greater thing to make a king, than to be one, he hath attained a higher degree, above being, himself, one single preacher, in doing that whereby now, and in future time, he may contribute to the making of many. ought not to be neglected, or be let slide off the stage from | preachers. And, as it hath been sometime thought a among us, without some such observation, as may some way answer a debt owing to his memory; and be a real gain and advantage to ourselves. He began his course, favoured by the Author of nature, with very good natural parts; and very early enriched with communications of the more excellent kind, by the God of all grace. Herewith, having his spirit seasoned, and deeply tinctured betimes, the fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom, became, near the beginning of his course, the governing principle thereof. His choice was, therefore, of that way and state, wherein he, in the general, conceived he might most glorify God, and do most good to men. And because, he thought, he might serve those ends best, in that high and noble employment, wherein he should be obliged principally, and most directly, to intend the saving of men's souls, thither he more immediately bent and directed his preparatory endeavours. And, therefore, though in his academical studies, wherein he spent several years, he neglected no part of that rational learning, which was most fitly conducing and serviceable to this his purpose; yet he most earnestly applied himself to the gaining a thorough acquaintance with those languages, wherein the Holy Scriptures were originally written; and spared no cost to procure great variety of the best and most celebrated editions of both the testaments, with other helps, for the attaining of that most necessary knowledge; whereof his library, so richly furnished in that kind, did appear, after his decease, a full evidence; to the bettering of divers other libraries, of such as he had formerly been wont to hear, and among them, as I must with gratitude acknowledge, by his special kindness and bequest, my own. Accordingly this had been his calling, if the way of managing it could as much have been the matter of his choice, guided by his judgment and conscience, as the calling itself had been. But things falling out, in this respect, otherwise, before he could solemnly enter upon it; he seasonably diverted from it, to that which he judged the next best; and wherein the persons of men were still to be the objects of his care. Things of higher excellency than lands and riches; as life and the body are, by the verdict of our Saviour, of more worth than their perquisites, food and raiment, unto which, ample estates and revenues are but more remotely subservient. And the vicinity of this to that other most excellent calling, is so near, that it is an easy step from it to the affairs of the other. Which we see exemplified in that excellent person, a dear and most worthy relative of the deceased; unto whose historical account of him, subjoined to this discourse, I refer the reader for fuller information: whose most useful and elaborate works may not only occasion us to consider theology as every one's business, or the calling of a divine as in some respect transcendental, and running through every man's calling; but that of a physician, as more nearly allied to it than any other; many excellent speculations being common, and, as those works show, of great importance, to both. And in which performance that accurate writer doth not, indeed, preach to the vulgar, but instructs a Dr. Grew. These are some instances, and blessed be God, 'tis to be hoped there are others, which show, that Religio Medici is not always opprobrious, or a note of ignominy and reproach; and that a beloved physician, on the best account, was not appropriate to the first age. That calling gives very great opportunity to a man of a serious spirit, of doing good to men's souls; and I know, it hath been improved by some, to discourse, and to pray with their dying patients; and when their art could not immortalize their bodies, they did all that in them lay for the saving their immortal souls. And this, I have reason to think, was a great part of the practice of this worthy man. In the proper business of this calling, he sincerely studied the good of mankind; endeavouring to his utmost, to lengthen out their time in this world, in order to their further preparation for the other. And herein his skill was not unequal to his sincerity; nor his charity to his skill: for being applied to, upon no former acquaintance, when the cases of extreme illness and extreme poverty have met together, he hath most cheerfully embraced the opportunity of doing such good; declaring, he was ready as well to serve the poor, when he was to receive nothing, as the rich, from whom he might expect the largest fees: his visits have been there repeated with equal constancy and diligence. He equally rejoiced in the success of such endeavours, whereof he had no other recompense, than the satisfaction of having relieved the distressed and the miserable. And of such, some do survive him, to whom the remembrance of his name is still grateful and dear. Nor were the great advantages lost, which he had gained, for the instructing a congregation, (had the state of things and his judgment concurred thereto,) for they eminently appeared to such as had the privilege of living under his roof, and of partaking in the instructions which his great acquaintance with the Holy Scriptures enabled him to give them from time to time: which, together with his daily fervent prayers, and holy conversation, made his family as a well ordered and a watered garden, compared with the howling wilderness of too many others. But in all my conversation with him, nothing was more observable, or more grateful to me, than his pleasant and patient expectation of the blessed state, which he now possesses. The mention whereof would make joy sparkle in his eye, and clothe his countenance with cheerful looks; accompanied with such tokens of serenity, and a composed temper of mind, as showed and signified submission, with an unreluctant willingness to wait for that time, which the wisdom and goodness of God should judge seasonable for his removal out of a world, which he loved not; nor yet could disaffect from any sense of its unkindness to him, but only from the prospect he had of a better. Which made me think him a fit example of what is treated of in the foregoing discourse. THE WORTHY DOCTOR GREW'S ACCOUNT OF THIS HIS EXCELLENT BROTHER-IN-LAW. DOCTOR Henry Sampson was the son and heir of a religious gentleman, Mr. William Sampson of South-Leverton, in Nottinghamshire; and nephew to those two eminent linguists, Mr. John and Mr. Samuel Vicars, the joint authors of the Decapla on the Psalms. In his minority, he was first under the government of his most virtuous mother. Upon her re-marriage of his father-in-law, the very reverend Doctor Obadiah Grew of Coventry; by whom he was committed, at the age of fifteen, to the tutorage of Mr. William Moses, then fellow, and some time after the learned and worthy master, of Pembroke Hall, in Cambridge. Under whom, his proficiency was such, as preferred him to be the moderator of his year. So soon as he was of sufficient standing, he was chosen fellow of the same Hall. And, not long after, had one of the best livings in the gift of the college bestowed upon him, viz. that of Framlingham in Suffolk. Here he was, when he published that correct edition of the learned Thesis of Mr. Thomas Parker, entitled, Methodus Divinæ Gratiæ, &c. a golden book, with a golden epistle of his own prefixed to it; both of them having a great deal of weight in a little room. While he continued here, he made several visits to Coventry, where he often preached for the Doctor, his father-in-law, with great acceptation, as well as among his own people. In both which places his name is as a precious ointment, and his memory had in honour unto this day. Upon the restoration of King Charles, being obliged to leave his people, he resolved, as well because he was never clained, as for me other reasons, to qualify him self for the practice of physic. In order whereunto, having visited several universities, famous for medicine abroad, he stayed first at Padua, and then at Leyden, for some time. In the latter of which he became very well acquainted with that eminent person, the Lord Chief Justice St. John, who bore a singular respect to him, as long as he lived. Having here taken his degree, he returned home and settled in this city. Where also, for order's sake, he entered himself of the College of Physicians, as an honorary fellow. Among the members whereof, he justly obtained the repute of being substantially learned in all the parts of his profession. Besides other improvements he aimed at, he laid up a considerable treasure of observations made of diseased bodies, dissected with his own hand. Nor did he lose any of his spare hours; as appears by many historical papers relating to theology, left behind him. All which, though they have been long suppressed, partly through his own great modesty, and partly the infirmities of his latter years, which permitted him to finish but few, if any, of them; yet it is hoped, that some of both kinds may ere long see the light. His reading and speculation were ever in order unto action. By which means, as he became, under all relations, in every station of his life, desirable and exemplary unto others; so he enjoyed the happiness of continual peace within. And as he lived, he died; his last hours being very composed, and concluding with that iv0avaría, euthanasia, for which he had often prayed. A DISCOURSE CONCERNING THE REDEEMER'S DOMINION OVER THE INVISIBLE WORLD, AND THE ENTRANCE THEREINTO BY DEATH. SOME PART WHEREOF WAS PREACHED ON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF JOHN HOGHTON, ESQ. TO THE MOST DESERVEDLY HONOURED AND TRULY HONOURABLE SIR CHARLES AND THE LADY MARY HOGHTON, OF HOGHTON TOWER. Grace, mercy, and peace, &c. You will, I know, count it no indecency, that, when God hath so nearly, many years ago, joined you in relation, in affection, and now so lately, in the affliction equally common to you both, I do also join your names on the same paper, and make this solemn address to you together. It is by the inestimable favour of Heaven, that the mutual interest God hath given you in each other, as it obligeth, doth also (as I have great reason to hope) effectually dispose and enable you so not only to partake in the comforts, but in the sorrows, that are common to you both, as that the former shall be greatly increased, and the latter proportionably allayed and mitigated, thereby. Thus is the advantage of your conjugal state both represented in God's designation, and apprehended in your own experience. And you are to consider the blessing of God herein as having a peculiarity in it, not being extended to all so related, neither to all that were great in this world, nor to all that were pious and good. Great worldly felicity hath been rendered insipid and spiritless, great calamities much the more bitter, by the want of a meet mutual helpfulness between such relations. A great and a good man,* in his time, a prince, as he is thought to have been, in his country; "a man that was perfect and upright, one that feared God, and eschewed evil;" when he lost not one, not the eldest only, of his numerous offspring, (as you have,) but all at once, seven sons and three daughters, with such concomitant circumstances of aecumulated afflictions, as, blessed be God, are not in your case; and might now expect some relief from his other self, the nearest and most inward companion of his life, and partaker of his joys and sorrows; all the succour he had from her, was an impious endeavour to provoke and irritate his spirit; that taunting scoff, "Dost thou still retain thy integrity?" and that horrid advice, "Curse God and die." Whereas that rational, religious, soul-composing thought, "Shall we receive good things at the hand of God, and not also evil things?" was deeply fixed in the mind of the one. how much more effectually relieving had it been, if it had circulated between both the relatives; and they had alternately propounded and enlarged upon it to one another! With you, I cannot doubt, it hath been so; and that you have made it your business to improve your mutual interest, not to aggravate, but to alleviate your affliction each to other. You have both of you great occasion and obligation to revolve and recount to each other the many good things you have received at the hand of God, to mitigate what there is of evil in this dispensation. Both of you have sprung of religious and honourable families, favoured of God, valued and beloved in the countries where he had planted them. They have been both seats of religion, and of the worship of God: the resorts of his serants: houses of mercy to the indigent, of justice to the vicious, of patronage to the sober and virtuous, of good example to all about them. You were both dedicated to God early, and he gave early testimony of his accepting the dedication. He began with you both betimes, blessing your education, and owning you for his, by disposing and forming your spirits to own betin es the God of your fathers. He hath blessed you indeed, adding the spiritual blessings in heavenly things to your many earthly comforts. Which Jabez might mean, not content with a common blessing; and the more probably, from the acceptance he found, 1 Chron. iv. 9, 10. God granted his request, as Solomon's, when his request was as little vulgar, 1 Kings iii. 10. You both concurred in the dedication of this your son, as in the rest of yours; and I doubt not with great seriousness, you covenanted with God in Christ, to be his God. And if he enabled you to be in good earnest herein, even that was of special grace and favour, and ought to come into the account of the many good things you have received of God's hand; as offering to God willingly did in the estimate of David, when the oblation was of a meaner kind, 1 Chron. xxix. 14. But then you ought to consider, what the import and meaning was of that your covenant, wherein you accepted God in Christ to be the God of your son; and dedicated him to God through Christ to be his. Was it not absolute, and * Job i. 1. without limitation, that God should be a God to him entirely and without reserve, and that he should be his absolutely, and be disposed of by him at his pleasure? Otherwise, there was a repugnancy and contradiction in the very terms of your covenant. To be a God to him! Is not God the name of a Being incapable of limitation? Doth it not signify infinite, unlimited power and goodness? To be a God to any one, therefore, under restriction, is to be a God to him, and no God. And so to covenant with God, can neither have sincerity in it, nor good sense. He can be under no restraint in the exercises of his power and goodness towards any to whom he vouchsafes to be their God in covenant; but what he is pleased to lay upon himself, which must be from his own wisdom and good pleasure, to which in covenanting we refer ourselves; with particular faith-in reference to what he hath expressly promised; and with general-that all shall be well, where his promise is not express. But from ourselves, nothing can be prescribed to him. He must be our all, or nothing; in point of enjoyment, as our sovereign, all-comprehending good; in point of government, as our sovereign, all-disposing Lord. So we take him, in covenanting with him for ourselves and ours: for he so propounds and offers himself to us. If we accept and take him accordingly, there is a covenant between him as us; otherwise we refuse him, and there is no covenant. When he promises, as to his part, he promises his all; to be God all-sufficient to us; to be ours in all his fulness, according to our measure and capacity: we are not straitened in him, but in ourselves. He undertakes to be to us, and do for us, all that it belongs to him, as a God, to be and do. To give us grace and glory, about which, there can be no dispute or doubt: they are always and immutably good; and to withhold from us no good things: here, are comprehended, with the former, inferior good things, about which, because they are but mutably, and not always good, there may be a doubt, whether now, and in present circumstances, they will be good for us, or no. And now, it belongs to him, as he is to do the part of a God to us, to judge and determine for us, (for which he alone is competent, as being God only wise, and otherwise he were not God all-sufficient,) and not to leave that to us, who are so apt to be partial and mistaken in our judgment. But when he makes his demand from us, of what we on our part are to be, and do, he demands our all, absolutely ; that we surrender ourselves and ours, whatsoever we are and have, to his pleasure and dispose, without other exception or restriction than by his promise he hath laid upon himself. Nor are we to think it strange there should be this difference, in the tenor of his covenant, between his part and ours. For we are to remember, that the covenant between him and us is not as of equals. He covenants as God; we, as creatures: He, according to the universal, infinite perfection and all-sufficiency of a God; we, according, to the insufficiency, imperfection, and indigency of creatures. These things were, I doubt not, all foreknown, and I hope considered, by you, when you so solemnly transacted with God, concerning this your son; wherein you could not but then take him for your God, as well as his God. It needs now only to be applied to the present case; and it manifestly admits this application, viz. That this his disposal of him, in taking him now up to himself, to be glorified by him, and to glorify him in the heavenly state, was a thing then agreed upon by solemn covenant, between God and you. It was done by your own virtual and unretracted consent. The substance of the thing was agreed to expressly; that God should be his God, and finally make him happy and blessed in himself. But if you say, you would only have had his complete blessedness yet a while deferred; I will only say, Could you agree with that God whose he was, and whose you are, about the substance of so great a transaction; and now differ with him about a circumstance? And besides, all circumstances must be comprehended in your agreement. For, taking him to be your God, you take him to be supreme Disposer in all things, and his will to be in every thing the rule and measure of yours; which you have expressly consented to as often as you have prayed, either in the words, or after the tenor, of that prayer, wherein our Lord hath taught us to sum up our desires, and represent the sense of our hearts. But besides the duty that is, both by his law, and by covenant-agreement, owing to God, it is also to be considered as a high dignity put upon you, to be the covenanted parents of a glorified son; a matter of greater boast, than if you could say, "Our son" (to repeat what I formerly wrote) " is one of the greatest princes on earth!" How far should paganism be outdone by Christianity, which exhibits to our view death abolished, life and immortality brought to light, by Jesus Christ, in the Gospel! 2 Tim. i. 10. Which sets before us all the glories of the other world in a bright representation! Which, if we believe, that faith will be to us the substance of what we hope for, and the evidence of what we see not. Thus, though you saw not the kind reception and abundant entrance of this son of your delights into the everlasting kingdom, it will yet be a thing evident to you, and your faith will render it a great and most substantial reality. Pagans had but obscure glimmerings of such things; and in such afflicting cases, when they have occurred, comparatively lank and slender supports; yet such as were not to be despised. Should I transcribe what I find written in way of consolation, by Plutarch to Apollonius, upon the loss of a son, you would see what would give both instruction and admiration. I shall mention some passages. He praises the young person deceased, for his comeliness, sobriety, piety, dutifulness towards parents, obligingness towards friends; acknowledges that sorrow, in the case of losing such a son, hath (po dox) a principle in nature, and is of the things that are (ook ip' hiv) not in our power, or which we cannot help; that to be destitute of it is neither possible nor fit; that an apathy, or insensibleness, in such a case, is no more desirable than that we should endure to have a limb, a part of ourselves, cut or torn off from us, without feeling it. But yet affirms, that immoderate sorrow, upon such an occasion, is (rapà pour) preternatural, and hath a pravity in it, and proceeds from a misinformed mind; that we ought in any such case to be neither (anatis, nor dvonadeis) unaffected, nor ill affected. He tells his friend a story (the meaning whereof is more considerable to us, than the credit of it, as perhaps it was to him) concerning two Grecian youths, Cleobis and Biton, whose mother having a duty to perform in the temple of Juno, and the mules not being at hand, in the instant when she expected them to draw her chariot thither, they most officiously drew it themselves; with which act of piety, their mother was so transported, that she made her request to Juno, on their behalf, that if there were any thing more desirable unto mortals than other, she would therewith reward her sons; who, thereupon, threw them into a sleep, out of which they awaked no more: thereby signifying, that death was the best gift that could be bestowed upon persons of such supposed piety as they! To which purpose, is what he relates concerning the death of Euthynous, an Italian, referred to towards the close of the following discourse, son and heir to the ample estate of Elysius, a person of principal dignity among the Terinæans; to whom, anxiously inquiring of diviners concerning the cause of this calamity, the spectre of his son, introduced by the father of the latter, appeared in his sleep, showing him certain Greek verses, the sum whereof was, Thy inquiry was foolish. The minds of men are vain, Euthynous rests by a kindly decreed death, Because his living longer had neither been good for him nor his parents. He afterwards adds, A good man, when he dies, is worthy, not so much of lamentations, as of hymns and praises. He animadverts upon the aptness of parents to quarrel with any circumstances of a son's death, be they what they will. If he die abroad, then the aggravation is, that neither the father nor the mother had opportunity to close his eyes; if at home, then, How is he plucked away, even out of our hands! * Ps. lxxxiv. 11. He gives divers memorable instances, of sundry great persons, bearing, with strange composure of mind, the same kind of affliction; I omit what he wrote to his wife on their loss of a child; as also to recite many very instructive passages out of Seneca writing to Marcia, on the same account, viz. by way of consolation for her loss of a son, and to Helvia, for her loss in the same kind; to Polybius, having lost a near relation, &c. But we have the oracles of God, and do, too commonly, less need to receive instruction from Heathens than deserve to be reproached by them; that there is so frequent cause for the complaint of that ancient worthy in the Christian church; Non præstat fides quod præstitit infidelitas-The infidelity of pagans performs greater things than the faith of Christians. Their sedate temper, their mastery over turbulent passions, may in many instances shame our impotency and want of self-government, in like cases. For who of them have ever had, or could have, so great a thing to say, as is said to us by the word of the Lord, 1 Thess. iv. 13. for this very purpose, "that we may not sorrow concerning them that are asleep, even as others who have no hope:" i. e. ver. 14. "If we believe that Jesus died, and rose again, even so, them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For (ver. 15.) this we say to you," (and 'tis said by the forementioned authority; the Lord himself having revealed it to this great apostle, and directed him to say it,) "that we who are alive, and remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall not prevent them which are asleep." Ver. 16. "For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; and the dead in Christ shall rise first." Ver. 17. "Then we which are alive, and remain, shall be caught up, together with them, in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord." Ver. 18. "Wherefore comfort one another with these words." I have transcribed these few verses, that they might readily appear to present view. And because all their efficacy, and all our advantage by them, depend upon our believing them, let us closely put the question to ourselves, Do we believe them, or do we not? The apostle seems to design the putting us upon this self-reflection, ver. 14. by inserting the supposition, If we believe, q. d. This will effectually do the business of allaying all our hopeless sorrow. For if we believe that one fundamental truth, (and therefore let us see whether we do or no,) of Christ's dying and rising again, it will draw such a train of consequences, all tending to fill our souls with a vital joy, as will leave no place for undue sorrow any longer. That faith will be still urging and carrying us forward, will make us wholly intent upon prospect and expectation. What are we now to look for upon such a foundation, so firmly laid, and fully believed? If we believe that Jesus died! He did not submit to die without a design; and his rising again, speaks him master of his design, and that he hath it now entirely in his power. He died not for himself, but for them he was to redeem ! And being now risen again, what must become of them? All that follows, is now matter of glorious triumph! If Plato, Plutarch, or Seneca, had but once had such a revelation from heaven as this, and had that ground to believe it that we have, how full would their writings have been of it! How had they abounded in lofty paraphrases upon every period and word of it! The faith of such things would surely make a truly Christian heart so earnestly press forward in the expectation of the great things still to ensue, as to leave it little leisure for retrospection. And this is the source of all our intemperate sorrow, in such a case as this-our framing to ourselves pleasing suppositions of being as we were, with such and such friends and relatives about us as we heretofore enjoined. As hope of what is future and desirable feeds our joy; so memory of good things past doth our sorrow. In such a case as this, which the apostle here speaks to, the decease of our dear friends and relatives fallen asleep, we are apt to look back with a lingering eye upon that former state of things, and to say, as he, O mihi preteritos- that God would recall for me the years that are gone over!-Or, as in sacred language, "O that I were as in months past-when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle; when the Almighty was yet with me; when my children were about me !" What pleasant scenes do we form to ourselves afresh, of past things, on purpose to foment present sorrow! And whether we have that design or no, we are more prone to look back to former things we have known, than forward to future we know not; especially, if the further we look back the less we find of trouble intermingled in our former course. A smooth and pleasant path we would go over again, if reason and the necessity of affairs do not recall us, and urge us forward. And so, Sir, might you find matter for a very copious and not ungrateful recollection, to call over again, and revolve in your thoughts, the pleasures of your youth, (more innocent than of many others,) when you were encumbered with no cares, entertained with various delights of one sort and another, in this or that pleasant seat of your parents. But how remote is it from you, upon consideration, to wish yourself back into your juvenile state and circumstances! How much more generous and Godlike pleasure is it, to be doing good in the world, and still to abound therein; to go forward, and do still more and more! And, Madam, who could have a more pleasant retrospect upon former days than you? recounting your Antrim delights, the delight you took in your excellent relations, your garden-delights, your closet-delights, your Lord's-days delights! But how a much greater thing is it to serve God in your present station; as the mother of a numerous and hopeful offspring; as the mistress of a large family; where you bear your part, with your like-minded consort, in supporting the interest of God and religion, and have opportunity of scattering blessings round about you! But our business is not recurring, or looking back. God is continually calling us forward. Time is a stream running on towards the vast ocean. Tending backward, is vain striving against the stream. And as it is the course and method of nature, of providence, and grace, to tend forward, and carry us from less to greater things in this world; so do all these conspire to carry us on (because our axun, our highest pitch, cannot be here) to yet far greater things in the greater world. Of which vast world, it is the design of the following discourse to give you some account; though, God knows, it is but a very imperfect one. Such as it is, if God only make it an occasion to you, of fixing your minds and hearts upon that mighty theme, you will find it easy and pleasant to you to amplify upon it and enlarge it to yourselves. And thereby, through God's blessing, I doubt not, arrive to a fulness of satisfaction concerning this late dispensation, which hath a gloominess upon it; but is in very deed only gloomy on one side, viz. downwards, and towards this wretched world, this region of sorrow and darkness: but on the side upwards, and towards that other world which casts its lustre upon it, its phasis and appearance will be altogether bright and glorious. And the more you look by a believing intuition into that other world where our blessed Redeemer and Lord bears rule in so transcendent glory, the more will you be above all the cloudy darkness of this event of Providence towards yourselves and your family. Herein your perusal of this very defective essay may be of some use to you. And I reckoned it might be of more lasting and permanent use to you, and yours after you, and to as many others into whose hands it might fall, as a little book, than as one single sermon. You will, however, I doubt not, apprehend in it the sincere desire to assist you in this your present difficult trial; followed by the faithful endeavour of, Most honoured in the Lord, * Hierom. in him, and for his sake, JOHN HOWE. |