find the distempers of our spirits are mostly from these bodies we are so in love with, either as the proper springs or as the occasion of them? From what cause is our drowsy sloth, our eager passions, our aversion to spiritual objects, but from this impure flesh; or what else is the subject about which our vexatious cares, or torturing fears, our bitter griefs, are taken up day by day? selves too, as that we may be most ungrateful to him, and most incapable of converse with him? How doth this love of a perishing life and of a little animated clay stop all the effusions of the love of God, suspend its sweet and pleasant fruits, which should be always exerting themselves towards him! Where is their love, obedience, joy, and praise, who are through, the fear of death And why do we not consider, that 'tis only our love to it all their lives subject to bondage, and kept under a conthat gives strength and vigour to the most of our tempta- tinual dismal expectation of an unavoidable dissolution? tions, as wherein it is most immediately concerned, and But must the great God lose his due acknowledgments which makes them so often victorious, and thence to be- because we will not understand wherein he deals well with come our after-afflictions? He that hath learned to mortify us? Is his mercy therefore no mercy? As we cannot the inordinate love of the body, will he make it the business nullify his truth by our unbelief, so nor his goodness by of his life to purvey for it? Will he offer violence to his our disesteem. But yet consider, doth it not better become own soul, to secure it from violence? Will he comply with thee to be grateful than repine that God will one day unmen's lusts and humours for its advantage and accommo- bind thy soul and set thee free, knock off thy fetters and dation; or yield himself to the tyranny of his own avarice deliver thee out of the house of thy bondage; couldst thou for its future, or of his more sensual lusts for its present, upon deliberate thoughts judge it tolerable, should he doom content? Will it not rather be pleasing to him, that his thee to this earth for ever? He hath however judged otheroutward man be exposed to perish, while his inward man wise, (as the pagan emperor and philosopher excellently is renewed day by day? He to whom the thoughts are speaks,') who is the author both of the first composition of grateful of laying it down, will not (though he neglect not thy present being and now of the dissolution of it; thou duty towards it) spend his days in its continual service, wert the cause of neither, therefore depart and be thankful, and make his soul a hell by a continual provision for the for he that dismisseth thee dealeth kindly with thee. If yet flesh and the lusts of it. That is cruel love that shall en-thou understandest it not, yet remember, it is thy Father slave a man, and subject him to so vile and ignoble a ser- that disposes thus of thee. How unworthy is it to disvitude. And it discovers a sordid temper to be so imposed trust his love; what child would be afraid to compose itupon. How low are our spirits sunk, that we disdain not self to sleep in the parent's bosom? It expresses nothing so base a vassalage! God and nature hath obliged us to of the duty and ingenuity, but much of the frowardness live in bodies for a time, but they have not obliged us to and folly, of a child: they sometimes cry vehemently in measure ourselves by them, to confine our desires and de- the undressing; but should their cries be regarded by the signs to their compass, to look no further than their con- most indulgent parent? or are they fit to be imitated by us? cernments, to entertain no previous joys in the hope of We have no excuse for this our frowardness. The being one day delivered from them. No such hard law is blessed God hath told us his gracious purposes concerning laid upon us. But how apt are we to become herein aus, and we are capable of understanding him. What if most oppressive law to curselves; and not only to lodge he had totally hidden from us our future state? and that in filthy earthen cottages, but to love them and confine we knew nothing, but of going into an eternal, silent darkourselves to them, loth so much as to peep out. 'Tis the ness? the authority of a Creator ought to have awed us apt expression of a philosopher, upbraiding that base, into a silent submission. But when we are told of such low temper, The degenerous soul, (saith he,) buried in the a glory, that 'tis but drawing aside the fleshly veil and we body, is as a slothful creeping thing, that loves its hole and presently behold it, methinks the blessed hour should be is loth to come forth. expected not with patience only, but with ravishing joy. Did we hear of a country in this world, where we might live in continual felicity, without toil, or sickness, or grief, or fear, who would not wish to be there, though the pas sage were troublesome? Have we not heard enough of heaven to allure us thither? Or is the eternal truth of suspected credit with us? Are God's own reports of the future glory unworthy our belief or regard? How many, upon the credit of his word, are gone already triumphantly into glory! that only by seeing the promises afar off, were persuaded of them, and embraced them; and never after owned themselves under any other notion than of pilgrims on earth, longing to be at home in their most desirable, heavenly country. We are not the first that are to open heaven; the main body of saints is already there; 'tis, in comparison of their number, but a scattering remnant that are now alive upon the earth. How should we long to be associated to that glorious assembly! Methinks we should much more regret our being left behind. n And methinks, if we have no love for our better and more noble self, we should not be altogether unapprehensive of an obligation upon us, to express a dutiful love to the Author of our beings. Doth it consist with the love we owe to him, to desire always to lurk in the dark, and never come into his blessed presence? Is that our love, that we never care to come nigh him? Do we not know, that while we are present in the body, we are absent from the Lord? Should we not therefore be willing rather to be present with the Lord, and absent from the body? Should we not put on a confidence, a holy fortitude, (as 'tis there expressed, we are confident, or of good courage, and thence, willing, &c.) that might carry us through the grave to him. As is the brave speech of that last-mentioned philosopher, God will call thee ere long, expect his call. P Old age will come upon thee, and show thee the way thither; and death, which he that is possessed with a base fear, laments and dreads as it draws on, but he that is a lover of God expects it with joy, and with courage meets it when it comes. Is our love to God so faint and weak, that it dares not encounter death, nor venture upon the imaginary terrors of the grave, to go to him? How unsuitable is this to the character which is given of a saint's love! And how expressly are we told, that he who loves his life better than Christ, or that even hates it not for his sake, (as certainly he cannot be said to do, that is not willing to part with it to enjoy him,) cannot be his disciple! If our love to God be not supreme 'tis none, or not such as can denominate us lovers of him; and will we pretend to be so, when we love a putrid flesh and this base earth better than him? And have we not professedly, as a fruit of our avowed love to him, surrendered ourselves? Are we not his devoted ones? Will we be his, and yet our own? or pretend ourselves dedicated to his holy pleasure, and will yet be at our own dispose, and so dispose of our- Η δε δειλη ψυχη κατορωρυγμένη εν σώματι, ως ερπετον νωθες εις φωλεον, φίλει τον φωλεον, &c. Max. Τyr. Diss. 41. o 2 Cor. v. 6 8. - Δειλος οδύρεται, &c. Item. Diss. 1. But if we should desire still to be so, why may not all others as well as we, and as much expect to be gratified as we? And then we should agree in desiring, that our Redeemer's triumph might be deferred, that his body might yet remain incomplete, that he might still be debarred of the long expected fruit of the travail of his soul, that the name of God might be still subjected to the blasphemy and reproach of an atheistical world, who have all along said with derision, Where is the promise of his coming? Would we have all his designs to be still unfinished, and so mighty wheels stand still for us, while we sport ourselves in the dust of the earth, and indulge our sensual inclination, which sure this bold desire must argue to be very predominant in us; and take heed it argue not its habitual prevalency. At least, if it discover not our present sensuality, it discovers our former sloth and idleness. It may be, we may excuse our averseness to die by our unpre paredness, i. e. one fault with another; though that be besides the case I am speaking of. What then have we Deen doing all this while? What! were the affairs of thy soul not thought of till now? Take then thy reproof from a heathen, that it may convince thee the more: "No one (saith he) divides away his money from himself, but yet men divide away their very life.-But doth it not shame thee (he after adds) to reserve only the relics of thy life to thyself, and to devote that time only to a good mind which thou canst employ upon no other thing; How late is it to begin to live when we should make an end; and defer all good thoughts to such an age as possibly few do ever reach to. The truth is (as he speaks) we have not little time, but we lose much, we have time enough were it well employed, therefore we cannot say we receive a short life, but we make it so, we are not indigent of time, but prodigal: what a pretty contradiction is it to complain of the shortness of time, and yet do what we can to precipitate its course; to hasten it by that we call pastime If it have been so with thee, art thou to be trusted with more time?" But as thy case is, I cannot wonder that the thoughts of death be most unwelcome to thee; who art thou that thou shouldst desire the day of the Lord? I can only say to thee, hasten thy preparation, have recourse to rule second, and third, and accordingly guide thyself till thou find thy spirit made more suitable to this blessedness; that it become savoury and grateful to thy soul, and thy heart be set upon it. Hence thou mayst be reconciled to the grave, and the thoughts of death may cease to be a terror to thee. with one might fill a volume,) purposely to shame the y One writing the life of that rare person Plotinus, says, That he seemed as if he were in some sort ashamed that he was in the body; which, (however it would less become a Christian, yet,) in one that knew nothing of an incarnate Redeemer, it discovered a refined, noble spirit. The same person speaks almost the language of the apostle, concerning his being wrapt up into the third heaven, and tells of such an alienation of the soul from the body: "That when once it finds God (whom he had before been speaking of under the name of the ro kakov, or the beauty) shining in upon it, it now no longer feels its body, or takes notice of its being in the body, but even forgets its own being, that it is a man, or a living creature, or any thing else whatsoever, for it is not at leisure to mind any thing else, nor doth it desire to be: yea, and having sought him out, he immediately meets it presenting itself to him. It only views him instead of itself,-and would not now change its state for any thing, not if one could give it the whole heaven in exchange." "And elsewhere discussing, whether life in the body be good and desirable, yea or no, he concludes it to be good, not as it is a union of the soul and body, but as it may have that virtue annexed to it, by which what is really evil may be kept off. But yet, that death is a greater good: that life in the body is in itself evil; but the soul is by virtue stated in goodness; not as enlivening the body with which it is compounded, but as it severs and sejoins itself from it; meaning so, as to have as little communion as possibly it can with it." To which purpose is the expression of another: "Th t the soul of a happy man so collects and gathers up itself out from the body while it is yet contained in it;—and that it was possessed of that fortitude, as not to dread its departure from it." And when thou art attained so far, consider thy great advantage in being willing and desirous to die upon this further account, That thy desire shall now be pitched upon a thing so certain. Thine other desires have met with many a disappointment. Thou hast set thy heart upon other things, and they have deceived thy most earnest, thirsty expectations. Death will not do so. Thou wilt now have one certain hope; one thing in reference whereto thou mayst say, "I am sure." Wait awhile, this peaceful sleep will shortly seize thy body and awaken thy soul. It will calmly period all thy troubles, and bring thee to a blessed rest. But now, if only the mere terror and gloominess of dying trouble thy thoughts, this of all other seems the most inconsiderable pretence against a willing surrender of ourselves to death. Reason hath overcome it, natural courage, yea, some men's atheism; shall not faith? Are we not ashamed to consider, what confidence and desire of death some heathens have expressed? Some that have had no pre-apprehension or belief of another state, (though there were very few of them,) and so no hope of a consequent blessedness to relieve them, have yet thought it unreasonable to disgust the thoughts of death. What wouldst thou think if thou hadst nothing but the sophisms of such to oppose to all thy dismal thoughts? I have met with one "arguing thus, "Death, which is accounted the most dreadful of all evils, is nothing to us, (saith he,) because while we are in being death is not yet present, and when death is present we are not in being; so that it neither concerns us, as living, nor dead; for while we are alive, it hath not touched us, when we are dead we are not. Moreover (saith be) the exquisite knowledge of this, that death belongs not to us, makes us enjoy this mortal life with comfort; not by adding any thing to our uncertain time, but by taking away the desire of immortality." Shall they comfort themselves upon so wretched a ground, with a little sophistry, and the hope of extinguishing all desire I shall add another, (of a not much unlike strain and of immortality; and shall not we, by cherishing this bless-rank, as either being not an open, or no constant friend to ed hope of enjoying shortly an immortal glory? Christianity,) that discoursing who is the heir of divine Others of them have spoken magnificently of a certain things, saith, "He cannot be, who is in love with this anicontempt of this bodily life, and a not only not fearing mal, sensitive life; but only that purest mind that is inbut desiring to die, upon a fixed apprehension of the dis-spired from above, that partakes of a heavenly and divine tinct and purer and immortal nature of the soul, and the portion, that only despises the body," &c. with much more preconceived hope of a consequent felicity. I shall set of like import. down some of their words, added to what have been occasionally mentioned, (amongst that plentiful variety where Another gives this character of a good man: "That as he lived in simplicity, tranquillity, purity, not being of fended at any that they believed him not to live so; he also comes to the end of his life, pure, quiet, and easy to be dissolved, disposing himself without any constraint to his lot." Another is brought in speaking thus: "If God should grant me to become a child again, to send forth my renewed infant cries from my cradle, and having even run out my race, to begin it again, I should most earnestly refuse it; for what profit hath this life? and how much toil! Yet I do not repent that I have lived, because I hope that I have not lived in vain. And now I go out of this life, not as out of my dwelling-house, but my inn. O blessed day! when I shall enter into that council and assembly of souls, and depart from this rude and disorderly rout and crew," &c. Yea, so have some been transported with the desire of immortality, that (being wholly ignorant of the sin of self him, would fain have men reckon to have been a Christian, because he writes much against the pseudo-Christian gnostics, nothing against Christianity, yet it appears not he ever made profession of it. Ennead. L. lib. 7. z Marin. Proclus. a Euλuros. M. Aur. Ant. b Cato in Cicerone de Senect e Philo Judeus. murder) they could not forbear doing violence on them- soever difficulties of life or death to attain it. Do not selves. Among the Indians,d two thousand years ago, think that Christ came into the world and died to procure were a sort of wise men, as they were called, that held it the pardon of your sins, and so translate you to heaven a reproach to die of age, or a disease, and were wont to while your hearts should still remain cleaving to the earth. burn themselves alive, thinking the flames were polluted He came and returned to prepare a way for you; and then if they came amidst them dead. The story of Cleom- call, not drag you thither: that by his precepts, and probrotus is famous, who hearing Plato discourse of the im-mises, and example, and Spirit, he might form and fashion mortality of the soul, by the sea-side, leaped from him into your souls to that glorious state; and make you willing to the sea, that he might presently be in that state. And 'tis abandon all things for it. And lo! now the God of all storied, that Nero refused to put Apollonius to death, grace is calling you by Jesus Christ unto his eternal though he were very much incensed against him, only glory. Direct then your eyes and hearts to that mark, the upon the apprehensions he had that he was very desirous prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. 'Tis to die, because he would not so far gratify him. ignominious, by the common suffrage of the civilized world, not to intend the proper business of our calling. 'Tis your calling to forsake this world and mind the other; make haste then to quit yourselves of your entanglements, of all earthly dispositions and affections. Learn to live in this world as those that are not of it, that expect every day, and wish to leave it, whose hearts are gone already. 'Tis dreadful to die with pain and regret; to be forced out of the body; to die a violent death, and go away with an unwilling reluctant heart. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness. Fain he would stay longer, but cannot. He hath not power over the spirit, to retain the spirit, nor hath he power in death. He must away whether he will or no. And indeed much against his will. So it cannot but be, where there is not a previous knowledge and love of a better state, where the soul understands it not, and is not effectually attempered and framed to it. I only make this improvement of all this-Christian principles and rules do neither hurry nor misguide men, but the end (as we have it revealed) should much more powerfully and constantly attract us. Nothing is more unsuitable to Christianity our way, nor to that blessedness the end of it, than a terrene spirit. They have nothing of the true light and impress of the gospel now, nor are they ever like to attain the vision of the blessed face of God, and the impress of his likeness hereafter, that desire it not above all things, and are not willing to quit all things else for it. And is it not a just exprobation of our earthliness and carnality, if mere philosophers and pagans should give better proof than we of a spirit erected above the world, and alienated from what is temporary and terrene? Shall their Gentilism outvie our Christianity? Methinks a generous indignation of this reproach should inflame our souls, and contribute somewhat to the refining of them to a better and more spiritual temper. Now, therefore, O all you that name yourselves by that worthy name of Christians, that profess the religion taught by him that was not of the earth, earthly, but the Lord from heaven; you that are partakers of the heavenly calling, consider the great Apostle and High Priest of your profession, who only took our flesh that we might partake of his Spirit, bore our earthly, that we might bear his heavenly image, descended that he might cause us to ascend. Seriously bethink yourselves of the scope and end of his apostleship and priesthood. He was sent out from God to invite and conduct you to him, to bring you into the communion of his glory and blessedness. He came upon a message and treaty of peace: to discover his Father's love and win yours: to let you know how kind thoughts the God of love had conceived to you-wards; and that, however you had hated him without cause, and were bent to do so without end, he was not so affected towards you to settle a friendship, and to admit you to the participation of his glory. Yea, he came to give an instance, and exemplify to the world, in his own person, how much of heaven he could make to dwell in mortal flesh; how possible he could render it to live in this world as unrelated to it; how gloriously the divine life could triumph over all the infirmities of frail humanity. And so leave men a certain proof and pledge to what perfections human nature should be improved by his grace and Spirit, in all them that should resign themselves to his conduct, and follow his steps; that heaven and earth were not so far asunder but he knew how to settle a commerce and intercourse between them; that a heavenly life was possible to be transacted here, and certain to be gloriously rewarded and perfected hereafter. And having testified these things, he seals the testimony, and opens the way for the accomplishment of all by his death. Your heavenly Apostle becomes a Priest and a Sacrifice at once; that no doubt might remain among men of his sincerity, in what, even dying, he ceased not to profess and avow. And that by his own propitiatory blood a mutual reconciliation might be wrought between God and you; that your hearts might be won to him, and possessed with an ingenuous shame of your ever having been his enemies. And that his displeasure might ever cease towards you, and be turned into everlasting friendship and love: that eternal redemption being obtained, heaven might be opened to you, and you finally be received to the glory of God; your hearts being bent thitherward, and made willing to run through what Ó get then the lovely image of the future glory into your minds. Keep it ever before your eyes. Make it familiar to your thoughts. Imprint daily there these words, I shall behold thy face, I shall be satisfied with thy likeness. And see that your souls be enriched with that righteousness, have inwrought into them that holy rectitude, that may dispose them to that blessed state. Then will you die with your own consent, and go away, not driven, but allured and drawn. You will go, as the redeemed of the Lord, with everlasting joy upon their heads; as those that know whither you go, even to a state infinitely worthy of your desires and choice, and where 'tis best for you to be. You will part with your souls, not by a forcible separation, but by a joyful surrender and resignation. They will dislodge from this earthly tabernacle, rather as putting it off than having it rent and torn away. Loosen yourselves from this body by degrees, as we do any thing we would remove from a place where it sticks fast. Gather up your spirits into themselves. Teach them to look upon themselves as a distinct thing. Inure them to the thoughts of a dissolution. Be continually as taking leave. Cross and disprove a common maxim, and let your hearts, which they use to say are wont to die last, die first. Prevent death, and be mortified towards every earthly thing beforehand, that death may have nothing to kill but your body; and that you may not die a double death in one hour, and suffer the death of your body and of your love to it both at once. Much less that this should survive to your greater, and even incurable, misery. Shake off your bands and fetters, the terrene affections that so closely confine you to the house of your bondage. And lift up your heads in expectation of the approaching jubilee, the day of your redemption; when you are to go out free, and enter into the glorious liberty of the sons of God; when you shall serve, and groan, and complain no longer. Let it be your continual song, and the matter of your daily praise, that the time of your happy deliverance is hastening on; that ere long you shall be absent from the body, and present with the Lord. That he hath not doomed you to an everlasting imprisonment within those close and clayey walls, wherein you have been so long shut up from the beholding of his sight and glory. In the thoughts of this, while the outward man is sensibly perishing, let the inward revive and be renewed day by day. "What prisoner would be sorry to see the walls of his prison-house (so a heathen speaks) mouldering down, and the hopes arriving to him of being delivered out of that darkness that had buried him, of recovering his liberty, and enjoying the free air and light. What cham g Max. Tyr Dissert. 41. pion inured to hardship, would stick to throw off rotten | change thy filthy garments for those of salvation and praise. rags, and rather expose a naked, placid, free body, to naked, placid, free air? The truly generous soul (so he a little above) never leaves the body against its will." Rejoice that it is the gracious pleasure of thy good God, thou shalt not always inhabit a dungeon, nor lie amidst so impure and disconsolate darkness; that he will shortly ex The end approaches. As you turn over these leaves, so are your days turned over. And as you are now arrived to the end of this book, God will shortly write finis to the book of your life on earth, and show you your names written in heaven, in the book of that life which shall never end. THE VANITY OF THIS MORTAL LIFE; OR, OF MAN, CONSIDERED IN HIS PRESENT MORTAL STATE. TO THE DESERVEDLY HONOURED JOHN UPTON, OF LUPTON, ESQ. WITH THE MANY SURVIVING BRANCHES THAT FORMERLY SPRUNG OUT OF THAT RELIGIOUS FAMILY, AND THE WORTHY CONSORTS OF ANY OF THEM. SINCE it is the lot of the following pages to be exposed to public view, there is somewhat of justice in it, to yourselves or me, that the world do also know wherein divers of you have contributed thereto; that if any thing redound hence to public advantage, it may be understood to be owing in part to you; or if it shall be reckoned a useless trouble, in this way to represent things so obvious to common notice, and whereof so much is already said, all the blame to the publication be not imputed (as it doth not belong) to me only. But I must here crave your excuse, that, on this account, I give you a narrative of what (for the most part) you already know, and may possibly not delight to remember; both because it is now become convenient that others should know it too, and not necessary to be put into a distinct preface; and because to yourselves the review of those less pleasing passages may be attended with a fruit which may be some recompense for their want of pleasure. Therefore give the reader leave to take notice, and let it not be grievous to you that I remind you, that after this Jar near relation* (whose death gave the occasion of the ensuing meditations) had from his youth lived between twenty and thirty years of his age in Spain, your joint importunity had at length obtained from him a promise of returning; whereof, when you were in somewhat a near expectation, a sudden disease in so few days landed him in another world, that the first notice you had of his death or sickness, was by the arrival of that vessel (clad in mourning attire) which, according to his own desire in his sickness, brought over the deserted body to its native place of Lupton; that thence it might find a grave, where it first received a soul; and obtain a mansion in the earth, where first it became one to a reasonable spirit. A little before this time, the desire of an interview among yourselves (which the distance of your habitations permitted not to be frequent) had induced divers of you to appoint a meeting at some middle place, whereby the trouble of a long journey might be conveniently shared among you. But, before that agreed resolution could have its accomplishment, this sad and most unexpected event intervening, altered the place, the occasion, and design of your meeting; but effected the thing itself, and brought together no less than twenty, the brothers and sisters of the deceased, or their consorts, besides his many nephews and nieces and other relations, to the mournful solemnity of the interment. Within the time of our being together upon this sad account, this passage of the Psalmist here insisted on, came into discourse among us; being introduced by an occasion, which (though then, it may be unknown to the most of you) was somewhat rare, and not unworthy observation; viz. that one of yourselves having been some time before surprised with an unusual sadness, joined with an expectation of ill tidings, upon no known cause, had so urgent an inculcation of these words, as not to be able to forbear the revolving them much of the former part of that day, in the latter part whereof the first notice was brought to that place of this so near a relation's decease. Certain months after, some of you with whom I was then conversant in London, importuned me to have somewhat from me in writing upon that subject. Whereto I at length agreed, with a cautionary request, that it might not come into many hands, but might remain (as the occasion was) among yourselves. Nor will I deny it to have been some inducement to me to apply my thoughts to that theme, that it had been so suggested as was said. For such presages and abodings, as that above mentioned, may reasonably be thought to owe themselves to some more steady and universal principle than casualty or the party's own imagination: by whose more noble recommendation (that such a gloomy premonition might carry with it not what should only afflict, but also instruct and teach) this subject did seem offered to our meditation. Accordingly, therefore, after my return to the place of my abode, I hastily drew up the substance of the following discourse; which, a year ago, I transmitted into their hands who desired it from me, without reserving to myself any copy. Hereby it became difficult to me presently to comply (besides divers considerations I might have against the thing itself) with that joint request of some of you, (in a letter, which my removal into another kingdom occasioned to come long after to my hands,) that I would consent these papers might be made public. For as I have reason to be conscious to myself of disadvantages enough to discourage any undertaking of that kind; so I am more * Mr. Anthony Upton, the son of John Upton, of Lupton, Esq. |