in him, than a desire of being upon his knees in prayer to God for them. Thus have his prayers for others altered and amended the state of his own heart. It would strangely delight you to see with what spirit he converses, with what tenderness he reproves, with what affection he exhorts, and with what vigour he preaches; and it is all owing to this, because he reproves, exhorts, and preaches to those for whom he first prays to God. This devotion softens his heart, enlightens his mind, sweetens his temper, and makes everything that comes from him, instructive, amiable, and affecting. At his first coming to his little village, it was as disagreeable to him as a prison, and every day seemed too tedious to be endured in so retired a place. He thought his parish was too full of poor and mean people, that were none of them fit for the conversation of a gentleman.

This put him upon a close application to his studies. He kept much at home, writ notes upon Homer and Plautus, and sometimes thought it hard to be called to pray by any poor body, when he was just in the midst of one of Homer's battles. This was his polite, or I may rather say, poor, ignorant turn of mind, before devotion had got the government of his heart. But now his days are so far from being tedious, or his parish too great a retirement, that he now only wants more time to do that variety of good, which his soul thirsts after. The solitude of his little parish is become matter of great comfort to him, because he hopes that God has placed him and his flock there, to make it their way to Heaven.

He can now not only converse with, but gladly attend and wait upon the poorest kind of people. He is now daily watching over the weak and infirm, humbling himself to perverse, rude, ignorant people, wherever he can find them; and is so far from desiring to be considered as a gentleman, that he desires to be used as the servant of all; and in the spirit of his Lord and Master girds himself, and is glad to kneel down and wash any of their feet. He now thinks the poorest creature in his parish good enough, and great enough, to deserve the humblest attendances, the kindest friendships, the tenderest offices, he can possibly show them. He is so far now from wanting agreeable company, that he thinks there is no better conversation in the world, than to be talking with poor and mean people about the kingdom of Heaven. All these noble thoughts and Divine sentiments are the effects of his great devotion; he presents every one so often before God in his prayers, that he never thinks he can esteem, reverence, or serve those enough, for whom he implores so many mercies from God. Ouranius is mightily affected with this passage of holy Scripture, "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." [James v. 16]

This makes him practise all the arts of holy living, and aspire after every instance of piety and righteousness, that his prayers for his flock may have their full force, and avail much with God. For this reason, he has sold a small estate that he had, and has erected a charitable retirement for ancient poor people, to live in prayer and piety, that his prayers, being assisted by such good works, may pierce the clouds, and bring down blessings upon those souls committed to his care. Ouranius reads how God Himself said unto Abimelech, concerning Abraham: "He is a prophet; he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live." [Gen. xx. 7] And again, how he said of Job, "And my servant Job shall pray for you: for him will I accept." [Job xlii. 8]

From these passages Ouranius justly concludes, that the prayers of men eminent for holiness of life have an extraordinary power with God; that He grants to other people such pardons, reliefs, and blessings, through their prayers, as would not be granted to men of less piety and perfection. This makes Ouranius exceeding studious of Christian perfection, searching after every grace and holy temper, purifying his heart all manner of ways, fearful of every error and defect in his life, lest his prayers for his flock should be less availing with God, through his own defects in holiness. This makes him careful of every temper of his heart, give alms of all that he hath, watch, and fast, and mortify, and live according to the strictest rules of temperance, meekness, and humility, that he may be in some degree like an Abraham or a Job in his parish, and make such prayers for them, as God will hear and accept. These are the happy effects which a devout intercession hath produced in the life of Ouranius. And if other people, in their several stations, were to imitate this example, in such a manner as suited their particular state of life, they would certainly find the same happy effects from it.

If masters, for instance, were thus to remember their servants in their prayers, beseeching God to bless them, and suiting their petitions to the particular wants and necessities of their servants; letting no day pass without a full performance of this part of devotion, the benefit would be as great to themselves, as to their servants. No way so likely as this, to inspire them with a true sense of that power which they have in their hands, to make them delight in doing good, and becoming exemplary in all the parts of a wise and good master. The presenting their servants so often before God, as equally related to God, and entitled to the same expectations of Heaven as themselves, would naturally incline them to treat them not only with such humanity as became fellow-creatures, but with such tenderness, care, and generosity, as became fellow-heirs of the same glory. This devotion would make masters inclined to everything that was good towards their servants; be watchful of their behaviour, and as ready to require of them an exact observance of the duties of Christianity, as of the duties of their service.

This would teach them to consider their servants as God's servants, to desire their perfection, to do nothing before them that might corrupt their minds, to impose no business upon them that should lessen their sense of religion, or hinder them from their full share of devotion, both public and private. This praying for them would make them as glad to see their servants eminent in piety as themselves, and contrive that they should have all the opportunities and encouragements, both to know and perform all the duties of the Christian life. How natural would it be for such a master to perform every part of family devotion; to have constant prayers; to excuse no one's absence from them; to have the Scriptures and books of piety often read amongst his servants; to take all opportunities of instructing them, of raising their minds to God, and teaching them to do all their business as a service to God and upon the hopes and expectations of another life! How natural would it be for such an one to pity their weakness and ignorance, to bear with the dulness of their understandings, or the perverseness of their tempers, to reprove them with tenderness, exhort them with affection, as hoping that God would hear his prayers for them!

How impossible would it be for a master, that thus interceded with God for his servants, to use any unkind threatenings towards them, to damn and curse them as dogs and scoundrels, and treat them only as the dregs of the creation! This devotion would give them another spirit, and make them consider how to make proper returns of care, kindness, and protection to those who had spent their strength and time in service and attendance upon them. Now if gentlemen think it too low an employment for their state and dignity, to exercise such a devotion as this for their servants, let them consider how far they are from the Spirit of Christ, who made Himself not only an Intercessor, but a Sacrifice for the whole race of sinful mankind. Let them consider how miserable their greatness would be, if the Son of God should think it as much below Him to pray for them, as they do to pray for their fellow-creatures. Let them consider how far they are from that spirit, which prays for its most unjust enemies, if they have not kindness enough to pray for those by whose labours and service they live in ease themselves.

Again; if parents should thus make themselves advocates and intercessors with God for their children, constantly applying to Heaven in behalf of them, nothing would be more likely not only to bless their children, but also to form and dispose their own minds to the performance of everything that was excellent and praiseworthy. I do not suppose, but that the generality of parents remember their children in their prayers, and call upon God to bless them. But the thing here intended is not a general remembrance of them, but a regular method of recommending all their particular needs and necessities unto God; and of praying for every such particular grace and virtue for them, as their state and condition of life shall seem to require. The state of parents is a holy state, in some degree like that of the priesthood, and calls upon them to bless their children with their prayers and sacrifices to God. Thus it was that holy Job watched over and blessed his children, he sanctified them, "he rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt-offerings according to the number of them all." [Job i. 5]

If parents, therefore, considering themselves in this light, should be daily calling upon God in a solemn, deliberate manner, altering and extending their intercessions, as the state and growth of their children required, such devotion would have a mighty influence upon the rest of their lives; it would make them very circumspect in the government of themselves; prudent and careful of everything they said or did, lest their example should hinder that which they so constantly desired in their prayers. If a father were daily making particular prayers to God, that He would please to inspire his children with true piety, great humility, and strict temperance, what could be more likely to make the father himself become exemplary in these virtues? How naturally would he grow ashamed of wanting such virtues, as he thought necessary for his children! So that his prayers for their piety would be a certain means of exalting his own to its greatest height.

If a father thus considered himself as an intercessor with God for his children, to bless them with his prayers, what more likely means to make him aspire after every degree of holiness, that he might thereby be fitter to obtain blessings from Heaven for them? How would such thoughts make him avoid everything that was sinful and displeasing to God, lest when he prayed for his children, God should reject his prayers! How tenderly, how religiously would such a father converse with his children, whom he considered as his little spiritual flock, whose virtues he was to form by his example, encourage by his authority, nourish by his counsel, and prosper by his prayers to God for them. How fearful would he be of all greedy and unjust ways of raising their fortune, of bringing them up in pride and indulgence, or of making them too fond of the world, lest he should thereby render them incapable of those graces which he was so often beseeching God to grant them.

These being the plain, natural, happy effects of this intercession, all parents, I hope, who have the real welfare of their children at heart, who desire to be their true friends and benefactors, and to live amongst them, in the spirit of wisdom and piety, will not neglect so great a means, both of raising their own virtue, and doing an eternal good to those, who are so near and dear to them by the strongest ties of nature. Lastly, If all people, when they feel the first approaches of resentment, envy, or contempt, towards others; or if in all little disagreements and misunderstandings whatever, they should, instead of indulging their minds with little low reflections, have recourse, at such times, to a more particular and extraordinary intercession with God, for such persons as had raised their envy, resentment, or discontent; this would be a certain way to prevent the growth of all uncharitable tempers. If you were also to form your prayer or intercession at that time, to the greatest degree of contrariety to that temper which you were then in, it would be an excellent means of raising your heart to the greatest state of perfection.

As for instance, when at any time you find in your heart motions of envy towards any person, whether on account of his riches, power, reputation, learning, or advancement, if you should immediately betake yourself at that time to your prayers, and pray to God to bless. and prosper him in that very thing which raised your envy; if you should express and repeat your petitions in the strongest terms, beseeching God to grant him all the happiness from the enjoyment of it, that can possibly be received; you would soon find it to be the best antidote in the world, to expel the venom of that poisonous passion. This would be such a triumph over yourself, would so humble and reduce your heart into obedience and order, that the devil would even be afraid of tempting you again in the same manner, when he saw the temptation turned into so great a means of amending and reforming the state of your heart.

Again; if in any little difference, or misunderstandings that you happened to have at any time, with a relation, a neighbour, or any one else, you should then pray for them in a more extraordinary manner than you ever did before; beseeching God to give them every grace, and blessing, and happiness, you can think of; you would have taken the speediest method that can be, of reconciling all differences, and clearing up all misunderstandings. You would then think nothing too great to be forgiven; stay for no condescensions, need no mediation of a third person, but be glad to testify your love and good-will to him who had so high a place in your secret prayers. This would be the mighty power of such Christian devotion: it would remove all peevish passions, soften your heart into the most tender condescensions, and be the best arbitrator of all differences that happened betwixt you and any of your acquaintance. The greatest resentments amongst friends and neighbours, most often arise from poor punctilios and little mistakes in conduct. A certain sign that their friendship is merely human, not founded upon religious considerations, or supported by such a course of mutual prayer for one another as the first Christians used.

For such devotion must necessarily either destroy such tempers, or be itself destroyed by them: you cannot possibly have any ill temper, or show any unkind behaviour to a man, for whose welfare you are so much concerned, as to be his advocate with God in private. Hence we may also learn the odious nature and exceeding guilt of all spite, hatred, contempt, and angry passions; they are not to be considered as defects in good nature, and sweetness of temper, not as failings in civility of manners, or good breeding, but as such base tempers as are entirely inconsistent with the charity of intercession. You think it a small matter to be peevish or illnatured to such or such a man; but you should consider whether it be a small matter to do that, which you could not do if you had but so much charity as to be able to recommend him to God in your prayers. You think it a small matter to ridicule one man, and despise another; but you should consider whether it be a small matter to want that charity toward these people, which Christians are not allowed to want toward their most inveterate enemies.

For be but as charitable to these men, do but bless and pray for them, as you are obliged to bless and pray for your enemies, and then you will find that you have charity enough, to make it impossible for you to treat them with any degree of scorn or contempt. For you cannot possibly despise and ridicule that man, whom your private prayers recommend to the love and favour of God. When you despise and ridicule a man, it is with no other end but to make him ridiculous and contemptible in the eyes of other men, and in order to prevent their esteem of him. How, therefore, can it be possible for you sincerely to beseech God to bless that man with the honour of His love and favour, whom you desire men to treat as worthy of their contempt? Could you, out of love to a neighbour, desire your Prince to honour him with every mark of his esteem and favour, and yet, at the same time, expose him to the scorn and derision of your own servants? Yet this is as possible as to expose that man to the scorn and contempt of your fellow-creatures whom you recommend to the favour of God in your secret prayers.

From these considerations we may plainly discover the reasonableness and justice of this doctrine of the Gospel, "Whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council; but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell-fire." [Matt. v. 22] We are not, I suppose, to believe that every hasty word, or unreasonable expression that slips from us by chance or surprise, and is contrary to our intention and tempers, is the great sin here signified. But he that says "Raca," or "Thou fool," must chiefly mean him that allows himself in deliberate, designed acts of scorn and contempt towards his brother, and in that temper speak to him, and of him, in reproachful language.

Now since it appears that these tempers are at the bottom the most rank uncharitableness; since no one can be guilty of them, but because he has not charity enough to pray to God for his brother; it cannot be thought hard or rigorous justice, that such tempers should endanger the salvation of Christians. For who would think it hard, that a Christian cannot obtain the favour of God for himself, unless he reverence and esteem his brother Christian, as one that bears the image of God, as one for whom Christ died, as a member of Christ's body, as a member of that holy society on earth, which is in union with that triumphant Church in Heaven? Yet all these considerations must be forgot, all these glorious privileges disregarded, before a man can treat him that has them, as an object of scorn and contempt. So that to scorn, or despise a brother, or, as our blessed Lord says, to call him Raca or fool, must be looked upon as amongst the most odious, unjust, and guilty tempers, that can be supported in the heart of a Christian, and justly excluding him from all his hopes in the salvation of Jesus Christ.

For to despise one for whom Christ died, is to be as contrary to Christ, as he that despises anything that Christ has said or done. If a Christian that had lived with the holy Virgin Mary, should, after the death of our Lord, have taken any occasion to treat her with contempt, you would certainly say, that he had lost his piety towards our Blessed Lord. For a true reverence for Christ must have forced him to treat her with respect who was so nearly related to Him. I dare appeal to any man's mind, whether it does not tell him, that this relation of the Virgin Mary to our Blessed Lord, must have obliged all those that lived and conversed with her, to treat her with great respect and esteem. Might not a man have justly dreaded the vengeance of God upon him, for any scorn or contempt that he had shown to her? Now if this be plain and obvious reasoning, if a contempt offered to the Virgin Mary must have been interpreted a contempt of Christ, because of her near relation to Him, then let the same reasoning show you the great impiety of despising any brother.

You cannot despise a brother, without despising him that stands in a high relation to God, to His Son Jesus Christ, and to the Holy Trinity. You would certainly think it a mighty impiety to treat a writing with great contempt that had been written by the finger of God; and can you think it a less impiety to contemn and vilify a brother, who is not only the workmanship but the image of God? You would justly think it great profaneness, to contemn and trample upon an altar, because it was appropriated to holy uses, and had had the body of Christ so often placed upon it; and can you suppose it to be less profaneness to scorn and trample upon a brother, who so belongs to God, that his very body is to be considered as the temple of the Holy Ghost? [1 Cor. vi. 19] Had you despised and ill-treated the Virgin Mary, you had been chargeable with the impiety of despising her of whom Christ was born. And if you scorn and despise a brother, you are chargeable with the impiety of despising him for whom Christ laid down His life.

And now, if this scornful temper is founded upon a disregard of all these relations which every Christian bears to God, and Christ, and the Holy Trinity, can you wonder, or think it hard, that a Christian who thus allows himself to despise a brother, should be in danger of hell-fire? Secondly, It must here be observed, that though in these words, "Whosoever shall say, Thou fool," etc., the great sin there condemned is an allowed temper of despising a brother; yet we are also to believe, that all hasty expressions, and words of contempt, though spoken by surprise or accident, are by this text condemned as great sins, and notorious breaches of Christian charity. They proceed from great want of Christian love and meekness, and call for great repentance. They are only little sins, when compared with habits and settled tempers of treating a brother despitefully, and fall as directly under the condemnation of this text as the grossest habits of uncharitableness.

And the reason why we are always to apprehend great guilt, and call ourselves to a strict repentance for these hasty expressions of anger and contempt, is this; because they seldom are what they seem to be, that is, mere starts of temper that were occasioned purely by surprise or accident, but are much more our own proper acts than we generally imagine. A man says a great many bitter things; he presently forgives himself, because he supposes it was only the suddenness of the occasion, or something accidental that carried him so far beyond himself. But he should consider, that perhaps the accident, or surprise, was not the occasion of his angry expressions but might only be the occasion of his angry temper showing itself. Now as this is, generally speaking, the case, as all haughty, angry language generally proceeds from some secret habits of pride in the heart; so people that are subject to it, though only now and then as accidents happen, have great reason to repent of more than their present behaviour, to charge themselves with greater guilt than accidental passion, and to bring themselves to such penance and mortification, as is proper to destroy habits of a haughty spirit.

And this may be the reason why the text looks no farther than the outward language; why it only says Whosoever shall say, Thou fool; because few can proceed so far as to the accidental use of haughty, disdainful language, but they whose hearts are more or less possessed with habits and settled tempers of pride and haughtiness. But to return: intercession is not only the best arbitrator of all differences, the best promoter of true friendship, the best cure and preservative against all unkind tempers, all angry and haughty passions, but is also of great use to discover to us the true state of our own hearts. There are many tempers which we think lawful and innocent, which we never suspect of any harm; which, if they were to be tried by this devotion, would soon show us how we have deceived ourselves. Susurrus is a pious, temperate, good man, remarkable for abundance of excellent qualities. No one more constant at the service of the Church, or whose heart is more affected with it. His charity is so great, that he almost starves himself, to be able to give greater alms to the poor. Yet Susurrus had a prodigious failing along with these great virtues.

He had a mighty inclination to hear and discover all the defects and infirmities of all about him. You were welcome to tell him anything of anybody, provided that you did not do it in the style of an enemy. He never disliked an evil-speaker, but when his language was rough and passionate. If you would but whisper anything gently, though it were ever so bad in itself, Susurrus was ready to receive it. When he visits, you generally hear him relating how sorry he is for the defects and failings of such a neighbour. He is always letting you know how tender he is of the reputation of his neighbour; how loth to say that which he is forced to say; and how gladly he would conceal it, if it could be concealed. Susurrus had such a tender, compassionate manner of relating things the most prejudicial to his neighbour, that he even seemed, both to himself and others, to be exercising a Christian charity, at the same time that he was indulging a whispering, evil-speaking temper.

Susurrus once whispered to a particular friend in great secrecy, something too bad to be spoken of publicly. He ended with saying, how glad he was that it had not yet taken wind, and that he had some hopes it might not be true, though the suspicions were very strong. His friend made him this reply: You say, Susurrus, that you are glad it has not yet taken wind: and that you may have some hopes it may not prove true. Go home, therefore, to your closet, and pray to God for this man, in such a manner, and with such earnestness, as you would pray for yourself on the like occasion. Beseech God to interpose in his favour, to save him from false accusers, and bring all those to shame who, by uncharitable whispers and secret stories, wound him, like those that stab in the dark. And when you have made this prayer, then you may, if you please, go tell the same secret to some other friend, that you have told to me. Susurrus was exceedingly affected with this rebuke, and felt the force of it upon his conscience in as lively a manner, as if he had seen the books opened at the day of judgment.

All other arguments might have been resisted; but it was impossible for Susurrus either to reject, or to follow this advice, without being equally self-condemned in the highest degree. From that time to this, he has constantly used himself to this method of intercession; and his heart is so entirely changed by it, that he can now no more privately whisper anything to the prejudice of another than he can openly pray to God to do people hurt. Whisperings and evil-speakings now hurt his ears like oaths and curses: and he has appointed one day in the week to be a day of penance as long as he lives, to humble himself before God, in the sorrowful confession of his former guilt. It may well be wondered, how a man of so much piety as Susurrus could be so long deceived in himself, as to live in such a state of scandal and evil-speaking, without suspecting himself to be guilty of it. But it was the tenderness and seeming compassion with which he heard and related everything that deceived both himself and others. This was a falseness of heart, which was only to be fully discovered by the true charity of intercession.

And if people of virtue, who think as little harm of themselves as Susurrus did, were often to try their spirit by such an intercession, they would often find themselves to be such as they least of all suspected. I have laid before you the many and great advantages of intercession. You have seen what a Divine friendship it must needs beget amongst Christians; how dear it would render all relations and neighbours to one another; how it tends to make clergymen, masters, and parents, exemplary and perfect in all the duties of their station; how certainly it destroys all envy, spite, and ill-natured passions; how speedily it reconciles all differences; and with what a piercing light it discovers to a man the true state of his heart. These considerations will, I hope, persuade you to make such intercession as is proper for your state, the constant, chief matter of your devotion, at this hour of prayer.

Recommending devotion at three o'clock, called in Scripture the ninth hour of the day. The subject of prayer at this hour is resignation to the Divine pleasure. The nature and duty of conformity to the will of God, in all our actions and designs. I HAVE recommended certain subjects to be made the fixed and chief matter of your devotions, at all the hours of prayer that have been already considered. As thanksgiving and oblation of yourself to God, at your first prayers in the morning; at nine, the great virtue of Christian humility is to be the chief part of your petitions. At twelve, you are called upon to pray for all the graces of universal love, and to raise it in your heart by such general and particular intercessions as your own state and relation to other people seem more particularly to require of you. At this hour of the afternoon, you are desired to consider the necessity of resignation and conformity to the will of God, and to make this great virtue the principal matter of your prayers. There is nothing wise, or holy, or just, but the great will of God. This is as strictly true, in the most rigid sense, as to say, that nothing is infinite and eternal but God.

No beings, therefore, whether in Heaven, or on earth, can be wise, or holy, or just, but so far as they conform to this will of God. It is conformity to this will that gives virtue and perfection to the highest services of the angels in heaven; and it is conformity to the same will that makes the ordinary actions of men on earth become an acceptable service unto God.

The whole nature of virtue consists in conforming to, and the whole nature of vice in declining from, the will of God. All God 's creatures are created to fulfil His will; the sun and moon obey His will, by the necessity of their nature; angels conform to His will, by the perfection of their nature; if, therefore, you would show yourself not to be a rebel and apostate from the order of the creation, you must act like beings both above and below you; it must be the great desire of your soul, that God's will may be done by you on earth, as it is done in Heaven. It must be the settled purpose and intention of your heart, to will nothing, design nothing, do nothing, but so far as you have reason to believe that it is the will of God that you should so desire, design, and do. It is as just and necessary to live in this state of heart, to think thus of God and yourself, as to think that you have any dependence upon Him. And it is as great a rebellion against God, to think that your will may ever differ from His, as to think that you have not received the power of willing for Him.

You are therefore to consider yourself as a being that has no other business in the world, but to be that which God requires you to be; to have no tempers, no rules of your own, to seek no self-designs or self-ends, but to fill some place, and act some part, in strict conformity and thankful resignation to the Divine pleasure. To think that you are your own, or at your own disposal, is as absurd as to think that you created and can preserve yourself. It is as plain and necessary a first principle, to believe you are thus God's, that you thus belong to Him, and are to act and suffer all in a thankful resignation to His pleasure, as to believe that in Him you "live, and move, and have your being." [Acts xvii. 28] Resignation to the Divine will signifies a cheerful approbation, and thankful acceptance of everything that comes from God. It is not enough patiently to submit, but we must thankfully receive, and fully approve of everything, that by the order of God's providence happens to us.

For there is no reason why we should be patient, but what is as good and strong a reason why we should be thankful. If we were under the hands of a wise and good physician, that could not mistake, nor do anything to us, but what certainly tended to our benefit; it would not be enough to be patient, and abstain from murmurings against such a physician; but it would be as great a breach of duty and gratitude to him not to be pleased and thankful for what he did, as it would be to murmur at him. Now this is our true state with relation to God; we cannot be said so much as to believe in Him, unless we believe Him to be of infinite wisdom. Every argument, therefore, for patience under His disposal of us, is as strong an argument for approbation and thankfulness for everything that He does to us. And there needs no more to dispose us to this gratitude towards God, than a full belief in Him, that He is this Being of infinite wisdom, love, and goodness.

Do but assent to this truth, in the same manner as you assent to things of which you have no doubt, and then you will cheerfully approve of everything that God has already approved for you. For as you cannot possibly be pleased with the behaviour of any person towards you, but because it is for your good, is wise in itself, and the effect of his love and goodness towards you; so when you are satisfied that God does not only do that which is wise, and good, and kind, but that which is the effect of an infinite wisdom and love in the care of you; it will be as necessary, whilst you have this faith, to be thankful and pleased with everything which God chooses for you, as to wish your own happiness. Whenever, therefore, you find yourself disposed to uneasiness, or murmuring at anything that is the effect of God's providence over us, you must look upon yourself as denying either the wisdom or goodness of God. For every complaint necessarily supposes this. You would never complain of your neighbour, but that you suppose you can show either his unwise, unjust, or unkind behaviour towards you.

Now every murmuring, impatient reflection, under the providence of God, is the same accusation of God. A complaint always supposes ill-usage. Hence also you may see the great necessity and piety of this thankful state of heart, because the want of it implies an accusation of God's want either of wisdom, or goodness, in His disposal of us. It is not, therefore, any high degree of perfection, founded in any uncommon nicety of thinking, or refined notions, but a plain principle, founded in this plain belief, that God is a Being of infinite wisdom and goodness. Now this resignation to the Divine will may be considered in two respects; First, as it signifies a thankful approbation of God's general providence over the world; Secondly, as it signifies a thankful acceptance of His particular providence over us.

First, Every man is, by the law of his creation, by the first article of his creed, obliged to consent to, and acknowledge the wisdom and goodness of God in His general providence over the whole world. He is to believe, that it is the effect of God's great wisdom and goodness, that the world itself was formed at such a particular time, and in such a manner; that the general order of nature, the whole frame of things, is contrived and formed in the best manner. He is to believe that God's providence over states and kingdoms, times and seasons, is all for the best: that the revolutions of state and changes of empire, the rise and fall of monarchies, persecutions, wars, famines, and plagues, are all permitted and conducted by God 's providence to the general good of man in this state of trial. A good man is to believe all this, with the same fulness of assent as he believes that God is in every place, though he neither sees, nor can comprehend the manner of His presence.

This is a noble magnificence of thought, a true religious greatness of mind, to be thus affected with God's general providence, admiring and magnifying His wisdom in all things; never murmuring at the course of the world, or the state of things, but looking upon all around, at heaven and earth, as a pleased spectator, and adoring that invisible hand, which gives laws to all motions, and overrules all events to ends suitable to the highest wisdom and goodness. It is very common for people to allow themselves great liberty in finding fault with such things as have only God for their cause. Every one thinks he may justly say, what a wretched abominable climate he lives in. This man is frequently telling you, what a dismal cursed day it is, and what intolerable seasons we have. Another thinks he has very little to thank God for, that it is hardly worth his while to live in a world so full of changes and revolutions. But these are tempers of great impiety, and show that religion has not yet its seat in the heart of those that have them.

It sounds indeed much better to murmur at the course of the world, or the state of things, than to murmur at Providence; to complain of the seasons and weather than to complain of God; but if these have no other cause but God and His providence, it is a poor distinction to say, that you are only angry at the things, but not at the Cause and Director of them. How sacred the whole frame of the world is, how all things are to be considered as God's, and referred to Him, is fully taught by our Blessed Lord in the case of oaths: "But I say unto you, Swear not at all, neither by heaven, for it is God's throne; nor by the earth, for it is His footstool; neither by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King; neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black"; [Matt. v. 34-36] that is, because the whiteness or blackness of thy hair is not thine, but God's.

Here you see all things in the whole order of nature, from the highest heavens to the smallest hair, are always to be considered, not separately as they are in themselves, but as in some relation to God. And if this be good reasoning, thou shalt not swear by the earth, a city, or thy hair, because these things are God's, and in a certain manner belong to Him; is it not exactly the same reasoning to say, Thou shalt not murmur at the seasons of the earth, the states of cities, and the change of times, because all these things are in the hands of God, have Him for their Author, are directed and governed by Him to such ends as are most suitable to His wise providence? If you think you can murmur at the state of things without murmuring at Providence, or complain of seasons without complaining of God, hear what our Blessed Lord says further upon oaths: "Whoso shall swear by the altar, sweareth by it, and by all things thereon; and whoso shall swear by the temple, sweareth by Him that dwelleth therein; and he that shall swear by heaven, sweareth by the throne of God, and by Him that sitteth thereon." [Matt. xxiii. 20-22]

Now does not this Scripture plainly oblige us to reason after this manner? Whoso murmurs at the course of the world murmurs at God that governs the course of the world. Whoso repines at seasons and weather, and speaks impatiently of times and events, repines and speaketh impatiently of God, who is the sole Lord and Governor of times, seasons, and events. As therefore when we think of God Himself we are to have no sentiments but of praise and thanksgiving; so when we look at those things which are under the direction of God, and governed by His providence, we are to receive them with the same tempers of praise and gratitude. And though we are not to think all things right, and just, and lawful, which the providence of God permits; for then nothing could be unjust, because nothing is without His permission; yet we must adore God in the greatest public calamities, the most grievous persecutions, as things that are suffered by God, like plagues and famines, for ends suitable to his wisdom and glory in the government of the world.

There is nothing more suitable to the piety of a reasonable creature, or to the spirit of a Christian, than thus to approve, admire, and glorify God in all the acts of His general providence; considering the whole world as His particular family, and all events as directed by His wisdom. Every one seems to consent to this, as an undeniable truth, that all things must be as God pleases; and is not this enough to make every man pleased with them himself? And how can a man be a peevish complainer of anything that is the effect of Providence, but by showing that his own self-will and self-wisdom is of more weight with him than the will and wisdom of God? And what can religion be said to have done for a man whose heart is in this state? For if he cannot thank and praise God, as well in calamities and sufferings as in prosperity and happiness, he is as far from the piety of a Christian as he that only loves them that love him, is from the charity of a Christian. For to thank God only for such things as you like, is no more a proper act of piety, than to believe only what you see is an act of faith.

Resignation and thanksgiving to God are only acts of piety, when they are acts of faith, trust, and confidence in the Divine goodness. The faith of Abraham was an act of true piety, because it stopped at no difficulties, was not altered or lessened by any human appearances. It first of all carried him, against all show of happiness, from his own kindred and country, into a strange land, not knowing whither he went. It afterwards made him, against all appearances of nature, when his body was dead, when he was about an hundred years old, depend upon the promise of God, being fully persuaded that what God had promised, He was able to perform. It was this same faith, that, against so many pleas of nature, so many appearances of reason, prevailed upon him to offer up Isaac - "accounting that God was able to raise him up, even from the dead." [Heb. xi. 17, 19]

Now this faith is the true pattern of Christian resignation to the Divine pleasure; you are to thank and praise God, not only for things agreeable to you, that have the appearance of happiness and comfort; but when you are, like Abraham, called from all appearances of comfort to be a pilgrim in a strange land, to part with an only son; being as fully persuaded of the Divine goodness in all things that happen to you, as Abraham was of the Divine promise when there was the least appearance of its being performed. This is true Christian resignation to God, which requires no more to the support of it, than such a plain assurance of the goodness of God, as Abraham had of His veracity. And if you ask yourself, what greater reason Abraham had to depend upon the Divine veracity, than you have to depend upon the Divine goodness, you will find that none can be given. You cannot therefore look upon this as an unnecessary high pitch of perfection, since the want of it implies the want, not of any high notions, but of a plain and ordinary faith in the most certain doctrines both of natural and revealed religion.

Thus much concerning resignation to the Divine will, as it signifies a thankful approbation of God's general providence: it is now to be considered as it signifies a thankful acceptance of God 's particular providence over us. Every man is to consider himself as a particular object of God's providence; under the same care and protection of God as if the world had been made for him alone. It is not by chance that any man is born at such a time, of such parents, and in such a place and condition. It is as certain that every soul comes into the body at such a time, and in such circumstances, by the express designment of God, according to some purposes of His will, and for some particular ends; this is as certain as that it is by the express designment of God that some beings are Angels, and others are men. It is as much by the counsel and eternal purpose of God that you should be born in your particular state, and that Isaac should be the son of Abraham, as that Gabriel should be an Angel, and Isaac a man.

The Scriptures assure us, that it was by Divine appointment that our blessed Saviour was born at Bethlehem, and at such a time. Now although it was owing to the dignity of His person, and the great importance of His birth, that thus much of the Divine counsel was declared to the world, concerning the time and manner of it; yet we are as sure, from the same Scriptures, that the time and manner of every man's coming into the world is according to some eternal purposes and direction of Divine providence, and in such time, and place, and circumstances, as are directed and governed by God for particular ends of His wisdom and goodness.

This we are as certain of, from plain revelation, as we can be of anything. For if we are told, that not a sparrow falleth to the ground without our Heavenly Father; can anything more strongly teach us, that much greater beings, such as human souls, come not into the world without the care and direction of our Heavenly Father? If it is said, "The very hairs of your head are all numbered": is it not to teach us, that nothing, not the smallest things imaginable, happen to us by chance? But if the smallest things we can conceive are declared to be under the Divine direction, need we, or can we, be more plainly taught, that the greatest things of life, such as the manner of our coming into the world, our parents, the time, and other circumstances of our birth and condition, are all according to the eternal purposes, direction, and appointment of Divine providence?

When the disciples put this question to our blessed Lord concerning the blind man, saying, "Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?" He that was the eternal Wisdom of God, made this answer, "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents, but that the works of God should be made manifest in him." [John ix. 2, 3] Plainly declaring, that the particular circumstances of every man's birth, the body that he receives, and the condition and state of life into which he is born, are appointed by a secret Providence, which directs all things to their particular times and seasons, and manner of existence, that the wisdom and works of God may be made manifest in them all.

As therefore it is thus certain, that we are what we are, as to birth, time, and condition of entering into the world; since all that is particular in our state is the effect of God's particular providence over us, and intended for some particular ends both of His glory and our own happiness; we are, by the greatest obligations of gratitude, called upon to conform and resign our will to the will of God in all these respects; thankfully approving and accepting everything that is particular in our state; praising and glorifying His Name for our birth of such parents, and in such circumstances of state and condition; being fully assured, that it was for some reasons of infinite wisdom and goodness, that we were so born into such particular states of life.

If the man above mentioned was born blind, that the works of God might be manifested in him, had he not great reason to praise God for appointing him, in such a particular manner, to be the instrument of His glory? And if one person is born here, and another there; if one falls amongst riches, and another into poverty; if one receives his flesh and blood from these parents, and another from those, for as particular ends as the man was born blind; have not all people the greatest reason to bless God, and to be thankful for their particular state and condition, because all that is particular in it, is as directly intended for the glory of God, and their own good, as the particular blindness of that man who was so born, that the works of God might be manifested in him?

How noble an idea does this give us of the Divine omniscience presiding over the whole world, and governing such a long chain and combination of seeming accidents and chances, to the common and particular advantage of all beings! So that all persons, in such a wonderful variety of causes, accidents, and events, should all fall into such particular states as were foreseen and foreordained to their best advantage and so as to be most serviceable to the wise and glorious ends of God's government of all the world. Had you been anything else than what you are, you had, all things considered, been less wisely provided for than you are now: you had wanted some circumstances and conditions that are best fitted to make you happy yourself, and serviceable to the glory of God. Could you see all that which God sees, all that happy chain of causes and motives which are to move and invite you to a right course of life, you would see something to make you like that state you are in, as fitter for you than any other.

But as you cannot see this, so it is here that your Christian faith and trust in God is to exercise itself, and render you as grateful and thankful for the happiness of your state, as if you saw everything that contributes to it with your own eyes. But now if this is the case of every man in the world, thus blessed with some particular state that is most convenient for him, how reasonable is it for every man to will that which God has already willed for him! And by a pious faith and trust in the Divine goodness; thankfully to adore and magnify that wise providence, which he is sure has made the best choice for him of those things which he could not choose for himself! Every uneasiness at our own state is founded upon comparing it with that of other people; which is full as unreasonable as if a man in a dropsy should be angry at those that prescribe different things to him from those which are prescribed to people in health. For all the different states of life are like the different states of diseases; what is a remedy to one man in his state, may be poison to another.

So that to murmur because you are not as some others are, is as if a man in one disease should murmur that he is not treated like him that is in another. Whereas, if he was to have his will, he would be killed by that which will prove the cure of another. It is just thus in the various conditions of life; if you give yourself up to uneasiness, or complain at anything in your state, you may, for aught you know, be so ungrateful to God, as to murmur at that very thing which is to prove the cause of your salvation. Had you it in your power to get that which you think it is so grievous to want, it might perhaps be that very thing which, of all others, would most expose you to eternal damnation. So that whether we consider the infinite goodness of God, that cannot choose amiss for us, or our own great ignorance of what is most advantageous to us, there can be nothing so reasonable and pious, as to have no will but that of God's, and to desire nothing for ourselves, in our persons, our state, and condition, but that which the good providence of God appoints us.

Farther, as the good providence of God thus introduces us into the world, into such states and conditions of life as are most convenient for us, so the same unerring wisdom orders all events and changes in the whole course of our lives, in such a manner, as to render them the fittest means to exercise and improve our virtue. Nothing hurts us, nothing destroys us, but the ill use of that liberty with which God has entrusted us. We are as sure that nothing happens to us by chance, as that the world itself was not made by chance; we are as certain that all things happen, and work together for our good, as that God is goodness itself. So that a man has as much reason to will everything that happens to him, because God wills it, as to think that is wisest which is directed by infinite wisdom. This is not cheating or soothing ourselves into any false content, or imaginary happiness; but is a satisfaction grounded upon as great a certainty as the being and attributes of God.

For if we are right in believing God to act over us with infinite wisdom and goodness, we cannot carry our notions of conformity and resignation to the Divine will too high; nor can we ever be deceived, by thinking that to be best for us, which God has brought upon us. For the providence of God is not more concerned in the government of night and day, and the variety of seasons, than in the common course of events that seem most to depend upon the mere wills of men. So that it is as strictly right to look upon all worldly accidents and changes, all the various turns and alternations in your own life, to be as truly the effects of Divine providence, as the rising and setting of the sun, or the alternations of the seasons of the year. As you are, therefore, always to adore the wisdom of God in the direction of these things; so it is the same reasonable duty always to magnify God, as an equal Director of everything that happens to you in the course of your own life.

This holy resignation and conformity of your will to the will of God being so much the true state of piety, I hope you will think it proper to make this hour of prayer a constant season of applying to God for so great a gift; that by thus constantly praying for it, your heart may be habitually disposed towards it, and always in a state of readiness to look at everything as God's, and to consider Him in everything; that so everything that befalls you may be received in the spirit of piety, and made a means of exercising some virtue. There is nothing that so powerfully governs the heart, that so strongly excites us to wise and reasonable actions, as a true sense of God's presence. But as we cannot see, or apprehend the essence of God, so nothing will so constantly keep us under a lively sense of the presence of God, as this holy resignation which attributes everything to Him, and receives everything as from Him.

Could we see a miracle from God, how would our thoughts be affected with an holy awe and veneration of His presence! But if we consider everything as God's doing, either by order or permission, we shall then be affected with common things, as they would be who saw a miracle. For as there is nothing to affect you in a miracle, but as it is the action of God, and bespeaks His presence; so when you consider God as acting in all things, and all events, then all things will become venerable to you, like miracles, and fill you with the same awful sentiments of the Divine presence. Now you must not reserve the exercise of this pious temper to any particular times or occasions, or fancy how resigned you will be to God, if such or such trials should happen. For this is amusing yourself with the notion or idea of resignation, instead of the virtue itself. Do not therefore please yourself with thinking how piously you would act and submit to God in a plague, or famine, or persecution, but be intent upon the perfection of the present day; and be assured, that the best way of showing a true zeal is to make little things the occasions of great piety.

Begin therefore in the smallest matters, and most ordinary occasions, and accustom your mind to the daily exercise of this pious temper, in the lowest occurrences of life. And when a contempt, an affront, a little injury, loss, or disappointment, or the smallest events of every day, continually raise your mind to God in proper acts of resignation, then you may justly hope that you shall be numbered amongst those that are resigned and thankful to God in the greatest trials and afflictions.

Of evening prayer. Of the nature and necessity of examination. How we are to be particular in the confession of all our sins. How we are to fill our minds with a just horror and dread of all sin. I AM now come to six o'clock in the evening, which, according to the Scripture account, is called the twelfth, or last hour of the day. This is a time so proper for devotion, that I suppose nothing need be said to recommend it as a season of prayer to all people that profess any regard to piety. As the labour and action of every state of life is generally over at this hour, so this is the proper time for every one to call himself to account and review all his behaviour from the first action of the day. The necessity of this examination is founded upon the necessity of repentance. For if it be necessary to repent of all our sins, if the guilt of unrepented sins still continue upon us, then it is necessary, not only that all our sins, but the particular circumstances and aggravations of them, be known, and recollected, and brought to repentance.

The Scripture saith, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." [1 John i. 9] Which is as much as to say, that then only our sins are forgiven, and we cleansed from the guilt and unrighteousness of them, when they are thus confessed and repented of. There seems therefore to be the greatest necessity, that all our daily actions be constantly observed and brought to account, lest by a negligence we load ourselves with the guilt of unrepented sins.

This examination therefore of ourselves every evening is not only to be considered as a commendable rule, and fit for a wise man to observe, but as something that is as necessary as a daily confession and repentance of our sins; because this daily repentance is very little significancy, and loses all its chief benefit, unless it be a particular confession and repentance of the sins of that day. This examination is necessary to repentance, in the same manner as time is necessary; you cannot repent or express your sorrow, unless you allow some time for it; nor can you repent, but so far as you know what it is that you are repenting of. So that when it is said, that it is necessary to examine and call your actions to account; it is only saying, that it is necessary to know what, and how many things you are to repent of. You perhaps have hitherto only used yourself to confess yourself a sinner in general, and ask forgiveness in the gross, without any particular remembrance, or contrition for the particular sins of that day. And by this practice you are brought to believe, that the same short general form of confession of sin in general, is a sufficient repentance for every day.

Suppose another person should hold, that a confession of our sins in general once at the end of every week was sufficient; and that it was as well to confess the sins of seven days altogether, as to have a particular repentance at the end of every day: I know you sufficiently see the unreasonableness and impiety of this opinion, and that you think it is easy enough to show the danger and folly of it. Yet you cannot bring one argument against such an opinion, but what will be as good an argument against such a daily repentance as does not call the particular sins of that day to a strict account. For as you can bring no express text of Scripture against such an opinion, but must take all your arguments from the nature of repentance, and the necessity of a particular repentance for particular sins, so every argument of that kind must as fully prove the necessity of being very particular in our repentance of the sins of every day; since nothing can be justly said against leaving the sins of the whole week to be repented for in the gross, but what may as justly be said against a daily repentance which considers the sins of that day only in the gross.

Would you tell such a man, that a daily confession was necessary to keep up an abhorrence of sin, that the mind would grow hardened and senseless of the guilt of sin without it? And is not this as good a reason for requiring that your daily repentance be very express and particular for your daily sins? For if confession is to raise an abhorrence of sin, surely that confession which considers and lays open your particular sins, that brings them to light with all their circumstances and aggravations, that requires a particular sorrowful acknowledgment of every sin, must, in a much greater degree, fill the mind with an abhorrence of sin, than that which only, in one and the same form of words, confesses you only to be a sinner in general. For as this is nothing but what the greatest saint may justly say of himself, so the daily repeating of only such a confession has nothing in it to make you truly ashamed of your own way of life.

Again: must you not tell such a man, that by leaving himself to such a weekly general confession, he would be in great danger of forgetting a great many of his sins? But is there any sense or force in this argument, unless you suppose that our sins are all to be remembered, and brought to a particular repentance? And is it not necessary that our particular sins be not forgotten, but particularly remembered in our daily repentances, as in a repentance at any other time? So that every argument for a daily confession and repentance, is the same argument for the confession and repentance of the particular sins of every day. Because daily confession has no other reason nor necessity but our daily sins; and therefore is nothing of what it should be, but so far as it is a repentance and sorrowful acknowledgment of the sins of the day.

You would, I suppose, think yourself chargeable with great impiety, if you were to go to bed without confessing yourself to be a sinner and asking pardon of God; you would not think it sufficient that you did so yesterday. And yet if, without any regard to the present day, you only repeat the same form on words that you used yesterday, the sins of the present day may justly be looked upon to have had no repentance. For if the sins of the present day require a new confession, it must be such a new confession as is proper to itself. For it is the state and condition of every day that is to determine the state and manner of your repentance in the evening; otherwise the same general form of words is rather an empty formality that has the appearance of a duty, than such a true performance of it as is necessary to make it truly useful to you.

Let it be supposed, that on a certain day you have been guilty of these sins; that you have told a vain lie upon yourself, ascribing something falsely to yourself, through pride; that you have been guilty of detraction, and indulged yourself in some degree of intemperance. Let it be supposed, that on the next day you have lived in a contrary manner; that you have neglected no duty of devotion, and been the rest of the day innocently employed in your proper business. Let it be supposed, that on the evening of both these days you only use the same confession in general, considering it rather as a duty that is to be performed every night, than as a repentance that is to be suited to the particular state of the day. Can it with any reason be said, that each day has had its proper repentance? Is it not as good sense to say, there is no difference in the guilt of these days, as to say that there need be no different repentance at the end of them? Or how can each of them have its proper repentance, but by its having a repentance as large, and extensive, and particular as the guilt of each day?

Again: let it be supposed, that in that day, when you had been guilty of the three notorious sins above mentioned, that in your evening repentance, you had only called one of them to mind. Is it not plain, that the other two are unrepented of, and that, therefore, their guilt still abides upon you? So that you are then in the state of him who commits himself to the night without the repentance for such a day as had betrayed him into two such great sins. Now these are not needless particulars, or such scrupulous niceties, as a man need not trouble himself about; but are such plain truths, as essentially concern the very life of piety. For if repentance is necessary, it is full as necessary that it be rightly performed, and in due manner. And I have entered into all these particulars, only to show you, in the plainest manner, that examination and a careful review of all the actions of the day, is not only to be looked upon as a good rule, but as something as necessary as repentance itself. If a man is to account for his expenses at night, can it be thought a needless exactness in him, to take notice of every particular expense in the day?

And if a man is to repent of his sins at night, can it be thought too great a piece of scrupulosity in him, to know and call to mind what sins he is to repent of. Farther; though it should be granted that a confession in general may be a sufficient repentance for the end of such days as have only the unavoidable frailties of our nature to lament; yet even this folly proves the absolute necessity of this self-examination: for without this examination, who can know that he has gone through any day in this manner? Again: an evening repentance, which thus brings all the actions of the day to account, is not only necessary to wipe off the guilt of sin, but is also the most certain way to amend and perfect our lives. For it is only such a repentance as this that touches the heart, awakens the conscience, and leaves an horror and detestation of sin upon the mind.

For instance: if it should happen, that upon any particular evening, all that you could charge yourself with should be this, namely, a hasty, negligent performance of your devotions, or too much time spent in an impertinent conversation; if the unreasonableness of these things were fully reflected upon and acknowledged; if you were then to condemn yourself before God for them, and implore His pardon and assisting grace; what could be so likely a means to prevent your falling into the same faults the next day? Or if you should fall into them again the next day, yet if they were again brought to the same examination and condemnation in the presence of God, their happening again would be such a proof to you of your own folly and weakness, would cause such a pain and remorse in your mind, and fill you with such shame and confusion at yourself, as would, in all probability, make you exceedingly desirous of greater perfection. Now in the case of repeated sins, this would be the certain benefit that we should receive from this examination and confession; the mind would thereby be made humble, full of sorrow and deep compunction, and, by degrees, forced into amendment.

Whereas a formal, general confession, that is only considered as an evening duty, that overlooks the particular mistakes of the day, and is the same, whether the day be spent ill or well, has little or no effect upon the mind; a man may use such a daily confession, and yet go on sinning and confessing all his life, without any remorse of mind, or true desire of amendment. For if your own particular sins are left out of your confession, your confessing of sin in general has no more effect upon your mind than if you had only confessed that all men in general are sinners. And there is nothing in any confession to show that it is yours, but so far as it is a self-accusation, not of sin in general, or such as is common to all others, but of such particular sins as are your own proper shame and reproach. No other confession but such as thus discovers and accuses your own particular guilt can be an act of true sorrow, or real concern at your own condition. And a confession that is without this sorrow and compunction of heart, has nothing in it, either to atone for past sins, or to produce in us any true reformation and amendment of life.

To proceed: In order to make this examination still farther beneficial, every man should oblige himself to a certain method in it. As every man has something particular in his nature, stronger inclinations to some vices than others, some infirmities that stick closer to him, and are harder to be conquered than others; and as it is as easy for every man to know this of himself, as to know whom he likes or dislikes; so it is highly necessary, that these particularities of our natures and tempers should never escape a severe trial at our evening repentance. I say, a severe trial, because nothing but a rigorous severity against these natural tempers is sufficient to conquer them. They are the right eyes that are not to be spared; but to be plucked out and cast from us. For as they are the infirmities of nature, so they have the strength of nature, and must be treated with great opposition, or they will soon be too strong for us.

He, therefore, who knows himself most of all subject to anger and passion, must be very exact and constant in his examination of this temper every evening. He must find out every slip that he has made of that kind, whether in thought, or word, or action; he must shame, and reproach, and accuse himself before God, for everything that he has said or done in obedience to his passion. He must no more allow himself to forget the examination of this temper than to forget his whole prayers. Again: If you find that vanity is your prevailing temper, that is always putting you upon the adornment of your person, and catching after everything that compliments or flatters your abilities, never spare nor forget this temper in your evening examination; but confess to God every vanity of thought, or word, or action, that you have been guilty of, and put yourself to all the shame and confusion for it that you can. In this manner should all people act with regard to their chief frailty, to which their nature most inclines them. And though it should not immediately do all that they would wish, yet, by a constant practice, it would certainly in a short time produce its desired effect.

Farther: As all states and employments of life have their particular dangers and temptations, and expose people more to some sins than others, so every man that wishes his own improvement, should make it a necessary part of his evening examination, to consider how he has avoided, or fallen into such sins, as are most common to his state of life. For as our business and condition of life has great power over us, so nothing but such watchfulness as this can secure us from those temptations to which it daily exposes us. The poor man, from his condition of life, is always in danger of repining and uneasiness; the rich man is most exposed to sensuality and indulgence; the tradesman to lying and unreasonable gains; the scholar to pride and vanity: so that in every state of life, a man should always, in his examination of himself, have a strict eye upon those faults to which his state of life most of all exposes him.

Again: As it is reasonable to suppose that every good man has entered into, or at least proposed to himself, some method of holy living, and set himself some such rules to observe, as are not common to other people, and only known to himself: so it should be a constant part of his night recollection, to examine how, and in what degree, he has observed them, and to reproach himself before God for every neglect of them. By rules, I here mean such rules as relate to the well ordering of our time, and the business of our common life; such rules as prescribe a certain order to all that we are to do, our business, devotion, mortifications, readings, retirements, conversation, meals, refreshments, sleep, and the like. Now, as good rules relating to all these things are certain means of great improvement, and such as all serious Christians must needs propose to themselves, so they will hardly ever be observed to any purpose, unless they are made the constant subject of our evening examination.

Lastly, You are not to content yourself with a hasty general review of the day, but you must enter upon it with deliberation; begin with the first action of the day, and proceed, step by step, through every particular matter that you have been concerned in, and so let no time, place, or action be overlooked. An examination thus managed, will in a little time make you as different from yourself, as a wise man is different from an idiot. It will give you such a newness of mind, such a spirit of wisdom, and desire of perfection, as you were an entire stranger to before. Thus much concerning the evening examination. I proceed now to lay before you such considerations as may fill your mind with a just dread and horror of all sin, and help you to confess your own, in the most passionate contrition and sorrow of heart.

Consider first, how odious all sin is to God, what a mighty baseness it is, and how abominable it renders sinners in the sight of God. That it is sin alone that makes the great difference betwixt an Angel and the devil; and that every sinner is, so far as he sins, a friend of the devil's, and carrying on his work against God. That sin is a greater blemish and defilement of the soul, than any filth or disease is a defilement of the body. And to be content to live in sin is a much greater baseness, than to desire to wallow in the mire, or love any bodily impurity. Consider how you must abhor a creature that delighted in nothing but filth and nastiness, that hated everything that was decent and clean: and let this teach you to apprehend, how odious that soul that delights in nothing but the impurity of sin, must appear unto God. For all sins, whether of sensuality, pride, or falseness, or any other irregular passion, are nothing else but the filth and impure diseases of the rational soul. And all righteousness is nothing else but the purity, the decency, the beauty, and perfection of that spirit which is made in the image of God.

Again: Learn what horror you ought to have for the guilt of sin, from the greatness of that Atonement which has been made for it. God made the world by the breath of His mouth, by a word speaking, but the redemption of the world has been a work of longer labour. How easily God can create beings, we learn from the first chapter of Genesis; but how difficult it is for infinite mercy to forgive sins, we learn from that costly Atonement, those bloody sacrifices, those pains and penances, those sicknesses and deaths, which all must be undergone, before the guilty sinner is fit to appear in the presence of God. Ponder these great truths: that the Son of God was forced to become man, to be partaker of all our infirmities, to undergo a poor, painful, miserable, and contemptible life, to be persecuted, hated, and at last nailed to a cross, that, by such sufferings, He might render God propitious to that nature in which He suffered. That all the bloody sacrifices and atonements of the Jewish law were to represent the necessity of this great Sacrifice, and the great displeasure God bore to sinners.

That the world is still under the curse of sin, and certain marks of God's displeasure at it; such as famines, plagues, tempests, sickness, diseases, and death. Consider that all the sons of Adam are to go through a painful, sickly life, denying and mortifying their natural appetites, and crucifying the lusts of the flesh, in order to have a share in the Atonement of our Saviour's death. That all their penances and self-denials, all their tears and repentance, are only made available by that great intercession which is still making for them at the right hand of God. Consider these great truths; that this mysterious redemption, all these sacrifices and sufferings, both of God and man, are only to remove the guilt of sin; and then let this teach you, with what tears and contrition you ought to purge yourself from it. After this general consideration of the guilt of sin, which has done so much mischief to your nature, and exposed it to so great punishment, and made it so odious to God, that nothing less than so great an Atonement of the Son of God, and so great repentance of our own, can restore us to the Divine favour:

Consider next your own particular share in the guilt of sin. And if you would know with what zeal you ought to repent yourself, consider how you would exhort another sinner to repentance: and what repentance and amendment you would expect from him whom you judged to be the greatest sinner in the world. Now this case every man may justly reckon to be his own. And you may fairly look upon yourself to be the greatest sinner that you know in the world. For though you may know abundance of people to be guilty of some gross sins, with which you cannot charge yourself, yet you may justly condemn yourself as the greatest sinner that you know. And that for these following reasons:

First, Because you know more of the folly of your own heart, than you do of other people's; and can charge yourself with various sins, that you only know of yourself, and cannot be sure that other sinners are guilty of them. So that as you know more of the folly, the baseness, the pride, the deceitfulness and negligence of your own heart, than you do of any one's else, so you have just reason to consider yourself as the greatest sinner that you know: because you know more of the greatness of your own sins, than you do of other people's. Secondly, The greatness of our guilt arises chiefly from the greatness of God's goodness towards us, from the particular graces and blessings, the favours, the lights and instructions that we have received from Him. Now as these graces and blessings, and the multitude of God's favours towards us, are the great aggravations of our sins against God, so they are only known to ourselves. And therefore every sinner knows more of the aggravations of his own guilt, than he does of other people's; and consequently may justly look upon himself to be the greatest sinner that he knows.

How good God has been to other sinners, what light and instruction He has vouchsafed to them; what blessings and graces they have received from Him; how often He has touched their hearts with holy inspirations, you cannot tell. But all this you know of yourself: therefore you know greater aggravations of your own guilt, and are able to charge yourself with greater ingratitude, than you can charge upon other people. And this is the reason, why the greatest saints have in all ages condemned themselves as the greatest sinners, because they knew some aggravations of their own sins, which they could not know of other people's. The right way, therefore, to fill your heart with true contrition, and a deep sense of your own sins, is this: You are not to consider, or compare the outward form, or course of your life, with that of other people's, and then think yourself to be less sinful than they, because the outward course of your life is less sinful than theirs.

But in order to know your own guilt, you must consider your own particular circumstances, your health, your sickness, your youth or age, your particular calling, the happiness of your education, the degrees of light and instruction that you have received, the good men that you have conversed with, the admonitions that you have had, the good books that you have read, the numberless multitude of Divine blessings, graces, and favours that you have received, the good motions of grace that you have resisted, the resolutions of amendment that you have often broken, and the checks of conscience that you have disregarded. For it is from these circumstances that every one is to state the measure and greatness of his own guilt. And as you know only these circumstances of your own sins, so you must necessarily know how to charge yourself with higher degrees of guilt, than you can charge upon other people. God Almighty knows greater sinners, it may be, than you are; because He sees and knows the circumstances of all men's sins, but your own heart, if it is faithful to you, can discover no guilt so great as your own: because it can only see in you those circumstances, on which great part of the guilt of sin is founded.

You may see sins in other people that you cannot charge upon yourself; but then you know a number of circumstances of your own guilt that you cannot lay to their charge. And perhaps that person that appears at such a distance from your virtue, and so odious in your eyes, would have been much better than you are, had he been altogether in your circumstances, and received all the same favours and graces from God that you have. This is a very humbling reflection, and very proper for those people to make, who measure their virtue, by comparing the outward course of their lives with that of other people's. For to look at whom you will, however different from you in his way of life, yet you can never know that he has resisted so much Divine grace as you have, or that in all your circumstances, he would not have been much truer to his duty than you are. Now this is the reason why I desired you to consider how you would exhort that man to confess and bewail his sins whom you looked upon to be one of the greatest sinners.

Because if you will deal justly, you must fix the charge at home, and look no farther than yourself. For God has given no one any power of knowing the true greatness of any sins but his own; and therefore the greatest sinner that every one knows is himself. You may easily see, how such a one in the outward course of his life breaks the laws of God; but then you can never say, that had you been exactly in all his circumstances, that you should not have broken them more than he has done. A serious and frequent reflection upon these things will mightily tend to humble us in our own eyes, make us very apprehensive of the greatness of our own guilt, and very tender in censuring and condemning other people. For who would dare to be severe against other people, when, for aught he can tell, the severity of God may be more due to him, than to them? Who would exclaim against the guilt of others, when he considers that he knows more of the greatness of his own guilt, than he does of theirs?

How often you have resisted God's Holy Spirit; how many motives to goodness you have disregarded: how many particular blessings you have sinned against; how many good resolutions you have broken; how many checks and admonitions of conscience you have stifled, you very well know; but how often this has been the case of other sinners, you know not. And therefore the greatest sinner that you know, must be yourself. Whenever, therefore, you are angry at sin or sinners, whenever you read or think of God's indignation and wrath at wicked men, let this teach you to be the most severe in your censure, and most humble and contrite in the acknowledgment and confession of your own sins, because you know of no sinner equal to yourself. Lastly, to conclude this chapter: Having thus examined and confessed your sins at this hour of the evening, you must afterwards look upon yourself as still obliged to betake yourself to prayer again, just before you go to bed.

The subject that is most proper for your prayers at that time is death. Let your prayers, therefore, then be wholly upon it, reckoning upon all the dangers, uncertainties, and terrors of death; let them contain everything that can affect and awaken your mind into just apprehensions of it. Let your petitions be all for right sentiments of the approach and importance of death; and beg of God, that your mind may be possessed with such a sense of its nearness, that you may have it always in your thoughts, do everything as in sight of it, and make every day a day of preparation for it. Represent to your imagination, that your bed is your grave; that all things are ready for your interment; that you are to have no more to do with this world; and that it will be owing to God's great mercy, if you ever see the light of the sun again, or have another day to add to your works of piety. And then commit yourself to sleep, as into the hands of God; as one that is to have no more opportunities of doing good; but is to awake amongst spirits that are separate from the body, and waiting for the judgment of the last great day.

Such a solemn resignation of yourself into the hands of God every evening, and parting with all the world, as if you were never to see it any more, and all this in the silence and darkness of the night, is a practice that will soon have excellent effects upon your spirit. For this time of the night is exceeding proper for such prayers and meditations; and the likeness which sleep and darkness have to death, will contribute very much to make your thoughts about it the more deep and affecting. So that I hope, you will not let a time so proper for such prayers, be ever passed over without them.

The conclusion. Of the excellency and greatness of a devout spirit. I HAVE now finished what I intended in this treatise. I have explained the nature of devotion, both as it signifies a life devoted to God, and as it signifies a regular method of daily prayer. I have now only to add a word or two, in recommendation of a life governed by this spirit of devotion. For though it is as reasonable to suppose it the desire of all Christians to arrive at Christian perfection, as to suppose that all sick men desire to be restored to perfect health; yet experience shows us, that nothing wants more to be pressed, repeated, and forced upon our minds, than the plainest rules of Christianity. Voluntary poverty, virginity, and devout retirement, have been here recommended as things not necessary, yet highly beneficial to those that would make the way to perfection the most easy and certain. But Christian perfection itself is tied to no particular form of life; but is to be attained, though not with the same ease, in every state of life.

This has been fully asserted in another place, where it has been shown, that Christian perfection calls no one (necessarily) to a cloister, but to the full performance of those duties, which are necessary for all Christians, and common to all states of life. [Christ. Perfect. p. 2] So that the whole of the matter is plainly this: Virginity, voluntary poverty, and such other restraints of lawful things, are not necessary to Christian perfection; but are much to be commended in those who choose them as helps and means of a more safe and speedy arrival at it. It is only in this manner, and in this sense, that I would recommend any particularity of life; not as if perfection consisted in it, but because of its great tendency to produce and support the true spirit of Christian perfection. But the thing which is here pressed upon all, is a life of a great and strict devotion: which, I think, has been sufficiently shown to be equally the duty and happiness of all orders of men. Neither is there anything in any particular state of life, that can be justly pleaded as a reason for any abatements of a devout spirit.

But because in this polite age of ours, we have so lived away the spirit of devotion, that many seem afraid even to be suspected of it, imagining great devotion to be great bigotry: that it is founded in ignorance and poorness of spirit; and that little, weak, and dejected minds, are generally the greatest proficients in it: It shall here be fully shown, that great devotion is the noblest temper of the greatest and noblest souls; and that they who think it receives any advantage from ignorance and poorness of spirit, are themselves not a little, but entirely ignorant of the nature of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of themselves.

People of fine parts and learning, or of great knowledge in worldly matters, may perhaps think it hard to have their want of devotion charged upon their ignorance. But if they will be content to be tried by reason and Scripture, it may soon be made appear, that a want of devotion, wherever it is, either amongst the learned or unlearned, is founded in gross ignorance, and the greatest blindness and insensibility that can happen to a rational creature; and that devotion is so far from being the effect of a little and dejected mind, that it must and will be always highest in the most perfect natures. And first, who reckons it a sign of a poor, little mind, for a man to be full of reverence and duty to his parents, to have the truest love and honour for his friend, or to excel in the highest instances of gratitude to his benefactor? Are not these tempers in the highest degree, in the most exalted and perfect minds? And yet what is high devotion, but the highest exercise of these tempers, of duty, reverence, love, honour, and gratitude to the amiable, glorious Parent, Friend, and Benefactor of all mankind?

Is it a true greatness of mind, to reverence the authority of your parents, to fear the displeasure of your friend, to dread the reproaches of your benefactor? And must not this fear, and dread, and reverence, be much more just, and reasonable, and honourable, when they are in the highest degree towards God? Now as the higher these tempers are, the more are they esteemed amongst men, and are allowed to be so much the greater proofs of a true greatness of mind: so the higher and greater these same tempers are towards God, so much the more do they prove the nobility, excellence, and greatness of the mind. So that so long as duty to parents, love to friends, and gratitude to benefactors, are thought great and honourable tempers; devotion, which is nothing else but duty, love, and gratitude to God, must have the highest place amongst our highest virtues.

If a prince, out of his mere goodness, should send you a pardon by one of his slaves, would you think it a part of your duty to receive the slave with marks of love, esteem, and gratitude for his great kindness, in bringing you so great a gift: and at the same time think it a meanness and poorness of spirit, to show love, esteem, and gratitude to the prince, who, of his own goodness, freely sent you the pardon? And yet this would be as reasonable as to suppose that love, esteem, honour, and gratitude, are noble tempers, and instances of a great soul, when they are paid to our fellow-creatures; but the effects of a poor, ignorant, dejected mind, when they are paid to God. Farther; that part of devotion which expresses itself in sorrowful confessions, and penitential tears of a broken and a contrite heart, is very far from being any sign of a little and ignorant mind. For who does not acknowledge it an instance of an ingenuous, generous, and brave mind, to acknowledge a fault, and ask pardon for any offence? And are not the finest and most improved minds, the most remarkable for this excellent temper?

Is it not also allowed, that the ingenuity and excellence of a man's spirit is much shown, when his sorrow and indignation at himself rises in proportion to the folly of his crime, and the goodness and greatness of the person he has offended? Now if things are thus, then the greater any man's mind is, the more he knows of God and himself, the more will he be disposed to prostrate himself before God, in all the humblest acts and expressions of repentance. And the greater the ingenuity, the generosity, judgment, and penetration of his mind is, the more will he exercise and indulge a passionate, tender sense of God's just displeasure; and the more he knows of the greatness, the goodness, and perfection of the Divine nature, the fuller of shame and confusion will he be at his own sins and ingratitude. And on the other hand, the more dull and ignorant any soul is, the more base and ungenerous it naturally is, the more senseless it is of the goodness and purity of God; so much the more averse will it be to all acts of humble confession and repentance.

Devotion, therefore, is so far from being best suited to little ignorant minds, that a true elevation of soul, a lively sense of honour, and great knowledge of God and ourselves, are the greatest natural helps that our devotion hath. And on the other hand, it shall here be made appear by variety of arguments, that indevotion is founded on the most excessive ignorance. And first, our blessed Lord, and His Apostles, were eminent instances of great and frequent devotion. Now if we will grant (as all Christians must grant) that their great devotion was founded in a true knowledge of the nature of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of man; then it is plain, that all those that are insensible of the duty of devotion, are in this excessive state of ignorance, they neither know God, nor themselves, nor devotion. For if a right knowledge in these three respects produces great devotion, as in the case of our Saviour and His Apostles, then a neglect of devotion must be chargeable upon ignorance.

Again; how comes it that most people have recourse to devotion, when they are in sickness, distress, or fear of death? Is it not because this state shows them more of the want of God, and their own weakness, than they perceive at other times? Is it not because their infirmities, their approaching end, convince them of something, which they did not half perceive before? Now if devotion at these seasons is the effect of a better knowledge of God and ourselves, then the neglect of devotion, at other times, is always owing to great ignorance of God and ourselves. Farther; as indevotion is ignorance, so it is the most shameful ignorance, and such as is to be charged with the greatest folly. This will fully appear to any one that considers by what rules we are to judge of the excellency of any knowledge, or the shamefulness of any ignorance. Now knowledge itself would be no excellence, nor ignorance any reproach to us, but that we are rational creatures.

But if this be true, then it follows plainly, that that knowledge which is most suitable to our rational nature, and which most concerns us, as such, to know, is our highest, finest knowledge; and that ignorance which relates to things that are most essential to us as rational creatures, and which we are most concerned to know, is, of all others, the most gross and shameful ignorance. If therefore there be any things that concern us more than others, if there be any truths that are more to us than all others, he that has the fullest knowledge of these things, that sees these truths in the clearest, strongest light, has, of all others, as a rational creature, the clearest understanding, and the strongest parts. If therefore our relation to God be our greatest relation, if our advancement in His favour be our highest advancement, he that has the highest notions of the excellence of this relation, he that most strongly perceives the highest worth, and great value of holiness and virtue, that judges everything little, when compared with it, proves himself to be master of the best and most excellent knowledge.

If a judge has fine skill in painting, architecture, and music, but at the same time has gross and confused notions of equity, and a poor, dull apprehension of the value of justice, who would scruple to reckon him a poor ignorant judge? If a bishop should be a man of great address and skill in the arts of preferment, and understanding how to raise and enrich his family in the world, but should have no taste nor sense of the maxims and principles of the saints and fathers of the Church; if he did not conceive the holy nature and great obligations of his calling, and judge it better to be crucified to the world, than to live idly in pomp and splendour; who would scruple to charge such a bishop with want of understanding? If we do not judge and pronounce after this manner, our reason and judgment are but empty sounds.

But now, if a judge is to be reckoned ignorant, if he does not feel and perceive the value and worth of justice; if a bishop is to be looked upon as void of understanding, if he is more experienced in other things than in the exalted virtues of his apostolical calling; then all common Christians are to be looked upon as more or less knowing, accordingly as they know more or less of those great things which are the common and greatest concern of all Christians. If a gentleman should fancy that the moon is no bigger than it appears to the eye, that it shines with its own light, that all the stars are only so many spots of light; if, after reading books of astronomy, he should still continue in the same opinion, most people would think he had but a poor apprehension. But if the same person should think it better to provide for a short life here, than to prepare for a glorious eternity hereafter; that it was better to be rich, than to be eminent in piety, his ignorance and dulness would be too great to be compared to anything else. There is no knowledge that deserves so much as the name of it, but that which we call judgment.

And that is the most clear and improved understanding, which judges best of the value and worth of things. All the rest is but the capacity of an animal, it is but mere seeing and hearing. And there is no excellence of any knowledge in us, till we exercise our judgment, and judge well of the value and worth of things. If a man had eyes that could see beyond the stars, or pierce into the heart of the earth, but could not see the things that were before him, or discern anything that was serviceable to him, we should reckon that he had but a very bad sight. If another had ears that received sounds from the world in the moon, but could hear nothing that was said or done upon earth, we should look upon him to be as bad as deaf.

In like manner, if a man has a memory that can retain a great many things; if he has a wit that is sharp and acute in arts and sciences, or an imagination that can wander agreeably in fictions, but has a dull, poor apprehension of his duty and relation to God, of the value of piety, or the worth of moral virtue, he may very justly be reckoned to have a bad understanding. He is but like the man, that can only see and hear such things as are of no benefit to him. As certain therefore as piety, virtue, and eternal happiness are of the most concern to man; as certain as the immortality of our nature and relation to God, are the most glorious circumstances of our nature; so certain is it, that he who dwells most in contemplation of them, whose heart is most affected with them, who sees farthest into them, who best comprehends the value and excellency of them, who judges all worldly attainments to be mere bubbles and shadows in comparison of them, proves himself to have, of all others, the finest understanding, and the strongest judgment.

And if we do not reason after this manner, or allow this method of reasoning, we have no arguments to prove that there is any such thing as a wise man, or a fool. For a man is proved to be a natural, not because he wants any of his senses, or is incapable of everything, but because he has no judgment, and is entirely ignorant of the worth and value of things. He will perhaps choose a fine coat rather than a large estate. And as the essence of stupidity consists in the entire want of judgment, in an ignorance of the value of things, so, on the other hand, the essence of wisdom and knowledge must consist in the excellency of our judgment, or in the knowledge of the worth and value of things. This therefore is an undeniable proof, that he who knows most of the value of the best things, who judges most rightly of the things which are of most concern to him, who had rather have his soul in a state of Christian perfection, than the greatest share of worldly happiness, has the highest wisdom, and is at the farthest distance from men that are naturals, that any knowledge can place him.