Meditations among the Tombs

Madam, ‘pRAVELLING lately into Cornwall, I happened to alight at a considerable village in that county; where, finding myself under an unexpected necessity of staying a little, I took a walk to the church*. The doors, like the heaven to which they lead, were wide open, and readily admitted an unworthy stranger, Pleased with the opportunity, I resolved to spend a few minutes under the sacred roof.

In a situation so retired and awful, I could not

* I had named, in some former editions, a particular church, viz. Kilkhampton; where several of the monuments, described in the following pages, really exist. But as I thought it convenient to mention some cases here which are not, according to the best of my remembrance, referred to in any inscriptions there; I have now omitted the name, that imagination might operate more freely, and the improvement of the reader be cousulted, without any thing that should look like a variation from truth and fact, r

I avoid falling into a train of meditations, serious and mournfully pleasing; which, I trust, were in some degree profitable to me, while they possessed and warmed my thoughts; and, if they may administer any satisfaction to you, madam, now they are recollected, and committed to writing, I shall receive a fresh pleasure from them.

It was an ancient pile: reared by hands that, ages ago, were mouldered into dust. Situate in the centre of a large burial-ground; remote from all the noise and hurry of tumultuous life; the body spacious; the structure lofty; the whole magnificently plain. A row of regular pillars extended themselves through the midst; supporting the roof with simplicity, and with dignity. The light, that passed through the windows, seemed to shed a kind of luminous obscurity, which gave every object a grave and venerable air. The deep silence, added to the gloomy aspect, and both heightened by the loneliness of the place, greatly increased the solemnity of the scene. A sort of religious dread stole insensibly on my mind, while I advanced, all pensive and thoughtful, along the inmost isle: such a dread, as hushed every ruder passion, and dissipated all the gay images of an alluring world.

Having adored that Eternal Majesty, who, far from being confined to temples made with hands, has heaven for his throne, and the earth for his footstool, I took particular notice of a handsome altar-piece; presented, as I was afterwards informed, by the master-builders of Stow*; out of gratitude,! presume, to that gracious God, who carried

* The name of a grand seat, belonging to the late Earl of Bath; remarkable formerly for its excellent workmanship and elegant furniture; once the principal resort of the quality and gentry of the west; but now demolished, laid even with the them through their work, and enabled them to ’ bring forth their topstone with joy.’

Oh! how amiable is gratitude! especially when it has the Supreme Benefactor for its object. I have always looked upon gratitude, as the most exalted principle that can actuate the heart of man. It has something noble, disinterested, and (if I may be allowed the term) generously devout. Repentance indicates our nature fallen, and prayer turns chiefly upon a regard to one’s self. But the exercises of gratitude subsisted in Paradise, when there was no fault to deplore; and will be perpetuated in heaven, when ‘God shall be all in all.’

The language of this sweet temper is, * I am Unspeakably obliged: what return shall I maker’ And surely, it is no improper expression of an unfeigned thankfulness, to decorate our Creator’s courts, and beautify ’ the place where his honour dwelleth.’ Of old, the habitation of his feet was glorious: let it not, now, be sordid or contemptible. It must grieve an ingenuous mind, and be a reproach to any people, to have their own houses wainscotted with cedar, and painted with vermilion; while the temple of the Lord of hosts is destitute of every decent ornament.

Here I recollected, and was charmed with Solomon’s fine address to the Almighty, at the dedication of his famous temple. With immense charge, and exquisite skill, he had erected the most rich and finished structure, that the sun ever saw. Yet upon a review of his work, and a reflection on the transcendent perfections of the Godhead, how he exalts the one, and abases the other! The building was too glorious for the mightiest monarch to inhabit; too sacred, for unhallowed feet

ground, and scarce one stone left upon another; so that corn may grow, or nettles spring, where Stow lately stood.

even to enter; yet infinitely too mean for the Deity to reside in. It was, and the royal worshipper acknowledged it to be, a most marvellous vouchsafement in uncreated Excellency, to ’ put his name there.’ The whole passage breathes such a delicacy, and is animated with such a sublimity of sentiment, that I cannot persuade myself to pass on, without repeating it. * But will God indeed dwell on earth? Behold! the heaven, and heaven of heavens, cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have builded*!’ Incomparable saying! worthy the wisest of men. Who would not choose to possess such an elevated devotion,

* 1 Kings viii. 27. But will: a fine abrupt be* ginning, most significantly describing the amazement and rapture of the royal prophet’s mind! — God: he uses no epithet, where writers of inferior discernment would have been fond to multiply them: but speaks of the Deity, as an incomprehensible Being, whose perfections and glories are exalted above all praise. — Dwell: to bestow oa sinful creatures a propitious look; to favour them with a transient visit of kindness; even this were an unutterable obligation. Will he then vouchsafe to fix his abode among them, and take up his stated residence with them? — Indeed: a word, in this connection, peculiarly emphatical, expressive of a condescension, wonderful and extraordinary almost beyond all credibility. — Behold: intimating the continued, or rather the increasing surprise of the speaker, and awakening the attention of the hearer. — Behold! the heaven: the spacious concave of the firmament; that wide extended azure circumference, in which worlds unnumbered perform their revolutions, is too scanty an apartment for the Godhead. — Nay, the heaven of heavens: those vastly higher tracts, which lie far beyond the iimits of human survey; to which our very rather than to own all the glittering materials of that sumptuous edifice?

We are apt to be struck with admiration at the stateliness and grandeur of a masterly performance in architecture. And, perhaps, on a sight of the ancient sanctuary, should have made the superficial observation of the disciples; What manner of stones, and what buildings are here?’ But what a nobler turn of thought, and juster taste of things, does it discover, to join with Israel’s king, in celebrating the condescension of the Divine Inhabitant! that the High and Lofty One, who fills immensity with his glory, should, in a peculiar manner, fix his abode there! should there manifest an extraordinary degree of his benedictive presence; permit sinful mortals to approach his majesty; and promise ’ to make them joyful in his house of prayer!’ This should more sensibly affect our hearts, than the most curious arrangement of stones can delight our eyes.

Nay, the everlasting God does not disdain to dwell in our souls by his Holy Spirit; and to make even our bodies his temple. Tell me, ye that frame critical judgments, and balance nicely the distinction of things; ’ is this most astonishing, or most rejoiciugr’ He humbleth himself, the Scripture assures us, even to behold the things that are in heaven*, ‘lis a most condescending favour, if he pleases to take the least approving

thoughts can hardly soar; even these (unbounded as they are) cannot afford an adequate habitation for Jehovah; even these dwindle into a point, when compared with the infinitude of his essence; even these ’ are as nothing before Him.’ How much less proportionate is this poor diminutive speck (which I have been erecting and embellishing) to so august a Presence, so immense a Majesty! * Psal. cxiii. 6.

notice of angels and archangels, when they bow down in homage from their celestial thrones. Will he then graciously regard, will he be united, most intimately united, to poor, polluted, breathing dust? Unparalleled honour! Invaluable privilege! Be this my portion, and I shall not covet crowns, nor envy conquerors.

But let me remember, what a sanctity of disposition, and uprightness of conversation, so exalted a relation demands: remember this, ’ and rejoice with trembling.’ Durst I commit any iniquity, while I tread these hallowed courts? Could the Jewish High Priest allow himself in any known transgression, while he made that solemn yearly entrance* into the Holy of Holies, and stood before the immediate presence of Jehovah? No, truly. In such circumstances, a thinking person must shudder at the most remote solicitation, to any wilful offence. I should now be shocked at the least indecency of behaviour, and am apprehensive of every appearance of evil. And why do we not carry this holy jealousy, into all our ordinary life? Why do we not, in every place, reverence ourselves t j as persons dedicated to the Divinity, as living temples of the Godhead? J’or, if we are real, and not merely nominal Christians, the God

* Heb. ix.7.

t — — — woc’jtcov §s fj.ci.Kicr OLi7yj-jzrj csxvrcvy was the favourite maxim of Pythagoras, and supposed to be one of the best moral precepts ever given to the heathen world. With what superior force, and very singular advantage, does this argument take place in the Christian scheme! where we are taught to regard ourselves, not merely as intellectual beings, who have reason for our monitor; but as consecrated creatures, who have a God of the most consummate perfection, ever with us, ever in us.

of glory,, according to his own promise*, dwells in us, and walks in us. O! that this one doctrine of our religion might operate, with an abiding efficacy, upon our consciences! It would be instead of a thousand laws, to regulate our conduct; instead of a thousand motives, to quicken us in holiness. Under the influence of such a conviction, we should study to maintain a purity of intention; a dignity of action; and to walk worthy of that transcendently majestic Being, who admits us to a fellowship with himself, and with his Son Jesus Christ.

The next thing, which engaged my attention* was the lettered floor. The pavement, somewhat like Ezekiel’s roll, was written over from one end to the other. I soon perceived the comparison to hold good in another respect; and the inscriptions to be matter of ’ mourning, lamentation, and woet.’ They seemed to court my observation; silently inviting me to read them. And what would these dumb monitors inform me of? ‘That, beneath their little circumferences, were deposited such and such pieces of clay, which once lived, and moved, and talked: that they had received a charge to preserve their names, and were the remaining trustees of their memory.’

Ah! said I, is such my situation? The adorable Creator around me, and the bones of my fellow-creatures under me! Surely, then, I have great reason to cry out with the revering patriarch, how dreadful is this placej! Seriousness and devotion become this house for ever. May I never enter it lightly or irreverently; but with a profound awe, and godly fear!

O! that they were wise §! said the inspired penman. It was his last wish for his dear people. He breathed it out, and gave up the ghost. But

* 2 Cor. vi. 16. tEzek.ii. 10.

$ Gen. xxviri. 17. § Dcut. xxxii. 29.

what is wisdom? It consists not in refined-specu-Jations, accurate researches into nature, or an universal acquaintance with history. The divine lawgiver settles this important point, in his next aspiration: O! that they understood this! that they had right apprehensions of their spiritual interest and eternal concerns! that they had eyes to discern, and inclinations to pursue, the things which belong to their peace! But how shall they attain this valuable knowledge? I send them not, adds the illustrious teacher, to turn over all the volumes of literature: they may acquire, and much more expeditiously, this science of life, by considering their latter end. This spark of heaven is often lost, under the glitter of pompous erudition; but shines clearly in the gloomy mansions of the tomb: drowned in this gentle whisper, amidst the noise of secular affairs; but speaks distinctly in the retirement of serious contemplation. Behold! how providentially I am brought to the school of wisdom*! The grave is the most faithful master t; and these instances of mortality the most instructive lessons. Come then, calm attention, and compose my thoughts; come, thou celestial Spirit, and enlighten my mind; that I may so peruse these awful pages, as to become * wise unto salvation.’

Examining the records of mortality, I found the memorials of a promiscuous multitude. They were huddled, at least they rested together, with-

* The man how wise, who, sick of gaudy scenes, Is led by choice to take his fav’rite walk Beneath death’s gloomy, silent, cypress shades, Unpierced by vanity’s fantastic ray! To read his monuments, to weigh his dust, Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs!

Night-Thoughts.

t Wait the great teacher death. — Pope.

X Mista senum acjuvenum densantur funera.

Hor.

out any regard to rank or seniority. None were ambitious of the uppermost rooms, or chief seats, iti this house of mourning. None entertained fond and eager expectations of being honourably greeted, in their darksome cells. The man of years and experience, reputed as an oracle in his generation, was content to lie down at the feet of a babe. In this house appointed for all living, the servant was equally accommodated, and lodged in the same story with his master. The poor indigent lay as softly, and slept as soundly, as the most opulent possessor. All the distinction that subsisted, was, a grass; hillock; bound with osiers; or a sepulchral stone, ornamented with imagery.

Why then, said my working thoughts, O! why should we raise such a mighty stir ‘about superiority and precedence; when the next remove will reduce us all to a state of equal meanness? Why should we exalt ourselves, or debase others; since we must all, one day, be upon a common level, and blended together in the same undistinguished dust? O! that this consideration might humble my own and others’ pride, and sink our imaginations as low, as our habitations will shortly be-!

Among these confused relics of humanity, there are, without doubt, persons of contrary interests, and contradicting sentiments. But death, like some able Daysman, lias laid his hand on the contending parties; and brought all their differences to an amiable conclusion *. Here enemies, sworn enemies, dwell together in unity. They drop every imbittered thought, and forget that they once were foes. Perhaps their crumbling bones mix, as they moulder: and those who, while they lived, stood aloof in irreconcileable, variance, here fall into

* Hi motus animorum, atque hasc certamina tanta, Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.

Virg. B2 mutual embraces, and even incorporate with each other in the grave. O! that we might learn from these friendly ashes, not to perpetuate the memory of injuries, not to foment the fever of resentment, nor cherish the turbulence of passion; that there may be as little animosity and disagreement in the land of the living, as there is in the congregation of the dead! But I suspend for a while such general observations, and address myself to a more particular inquiry.

Yonder white stone, emblem of the innocence it covers, informs the beholder of one, who breathed out its tender soul, almost in the instant of receiving it. There, the peaceful infant, without so much as knowing what labour and vexation mean, ’ lies still and is quiet; it sleeps and is at rest*.’ Staying only to wash away its native impurity in the Javer of regeneration, it bid a speedy adieu to time, and terrestrial things. What did the little hasty sojourner find so forbidding and disgustful in our upper world, to occasion its precipitant exit? ‘Tis written, indeed, of its suffering Saviour, that when he had tasted the vinegar mingled with gall, he would not drinkt. And did our new-come stranger begin to sip the cup of life; but, perceiving the bitterness, turn away its head, and refuse the draught? Was this the cause, why the wary babe only opened its eyes; just looked on the light; and then withdrew into the more inviting regions of undisturbed repose?

Happy voyager! no sooner launched, than arrived at the haven|! But more eminently happy they,

* Job iii. 13. + Matt, xxvii. 34.

i Happy the babe, who, privileged by fate
To shorter labour and a lighter weight,
Received but yesterday the gift of breath,
Order’d to morrow to return to Death.

Trior’s Sol.

who have passed the waves, and weathered all the storms of a troublesome and dangerous world! who, ’ through many tribulations, have entered into the kingdom of heaven;’ and thereby brought honour to their divine Convoy, administered comfort to the companions cf their toil, and left an instructive example to succeeding pilgrims.

Highly favoured probationer! accepted, without being exercised! It was thy peculiar privilege, not to feel the slightest of those evils, which oppress thy surviving kindred; which frequently fetch groans from the most manly fortitude, or most elevated faith. The arrows of calamity, barbed with anguish, are often fixed deep in our choicest comforts. The fiery darts of temptation, shot from the hand of hell, are always flying in showers around our integrity. To thee, sweet babe, both these distresses and dangers are alike unknown.

Consider this, ye mourning parents, and dry up your tears. Why should you lament that your little ones are crowned with victory, before the sword is drawn, or the conflict begun? Perhaps, the Supreme Disposer of events foresaw some inevitable snare of temptation forming, or some dreadful storm of adversity impending. And why should you be so dissatisfied, with that kind precaution; which housed your pleasant plant, and removed into shelter a tender flower, before the thunders roared; before the lightnings flew; before the tempest poured its rage? O remember! they are not lost, but taken away from the evil to come.*

At the same time, let survivors, doomed to bear the heat and burden of the day, for their encouragement reflect, that it is more honourable to have entered the lists, and to have fought the

* Isa. lrii. 1.

ll MEDITATIONS

good fight, before they come off conquerors. Thry who have borne the cross, and submitted to afflictive Providences, with a cheerful resignation; have girded up the loins of their mind, and performed their master’s will, with an honest and persevering fidelity; these, having glorified their Redeemer on earth, will, probably, be as stars of the first magnitude in heaven. They will shine with brighter beams, be replenished with stronger joys, in their Lord’s everlasting kingdom.

Here lies the grief of a fond mother, and the blasted expectation of an indulgent father. The youth grew up, like a well-watered plant; he shot deep, rose high, and bid fair for manhood. But just as the cedar began to tower, and promised, ere long, to be the pride of the wood, and prince among the neighbouring trees — behold! the axe is laid unto the root; the fatal blow struck; and all its branching honours tumbled to the dust. And did he fall alone? No, the hopes of his father that begat him, and the pleasing prospects of her that bare him, fell, and were crushed together with him.

Doubtless, it would have pierced one’s heart, to have beheld the tender parents, following the breathless youth to his long home. Perhaps, drowned in tears, and all overwhelmed with sorrows, they stood, like weeping st2tues, on this very spot. Methinks, I see the deeply-distressed mourners attending the sad solemnity. How they wring their hands, and pour floods from their eyes! Is it fancy? or do I really hear the passionate mother, in an agony of affliction, taking her final leave of the darling of her soul? Dumb she remained, while the awful obsequies were performing; dumb with grief, and leaning upon the partner of her woes. But now the inward anguish struggles for vent; it grows too big to be repressed. She advances to the brink of the grave. All her soul is in her eyes. She fastens one more look upon the dear doleful object, before the pit shuts its mouth upon him. And as she looks, she cries, in broken accents, interrupted by many a rising sob, she cries — ‘Farewell, my son! my son! my only beloved! would to God 1 had died for thee! Farewell, my child; and farewell all my earthly happiness! I shall never more see good, in the land of the living. Attempt not to comfort me. I will go mourniug, all my days, till my gray hairs come down, with sorrow, to the grave.’

From this affecting representation, let parents be convinced, how highly it concerns them to cultivate the morals, and secure the immortal interests of their children. If you really love the offspring of your own bodies; if your bowels yearn over those amiable pledges of conjugal endearment; spare no pains, give all diligence, 1 entreat you, to ’ bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord:’ then, may you have joy in their life, or consolation in their death, ii their span is prolonged, their unblameable and useful conduct, will be the staff of your age, and a balm for declining nature. Or, if the number of their years be cut off in the midst; you may commit their remains to the dust, with much the same comfortable expectations, as you send the survivors to places of genteel education. You may commit them to the dust, with cheering hopes of receiving them again to your arms, inexpressibly improved in every noble and endearing accomplishment.

‘Tis certainly a severe trial; and much more afflictive, than I am able to imagine; to resign a lovely blooming creature, sprung from your own loins, to the gloomy recesses of corruption. Thus to resign him, after having been long dandled upon your knees, united to your affections by a thousand ties of tenderness, and now become both the delight of your eyes, and the support of your family! To have such a one torn from your bosom, and thrown into darkness; doubtless, it must be like a dagger in your hearts. But O! how much more cutting to you, and confounding to the child, to have the soul separated from God; and, for shameful ignorance, or early impiety, transmitted to places of eternal torment! How would it aggravate your distress, and add a distracting emphasis to all your sighs, if you should follow the pale’ corpse with these bitter reflections! ‘This dear creature, though long ago capable of knowing good from evil, is gone out of the world, before it had learned the great design of coming into it. A short-lived momentary existence, it received from me; but no good instructions, no holy admonitions, nothing to further its well-being in that everlasting state, upon which it is now entered. The poor body is consigned to the coffin, and carried out to consume away in the cold and silent grave. And what reason have I to suppose, that the precious soul is in a better condition? May I not justly fear, that, sentenced by the righteous Judge, it is going, or gone away, into the pains of endless punishment? Perhaps, while I am bewailing its untimely departure, it may be cursing, in outer darkness, that ever to be deplored, that most calamitous day, when it was born of such a careless, ungodly parent, as I have been.’

Nothing, I think, but the gnawings of that worm which never dies, can equal the anguish of these self-condemning thoughts. The tortures of a rack must be an easy suffering, compared with the stings and horrors of such a remorse. How earnestly do I wish, that as many as are intrusted with the management of children, would take timely care to prevent these scourges of conscience j by endeavouring to conduct their minds into an early knowledge of Christ, and a cordial love of his truth! On this hand is lodged one, whose sepulchral

AMONG THE TOMBS. l.-j

stone tells a most pitiable tale indeed! Well may the little images, reclined over the sleeping ashes, hang down their heads with that pensive air! None can consider so mournful a story, without feeling some touches of sympathizing concern. His age twenty-eight; his death sudden; himself cut down in the prime of life, amidst all the vivacity and vigour of manhood; while bis breasts were full of milk, and his bones moistened with marrow.* Probably he entertained no apprehensions of the evil hour. And indeed who could have suspected, that so bright a sun should go down at noon? To human appearance, his hill stood strong. Length of days seemed written in his sanguine countenance. He solaced himself with the prospect of a long, long series of earthly satisfactions. When lo! an unexpected stroke descends! descends from that mighty arm, which ’ overturneth the mountains by their roots; and crushes the imaginary hero, before the moth*;’ as quickly, and more easily, than our fingers press such a feeble fluttering insect to death.

Perhaps, the nuptial joys were all he thought

* Job,iv. 19. UW UD7 — Ad instar, admodum, tineae. I retain this interpretation, both as it is most suitable to my purpose, and as it is patronized by some eminent commentators; especially the celebrated Schultens. Though I cannot but give the preference to the opinion of a judicious friend, who would render the passage more literally, ’ before the face of a moth:’ making it to represent a creature so exceedingly frail, that even a moth, flying against it, may dash it to pieces. Which, besides its closer correspondence with the exact import of the Hebrew, presents us with a much finer image of the most extreme imbecility. For it certainly implies a far greater degree of weakness, to be crushed by the feeble flutter of the

011. Were not such the breathings of his enamoured soul? ‘Yet a very little while, and I shall possess the utmost of my wishes. I shall call my charmer mine; and, in her, enjoy whatever my heart can crave.’ In the midst of such enchantiug views, had some faithful friend but softly reminded him of an opening grave, and the end of all things; how unseasonable would he have reckoned the admonition! Yet, though all warm with life, and rich in visionary bliss, he was even then tottering upon the brink of both. Dreadful vicissitude! to have the bridal festivity turned into the funeral solemnity*! Deplorable misfortune! to be shipwrecked in the very haven! and to perish even in sight of happiness! What a memorable proof is here of the frailty of man, in his best estate! Look, O! look on this monument, ye gay and careless! Attend to this date; and boast no more of to-morrow!

Who can tell, but the bride-maids, girded with gladness, had prepared the marriage-bed? had decked it with the richest covers, and dressed it

feeblest creature, than only to be crushed as easily as that creature, by the hand of man. The French version is very expressive and beautiful — ’ a la rencontre d’un vermisseau.’

* A distress of this kind is painted in very affecting colours by Pliny, in an epistle to Marcellinus: ‘O triste plane acerbumque funus! O morte ipsa mortis tempus indignius! jam destinata erat egregio juveni; jam electus nuptiarum dies; jam nos advocati. Quod gaudium quo moerore mutatum est! Non possum exprimere verbis, quantum animo vulnus acceperim, quum audivi Fundanum ipsum (ut multa luctuosa dolor invenit) prascipientem, quod in vestes, margaritas, gemmas, fuerat erogaturus, hoc in thura, et unguenta, et odoresimpenderetur.’ Plin. lib. v. epist. QO.

in pillows of down? When — oh! trust not in youth, or strength, or in any thing mortal; for there is nothing certain, nothing to be depended on, beneath the unchangeable God — Death, relentless Death, is making him another kind of bed in the dust of the earth. Unto this he must be conveyed, not with a splendid procession of joyous attendants; but stretched in the gloomy hearse, and followed by a train of mourners. On this he must take up a lonely lodging, nor ever be released, ’ till the heavens are no more.’ In vain does the consenting fair-one put on her ornaments, and expect her spouse. Did she not, like Sisera’s mother, look out of the lattice; chide the delays of her beloved; and wonder ’ why his chariot was so long in coming V little thinking, that the intended bridegroom had for ever done with transitory things! that now everlasting cares employ his mind, without one single remembrance of his lovely Lucinda! Go, disappointed virgin! go, mourn the uncertainty of all created bliss! Teach thy soul to aspire after a sure and immutable felicity! For the once gay and gallant Fidelio sleeps in other embraces; even in the icy arms of Death! forgetful, eternally forgetful, of the world, and thee!

Hitherto, one is tempted to exclaim against the king of terrors, and call him capriciously cruel. He seems, by beginning at the wrong end of the register, to have inverted the laws of nature. Passing over the couch of decrepit age, he has nipped infancy in its bud; blasted youth in its bloom; and torn up manhood in its full maturity. Terrible indeed are these providences, yet not unsearchable the counsels:

For us they sicken, and for us they die*.

Such strokes must not only grieve the relatives,

* Night-Thoughts.

but surprise the whole neighbourhood. They sound a powerful alarm to heedless dreaming mortab, and are intended as a remedy for our carnal security. Such passing-bells inculcate loudly our Lord’s admonition; ‘Take ye heed, watch, and pray: for ye know not when the time is.’ We nod, like intoxicated creatures, upon the very verge of a tremendous precipice. These astonishing dispensations are the kind messengers of hea. ven, to rouse us from our supineness, and quicken us into timely circumspection. I need not, surely, accommodate them with language, nor act as their interpreter. Let every one’s conscience be awake, and this will appear their awful meaning: ‘O! ye sons of men, in the midst of life you are in death. No state, no circumstances, can ascertain your preservation a single moment. So strong is the tyrant’s arm, that nothing can resist its force; so true his aim, that nothing can elude the blow. Sudden as lightning, sometimes, is his arrow launched; and wounds, and kills, in the twinkling of an eye. Never promise yourselves safety in any expedient, but constant preparation. The fatal shafts fly so promiscuously, that none can guess the next victim. Therefore, be ye always ready: for in such an hour as ye think not, the final summons cometh.’

Be ye always ready: for in such an hour as ye think not — Important admonition! Methiuks, it reverberates from sepulchre to sepulchre; and addresses me with line upon line, precept upon precept. The reiterated warning, I acknowledge, is too needful; may co-operating grace render it effectual! The momentous truth, though worthy to be engraved on the tables of a most tenacious memory, is but slightly sketched on the transient flow of passion. We see our neighbours fall; we turn pale at the shock; and feel, perhaps, a trembling dread. No sooner are they removed from our sight; but, driven in the whirl of business, or lulled in the languors of pleasure, we forget the providence, and neglect its errand. The impression made on our unstable minds is like the trace of an arrow through the penetrated air, or the path of a keel in the furrowed wave. Strange stupidity! To cure it, another monitor bespeaks me from a neighbouring stone. It contains the narrative of an unhappy mortal, snatched from his friends, and hurried to the awful bar, without leisure, either to take a last farewell of the one, or to put up so much as a single prayer preparatory for the other: killed, according to the usual expres. sion, by a sudden stroke of casualty. ’

Was it then a random stroke? Doubtless, the blow came from an aiming, though invisible hand. God presideth over the armies of heaven; God ruleth among the inhabitants of the earth; and God conducteth what men call Chance. Nothing, nothing comes to pass through a blind and undiscerning fatality. If accidents happen, they happen according to the exact foreknowledge, and conformably to the determinate counsels, of Eternal Wisdom. The lord, with whom are the issues of death, signs the warrant, and gives the high commission. The seemingly fortuitous disaster is only the agent or the instrument, appointed to execute the supreme decree. When the king of Israel was mortally wounded, it seemed to be a casual shot. A certain man drew a bow at a venture*. At a venture, as he thought. But his hand was strengthened by au omnipotent aid, and the shaft levelled by an unerring eye. So that, what we term casualty, is really providence; accomplishing deliberate designs, but concealing its own interposition. How comforting this reflection! Admirably adapted to soothe the throbbing anguish of the mourners, and

1 Kings, xx ii. 3-i.

compose their spirits into a quiet submission! Excellently suited to dissipate the fears of godly survivors, and create a calm intrepidity even amidst innumerable perils!

How thin is the partition between this world and another! How short the transition from time to eternity! The partition, nothing more than the breath in our nostrils; and the transition may be made in the twinkling of an eye. Poor Chremylus, I remember, arose from the diversion of a card-table, and dropt into the dwellings of darkness. One night, Corinna was all gaiety in her spirits, all finery in her apparel, at a magnificent ball. The next night, she lay pale and stiff, an extended corpse, and ready to be mingled with the mouldering dead. Young Atticus lived to see his ample and commodious seat completed: but not to spend one joyous hour under the stately roof. The sashes were hung to admit the day; but the master’s eyes are closed in endless night. The apartments were furnished, to invite society, or administer repose; but their lord rests in the lower parts of the earth, in the solitary, silent chambers of the tomb. The gardens were planned, and a thousand elegant decorations designed; but alas! their intended possessor is gone down to * the place of skulls;’ is gone down to the valley of the shadow of death.

While I am recollecting, many, I question not, are experiencing the same tragical vicissitude. The eyes of that sublime Being, who sits upon the circle of the earth, and views all its inhabitants with one comprehensive glance, even now beholds many tents in affliction — such affliction, as overwhelmed the Egyptians in that fatal night, when the destroying angel sheathed his arrows in all the pride of their strength : — some, sinking to the floor from their easy chair, and deaf even amidst the piercing shrieks of their distracted relations: — some giving up the ghost, as they sit retired, or lie reclined under the shady arbour, to taste the sweets of the flowery scene: — some, as they sail, associated with a party of pleasure, along the dancing stream, and through the laughing meads. Nor is the grim intruder mollified, though wine and music flow around: — some intercepted, as they are returning home; and some interrupted, as they enter upon an important negociation : — some arrested with the gain of injustice in their hands; and some surprised, in the very act of lewdness, or the attempt of cruelty.

Legions, legions of disasters, such as no prudeace can foresee, and no care prevent, lie in wait to accomplish our doom. A starting horse may throw his rider; may at once dash his body against the stones, and fling his soul into the invisible world. A stack of chimnies may tumble into the street, and crush the unwary passenger under the ruins. Even a single tile, dropping from the roof, may be as fatal as the fall of the whole structure. So frail, so very attenuated is the thread of life, that it not only bursts before the storm, but breaks even at a breeze. The most common occurrences, those from which we suspect not the least harm, may prove the weapons of our destruction. A grape-stone, a despicable fly, may be more mortal than Goliath, with all his formidable armour. Nay, if God give command, our very comforts become killing. The air we breathe, is our bane; and the food we eat, the vehicle of death. That last enemy has unnumbered avenues for his approach; yea, lies intrenched in our very bosom, and holds his fortress in the seat of our life. The crimson fluid, which distributes health, is impregnated with the seeds of death. Heat may inflame it, or toil oppress it; and make it destroy the parts it was designed to cherish. Some unseen impediment may obstruct its passage, or some unknown violence may divert its course; in either of which cases, it acts the part of a poisonous draught, or a deadly stab.

Ah! in what perils is vain life engag’d!

What slight neglects, what trivial faults destroy

The hardiest frame! Of indolence, of toil

We die; of want, of superfluity.

The all-surrounding heav’n, the vital air,

Is big with death.

Since then we are so liable to be dispossessed of this earthly tabernacle, let us look upon ourselves only as tenants at will; and hold ourselves in perpetual readiness, to depart at a moment’s warning. Without such an habitual readiness, we are like wretches that sleep on the top of a mast, while a horrid gulph yawns, or furious waves rage, below. And where can be the peace, what the satisfaction, of such a state? Whereas, a prepared condition will inspire a cheerfulness of temper, not to be dismayed by any alarming accident; and create a firmness of mind, not to be overthrown by the most threatening dangers. When the city is fortified with walls, furnished with provision, guarded by able and resolute troops; what have the inhabitants to fear? what may they not enjoy? So, just so, or rather by a much surer band, are connected the real taste of life, and the constant thought of death.

I said, ‘O-ur very comforts may become killing.’ — And see the truth inscribed by the hand, sealed with the signet, of fate. The marble, which graces yonder pillar, informs me, that, near it, are deposited the remains of Sophronia, the much lamented Sophronia, who died in childbed. How often does this calamity happen! The branch shoots; but the stem withers. The babe springs to light; but she that bare him, breathes her last. She gives life, but gives it (0 pitiable consideration!) at the ex-AMONG THE TOMBS. g;>

pense of her own; and becomes, at once, a mother, and a corpse. Or else, perhaps, she expires in severe pangs, and is herself a tomb for her infant; while the melancholy complaint of a monarch’s woe, is the epitaph for them both: The children are come to the birth, and there is not strength to bring forth*.’ Less to be lamented, in my opinion, this misfortune, than the other. Better for the tender stranger to be stopped in the porch; than to enter, only to converse with affliction. Better, to find a grave in the womb, than to be exposed on a hazardous world; without the guardian of its infantile years, without the faithful guide of its youth.

This monument is distinguished by its finer materials, and more delicate appendages. It seems to have taken its model from an affluent hand; directed by a generous heart; which thought it could never do enough for the deceased. It seems, also, to exhibit an emblematical picture of Sophronia’s person and accomplishments. Is her beauty, or, what is more than beauty, her white-robed innocence, represented by the snowy colour? the surface, smoothly polished, like her amiable temper and engaging manners? the whole adorned, in a well-judged medium between extravagant pomp and sordid negligence, like her undissembled goodness, remote from the least ostentation, yet in all points exemplary? But ah! how vain were all these endearing charms! How vain the lustre of thy sprightly eye! How vain the bloom of thy bridal youth! How vain the honours of thy superior birth !. How unable to secure the lovely possessor from the savage violence of death! — How ineffectual the universal’ esteem of thy acquaintance, the fondness of thy transported husband, or even the spotless integrity of thy character, to

* Isa. xxxvii. 3.

prolong thy span, or procure thee a short reprieve — The concurrence of all these circumstances reminds me of those beautiful and tender lines:

How loved, how valued once, avails thee not;

To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee:

‘Tis all thou art! — and all the proud shall be*! Pope’s Miscell.

Yet, though unable to divert the stroke, Christianity is sovereign to pluck out the sting, of death.

* These verses are inscribed on a small but ele« gant monument, lately erected in the great church at Northampton, which, in the hieroglyphical decorations, corresponds with the description introduced above; in this circumstance particularly, that it is dedicated to the memory of an amiable woman, Mrs. Anne Stonhouse, the excellent wife of my worthy friend Dr. Stonhouse, who has seen all the powers of that healing art, to which I and so many others have been greatly indebted, failing in their attempts to preserve a life dearer to him than his own.

Nee prosunt Domino, qua? prosunt omnibus artes,

No longer his ail-healing art avails;

But ev’ry remedy its master fails. In the midst of this tender distress, he has sought some kind of consolation, even from the sepulchral marble, by teaching it to speak, at once, his esteem for her memory, and his veneration for that religion which she so eminently adorned. Nor could this be more significantly done, than by summing up her character in that concise but comprehensive sentence, — A sincere Christian: concise enough, to be the motto for a mourning ring; yet as comprehensive as the most enlarged sphere of personal, social, and religious worth. For, whatsoever things

Is not this the silent language of those lamps, which burn, and of that heart, which flames; of

are pure; whatsoever things are lovely; whatsoever things are of good report; are they not all included in that grand and noble aggregate, a sincere Christian?

The first lines, considered in such a connection, are wonderfully plaintive and’pathetic:

How lov’d, how valu’d once, avails thee not; To whom related, or by whom begot.

They sound, at least in my ears, like the voice of sorrow, mingled with admiration. The speaker »eems to have been lost, for a while, in melancholy contemplation; suddenly breaks out into this abrupt encomium; then melts into tears, and can proceed no farther. Yet, in this case, how eloquent is silence! While it hints the universal esteem which attended, and the superiority of birth which distinguished, the deceased wife; it i expresses, beyond all the pomp of words, the yearning affection, and heart-felt affliction, of the surviving husband. Amidst the group of monumental marbles which are lavish of their panegyric, this, I think, resembles the incomparable address of the painter, who, having placed round a beautiful expiring virgin her friends in all the agonies of grief, represented the unequalled anguish of the father with far greater liveliness and strength, or rather with an inexpressible emphasis, by drawing a veil over his face.

If the last liues are a wide departure from the beaten track of our modern epitaphs, and the very reverse of their high-flown compliments,

A heap of dust alone remains of thee!

‘Tis all thou art! — and all the proud shall be!

they are not without a precedent, and one of the C those palms, which flourish, and of that crown, which glitters, in the well imitated and gilded marble? Do they not, to the discerning eye, demost consummate kind, since they breathe the very spirit of that sacred elegy, in which all the heart of the hero and the friend seems to be dissolved: How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished! 2 Sam. i. 27- They remind the reader, of that awful lesson, which was originally dictated by the Supreme Wisdom: Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return, Gen. iii. 1(J. They inculcate, with all the force of the most convincing evidence, that solemn admonition, delivered by the prophet: Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils; for wherein is he to be accounted of? Isa. ii. 22.

That no reader, however inattentive, might mistake the sense and design of this part of the fourth line,

‘Tis all thou art!

it is guarded above and beneath. Above, is an expanded book, that seems to be waved, with an air of triumph, over the emblem of death; which we cannot but suppose to be the volume of inspiration, as it exhibits a sort of abridgement of its whole contents, in those animated words: Be ye not slothful, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises, Heb. vi. 12. Beneath, that every part might be pregnant with instruction, are those striking reflections, worthy the consideration of the highest proficient in knowledge and piety, yet obvious to the understanding of the most untaught reader: Life, how short! eternity, how lonr! May my soul learn the forcible purport of this short lesson, in her contracted span of time! and all eternity will not be too loDg to rejoice in having learned it.

scribe the vigilance of her faith; the fervency of her devotion; her victory over the world; and the celestial diadem, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall gile her at that day*?

How happy the husband, in such a sharer of his bed, and partner of his fortunes! Their inclinations were nicely-tuned unisons, and all their conversation was harmony. How silken the yoke to such a pair, and what blessings were twisted with such bands! every joy was heightened, and every care alleviated. Nothing seemed wanting to consummate their bliss, but a hopeful progeny rising around them; that they might see themselves multiplied in their little ones, see their mingled graces, transfused into their offspring, and feel the glow of their affection augmented, by being reflected from their children. ‘Grant us this gift,’ said their united prayers, ’ and our satisfactions are crowned: we request no more.’

Alas! how blind are mortals to future events! How unable to discern what is really good t! Give me children, sa;d Rachel, or else I die;: an ardour of impatience altogether unbecoming, and as mistaken as it was unbecoming. She dies, not by the disappointment, but by the accomplishment, of her desire If children are to parents like a flowery chaplet, whose beauties blossom with ornament, and whose odours breathe delight; death, or some fell misfortune, may find means to entwine themselves with the lovely wreath. Whenever our souls are poured out, with passionate importunity, after any inferior acquisition, it may be truly said,

* 2Tim.iv. 8.

t Kescia mens hominum fati, sortisque futurae! Turno tempus exit, magno cum optaveiit emptum Intactum Fallanta; et cum spolia ista diemque

Oderit Virg.

X Gen. xxx. 1.

in the words of our Divine Master. Ye know not what ye ask. Does Providence withhold the thin? that we long for? It denies in mercy; and only withholds the occasion of our misery, perhaps the instrument of our ruin. With a sickly appetite, we often loathe what is wholesome, and hanker after our bane. Where imagination dreams of unmingled sweets, there experience frequently finds the bitterness of woe.

Therefore, may we covet immoderately neither this nor that form of earthly felicity; but refer the whole of our condition to the choice of unerring Wisdom. May we learn to renounce our own will, and be ready to make a sacrifice of our warmest wishes, whenever they run counter to the good pleasure of God. For, indeed, as to obey his laws, is to be perfectly free; so, to resign ourselves to his disposal, is to establish our own happiness, and to be secure from fear of evil.

Here, a small and plain stone is placed upon the ground; purchased, one would imagine, from the little fund, and formed by the hand, of frugality itself. Nothing costly: not one decoration added; only a very short inscription; and that so effaced, as to be scarcely intelligible. Was the depositary unfaithful to its trust? Or were the letters worn by the frequent resort of the surviving family; to mourn over the grave of a most valuable and beloved relative? For I perceive, upon a closer inspection, that it covers the remains of a father; a religious father, snatched from his growing offspring before they were settled in the world, or so much as their principles fixed by a thorough education.

This, sure, is the most complicated distress, that has hitherto come under our consideration. The solemnities of such a dying chamber, are some of the most melting and melancholy scenes imaginable. There lies the affectionate husband; the indulgent parent; the faithful friend; and the generous master, lie lies in the last extremities, and on the very point of dissolution. Art has done its all. The raging disease mocks the power of medicine. It hastens, with resistless impetuosity, to execute its dreadful errand; to rend asunder the silver cord of life, and the more delicate tie of social attachment, and conjugal affection.

A servant or two, from a revering distance, cast many a wishful look, and condole their honoured master in the language of sighs. The condescending mildness of his commands was wont to produce an alacrity of obedience, and render their service a pleasure. The remembrance of both imbitters their grief, and makes it trickle plentifully down their honest cheeks. His friends, who have so often shared his joys, and gladdened his mind with their enlivening converse, now are miserable comforters. A sympathizing and mournful pity is all the relief they are able to contribute; unless it be augmented by their silent prayers for the divine succour, and a word of consolation suggested from the Scriptures*. Those poor innocents, the children, crowd around the bed; drowned in tears, and almost frantic with grief, they sob out their little souls, and passionately cry, ‘Will he leave us? leave us in a helpless condition! leave us, to an injurious world?’

These separate streams are all united in the distressed spouse, and overwhelm her breast with

* Texts of bcri; ture, proper for such an occasion; containing promises of support under affliction, Lam. iii. 32. Heb. xii. 6. 2 Cor iv. 1J. — of pardon, Isai. liii. 5. lsai i. 18. 1 John ii. 3,2. Acts, x. 43. — of justification, Horn, v 9 Rom.viii.33 34. 2 Cor. v. 21. — of victory over de<*th, Psal. xxiii. 4. Psal. ixxiii. 26. 1 Cor. xv. 56, 57. — of a happy resurrection, John, vi. 40. 2 Cor. v. 1. Rev. vii. l6, 17.

an impetuous tide of sorrows. In her, the lover weeps; the wife mourns; and all the mother yearns. To her the loss is beyond measure aggravated, by months and years of delightful society, and exalted friendship. Where, alas! can she meet with such unsuspected fidelity, or repose such unreserved confidence? Where find so discreet a counsellor; so improving an example; and a guardian so sedulously attentive to the interests of herself and her children i See! how she hangs over the languishing bed; most tenderly solicitous to prolong a life, important and desirable far beyond her own. Or, if that be impracticable, no less tenderly officious to soothe the last agonies of her dearer self. Her hands, trembling under direful apprehensions, wipe the cold dews from the livid cheeks; and sometimes stay the sinking head on her gentle arms, sometimes rest it on her compasionate bosom. See! how she gazes, with a speechless ardor, on the pale countenance and meagre features. Speechless her tongue; but she looks unutterable things; while all her soft passions throb with unavailing fondness, and her very soul bleeds with exquisite anguish.

The sufferer, all patient and adoring, submits to the divine will; and, by submission, becomes superior to his affliction. He is sensibly touched with the disconsolate state of his attendants, and pierced with an anxious concern for his wife and his children: his wife, who will soon be a destitute widow; his children, who will soon be helpless orphans. * Yet, though cast down, not in despair.’ He is greatly refreshed by his trust in the everlasting covenant, and his hope of approaching glory. Religion gives a dignity to distress. At each interval of ease, he comforts his very comforters; and suffers with all the majesty of woe.

The soul, just going to abandon the tottering clay, collects all her force, and exerts her last efforts. The good man, raises himself on his pillow; extends a kind hand to his servants, which is bathed in tears; takes an affecting farewell of his friends; clasps his wife in a feeble embrace; kisses the dear pledges of their mutual love; and then pours all that remains of life, and of strength, in the following words: — .’ I die, my dear children; but God, the everlasting God, will be with you. Tlvough you lose an earthly parent, you have a father in heaven, who lives for evermore. Nothing, nothing but an unbelieving heart, and irreligious life, can ever separate you from the regards of his providence — from the endearments of his love.’

He could proceed no farther. His heart was full, but utterance failed. After a short pause, with difficulty, great difficulty, he added: ‘You, the dear partner of my soul, you are now the only protector of our orphans. I leave you under a weight of cares. But God, who defendeth the cause of the widow — God, whose promise is faithfulness and truth — God hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee*. This revives my drooping spirits — let this support the wife of my bosom — and now, O Father of Compassions, into thy hands I commend my spirit — encouraged by thy promised goodness, I leave my fatherless —”

Here, he fainted; fell back upon the bed; and lay for some minutes bereft of his senses. As a taper, upon the very point of extinction, is sometimes suddenly rekindled, and leaps into a quivering flame; so life, before it totally expired, gave a parting struggle, and once more looked abroad from the opening eye-lids. He would fain have spoke; fain have uttered the sentence he began. More than once he essayed: but the organs of

* Heb. xiii. 5.

speech were become like a broken vessel; and nothing but the obstructing phlegm rattled in his throat. His aspect, however, spoke affection inexpressible. With all the father, all the husband still living in his looks, he takes one more view of those dear children, whom he had often beheld with a parental triumph. He turns his dying eyes on that beloved woman, whom he never beheld but with a glow of delight. Fixed in this posture, amidst smiles of love, and under a gleam of heaven, they shine out their last.

Upon this, the silent sorrow bursts into loud laments. They weep, and refuse to be comforted; till some length of time had given vent to the excess of passion, and the consolations of religion had stanched their bleeding woes. Then the afflicted family search for the sentence, which fell unfinished from those loved, those venerable and pious lips. They find it recorded by the prophet Jeremiah, containing the direction of Infinite Wisdom, and the promise of unbounded Goodness: Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me*. This, now, is the comfort of their life, and the joy of their heart. They treasure it up in their memories. It is the best of legacies, and an inexhaustible fund; a fund which will supply all their wants, by entailing the blessing of heaven on all tieir honest labours. They are rich, they are happy, in this sacred pledge of the divine favour. They fear no evil; they want no good; because God is their portion, and their guardian God.

No sooner turned from one memento of my own, and memorial of another’s decease, but a second, a third, a long succession of these melancholy monitors crowd upon my sightt. That which has

* Jerem. xlix. 11.

1 Plurima mortis imago. — Virg.

fixed my observation, is one of a more grave and sable aspect than the former. I suppose it preserves the relics of a more aged person. One would conjecture, that he made somewhat of a figure in his station among the living; as his monument does among the funeral marbles. Let mo draw near, and inquire of the stone, ’ who, or what, is beneath its surface.’ I am informed, he was once the owner of a considerable estate; which was much improved by his own application and management: that he left the world in the busy period of life, advanced a little beyond the meridian.

Probably, replied my musing mind, one of those indefatigable drudges, who rise early, late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness; not to secure the loving-kindness of the lord; not to make provision for any reasonable necessity; but only to amass together ten thousand times more than they chi) possibly use. Did he not lay schemes for enlarging his fortune, and aggrandizing his family? Did he not purpose to join field to field, and add house to house; till his possessions were almost as vast as his desires? That, then, he would sit down, and enjoy what he had acquired*; breathe a while from his toilsome pursuit of things temporal, and, perhaps, think a little of things eternal.

But see the folly of worldly wisdom! How silly, how childish, is the sagacity of (what is called) manly and masterly prudence; when it contrives more solicitously for time, than it provides for eternity! How strangely infatuated are those subtle heads, which weary tnemsclves in concerting measures for phantoms of a day; and scarce bestow a thought on everlasting realities!

* Hac mente laborem

Sese ferre, senes ut in otia tuta recedant, Aiunt, cum sibi sint congesta cibaria. — Hor. C 2

When every wheel moves on smoothly; when all the well-disposed designs are ripening apace for execution; and the long expected crisis of enjoyment seems to approach; behold! God from on high laughs at the Babel-builder. Death touches the bubble, and it breaks, it drops into nothing. The cobweb, most finely spun indeed, but more easily dislodged, is swept away in an instant; and all the abortive projects are buried in the same grave with their projector. So true is that verdict which the wisdom from above passes on these successful unfortunates: ‘They walk in a vain shadow, and disquiet themselves in vain*.’

Speak, ye that attended such a one in his last minutes; ye that heard his expiring sentiments; did he not cry out, in the language of disappointed sensuality? ‘O death! how terrible is thy approach to a man immersed in secular cares, and void of all concern for the never ending hereafter! “Where, alas! is the profit, where the comfort of entering deep into the knowledge, and of being dexterous in the dispatch of earthly affairs; since I have all the while neglected the one thing needful! Destructive mistake! I have been attentive to every inferior interest; I have laid myself out on the trifles of a moment; but have disregarded heaven; have forgot eternal ages! O! that my days’ — here, he was going on to breathe some fruitless wishes, or to form, I know not what ineffectual resolutions. But a sudden convulsion shook his nerves; disabled his tongue; and, in less than an hour, dissolved his. frame.

May the children of this world be warned by the dying words of an unhappy brother, and gather advantage from his misfortune. Why should they pant, with such impatient ardor, after white and yellow earth; as if the universe did not afford

* PsaJ. xxxix. 6.

sufficient for every one to take a little? Why should they lade themselves with thick clay, when they are to ’ run for an incorruptible crown, and press towards the prize of their high calling?’ AVhy should they overload the vessel, in which their everlasting all is embarked; or fill their arms with superfluities, when they are to swim for their lives? Yet, so preposterous is the conduct of those persons, who are all industry to heap up an abundance of the wealth which perisheth, but are scarce so much as faintly desirous of being rich towards God.

O! that we may walk, through all these glittering toys, at least with a wise indifference, if not with a superior disdain! Having enough for the conveniences of life, let us only accommodate ourselves with things below, and lay up our treasures in the regions above. Whereas, if we indulge an anxious concern, or lavish an inordinate care, on any transitory possessions, we shall rivet them to our affections with so firm an union, that the utmost severity of pain must attend the separating stroke. By such an eager attachment to what will ceitainly be ravished from us, we shall only insure to ourselves accumulated anguish against the agonizing hour. We shall plant, aforehand, our dying pillow with thorns*.

Some, 1 perceive, arrived at threescore years and ten before they made their exit; nay, some few resigned not their breath till they had numbered fourscore revolving harvests. These, I would hope, remembered their Creator in the days of their youth;’ before their strength became labour and sorrow; before that low ebb of languishing

* Lean not on earth; ‘t will pierce thee to the heart; A broken reed at best, but oft a spear: On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires. >’ight Thoughts, N. III.

nature, when the keepers of the house tremble, and those that look, out of the windows are darkened*: when even the lighting down of the grasshopper, is a burden on the bending shoulders; and desire itself fails in the listless, lethargic soul; — before those heavy hours come, and those tiresome moments draw nigh, in which, there is too much reason to say, ’ we have no pleasure in them;’ no ’ improvement from them.’

If their lamps were unfurnished with oil; how unfit must they be, in such decrepit circumstances, to go to the market, and buyt! For, besides a variety of disorders, arising from the enfeebled constitution, their corruptions must be surprisingly strengthened by such a’ long course of irreligion. Evil habits must have struck the deepest root; must have twisted themselves with every fibre of the heart; and be as thoroughly ingrained in the disposition, as the soot in the Ethiopian’s complexion, or the spots in the leopard’s skin. If such a one, under such disadvantages, surmounts all the difficulties which lie in his way to glory, it must be a great and mighty salvation indeed. If such a one escapes destruction, and is saved at the last; it must, without all peradventure, be — so as by firej.

This is the season which stands in need of comfort, and is very improper to enter upon the con-

* Eccles. xii. 3, 5. I need not remind my reader, that by the former of these figurative expressions, is signified the enervated state of the hands and arms; by the latter, the dimness of the eyes, or the total loss of sight: that, taken in connexion with other parts of the chapter, they exhibit, in a series of bold and lively metaphors, a description of the various infirmities attendant on old age.

t Matt. xxv. 9.

X 1 Cor. iii. 15.

flict. The husbandman should now be putting in his sickle, or eating the fruit of his labours; not beginning to break up the ground, or scatter the seed. Nothing, ’tis true, is impossible with God. He said, let there be light, and there was light; instantaneous light, diffused as quick as thought, through all the dismal dominion of primeval darkness. At his command, a leprosy of the longest continuance, and of the utmost inveteracy, departs in a moment. He can, in the greatness of his strength, quicken the wretch who has lain dead in trespasses and sins, not four days only, but fourscore years. Yet trust not, O trust not, a point of such inexpressible importance to so dreadful an uncertainty. God may suspend his power; may withdraw his help; may swear in his wrath, that such abusers of his long-suffering shall never enter into his rest.’

Ye, therefore, that are vigorous in health and blooming in years, improve the precious opportunity. Improve your golden hours to the noblest of all purposes; such as may render you meet for the inheritance of saints in light; and ascertain your title to a state of immortal youth, to a crown of eternal glory*. Stand not, all the prime of your

* May I be permitted to recommend, as a treasure of inestimable value, and a treatise particularly apposite to my subject, Dr. Lucas’s Inquiry after Happiness? that part especially, which displays the method, and enumerates the advantages, of improving life, or living much in a little time, chap. iii. p. 158. of the 6th edit. — an author in whom the gentleman, the scholar, and the Christian, are most happily united — a performance, which, in point of sojid argument, unaffected piety, and a vein of thought amazingly fertile, has, perhaps, no superior. Nor can I wish my reader a more refined pleasure, or a more subday, idle: trifle no longer with the offers of this immense felicity: but make haste, and delay not the time, to keep God’s commandments. While you are loitering in a gay insensibility, death may be bending his bow, and marking you out for speedy victims. Not long ago, I happened to spy a thoughtless jay. The poor bird was idly busied in dressing his pretty plumes, or hopping carelesly from spray to spray. A sportsman coining by observes the feathered rover; immediately he lifts the tube, and levels his blow. Swifter than whirlwind flies the leaden death; and, in a moment, lays the silly creature breathless on the ground, buch, such may be the fate of the man who has a fair occasion of obtaining grace to day; and wantonly postpones the improvement of it till to morrow. He may be cut off, in the midst of his folly, and ruined for ever, while he is dreaming of being wise hereafter.

Some, no doubt, came to this their last retreat, full of piety, and full of days; as a shock of corn, ripe with age and laden with plenty, cometh in in his season*.” These were children of light, and wise in their generation; wise with that exalted wisdom which cometh from above, and with that enduring wisdom which lasts to eternity. Rich also they were, more honourably and permanently rich, than all the votaries of Mammon. The wealth of the one has made itself wings, and is irrecoverably gone; while the wretched acquirers are transmitted to that place of penury and pain, where not so much as one drop of water is allowed to cool their scorched tongues. The stores of the other still abide with them; will never depart from

stantial happiness, than that of having the sentiments of this entertaining and pathetic writer wove into the very texture of his heart. * Job,v. £6.

them; but make them glad for ever and ever, in the city of their God. Their treasures were such a? no created power could take away, such as none but infinite beneficence can bestow; and (comfortable to consider!) such as I, and every indigent longing sinner, may obtain; treasures of heavenly knowledge and saving faith; treasures of atoning blood and imputed righteousness.

Here* lie their bodies in ’ peaceable habitations,

* Some, I know, are offended at our burying corpses within the church; and exclaim against it, as a very great impropriety and indecency. But this, I imagine, proceeds from an excessive and mistaken delicacy. If proper care be taken to secure from injury the foundations of the building, and to prevent the exhalation of any noxious effluvia from the putrefying flesh, I cannot discover any inconveniencies attending this practice.

The notion, that noisome carcases (as they are called) are very unbecoming a place consecrated to religious purposes, seems to be derived from the antiquated Jewish canon, whereby it was declared, that a dead body imparted defilement to the person who touched it, and polluted the spot where it was lodged; on which account the Jews were scrupulously careful to have their sepulchres built at a distance from their houses; and made it a point of conscience not to suffer burial-places to subsist in the city. But as this was a rite purely ceremonial, it seems to be entirely superseded by the Gospel dispensation.

1 cannot forbear thinking that, under the Christiau economy, there is a propriety and usefulness in the custom. Usefulness, because it must render our solemn assemblies mo*re venerable and awful. For when we walk over the dust of our friends, or kneel upon the ashes of our relations, this awakening circumstance must strike a lively impression and quiet resting-places.’ Here, they have thrown off every burden, and are escaped from every

of our own mortality. And what consideration can be more effectual, to make us serious and attentive in hearing, earnest and importunate in praying?

As for the fitness of the usage, it seems perfectly suitable to the design of those sacred edifices. They are set apart for God, not only to receive his worshippers, but to preserve the furniture for holy ministrations, and what is, in a peculiar manner, appropriated to the divine Majesty. Are not the bodies of the saints the Almighty’s property? Were they not once the objects of his tender love? Are they not still the subjects of his special care? Has he not given commandment concerning the bones of his elect; and charged the ocean, and injoined the grave, to keep them until that day? When rocks bright with gems, or mountains rich with mines, are abandoned to the devouring flames, will not these be rescued from the fiery ruin? Will not these be translated into Jehovah’s kingdom, and, conjointly with the soul, made ’ his jewels;’ made his peculiar treasure;’ made to shine as the brightness of the firmament, and as the stars for ever and ever?

Is not Christ the Lord of our bodies? Are they not bought with a price; bought, not with corruptible things, silver and gold, but with his divinely precious blood? And, if the blessed Jesus obtained the redemption of our bodies at so infinitely dear a rate, can it enter into our hearts to conceive that he should dislike to have them reposed under his own habitation? Once more; are not the bodies of the faithful, temples of the Holy Ghost? And is there not, upon this supposition, an apparent propriety, rather than the least indecorum, in remitting these temples of flesh to the temples made with hands? They ape vessels of snare. The head aches no more; the eye forgets to weep; the flesh is no longer racked with acute, nor wasted wilh lingering distempers. Here, they receive a final release from pain, and an everlasting discharge from sorrow. Here, danger never threatens them with her terrifying alarms; but tranquillity softens their couch, and safety guards their repose. Rest then, ye precious relics, within this hospitable gloom. Rest in gentle slumbers, till the last trumpet shall give the welcome signal j and sound aloud, through all your silent mansions, 4 Arise; shine; for your light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon you*.’

To these, how calm was the evening of life! In what a smiling serenity did their sun go down! When their flesh and their heart failed, how reviving was the remembrance of an all-sufficient Redeemer, once dying for their sins, now risen again for their justification! How cheering the well-grounded hope of pardon for their trangressions, and peace with God, through Jesus Christ our Lord! How did this assuage the agonies, and

honour, instruments of righteousness; and, even when broken by death, like the fragmeuts of a golden bowl, are valuable; are worthy to be laid up in the safest, most honourable repositories.

Upon the whole, since the Lord Jesus has purchased them at the expense of his blood, and the blessed Spirit has honoured them with his in-dwelling presence; since they are right dear in the sight of the adorable Trinity, and undoubted heirs of a glorious immortality; why should it be thought a thing improper, to admit them to a transient rest in their heavenly Father’s house? Why may they not lie down and sleep in the outer courts, since they are soon to be introduced into the inmost mansions of everlasting honour and joy?

* lsai. lx. l.

sweeten the bitterness of death? Where now is wealth, with all her golden mountains? Where is honour, with her proud trophies of renown? Where are all the vain pomps of a deluded world? Can they inspire such comfort, can they administer any support, in this last extremity? Can they compose the affrighted thoughts? or buoy up the departing soul, amidst all the pangs of dissolution? The followers of the Lamb seem pleased and triumphant, even at their last gasp. ‘God’s everlasting arms are underneath*’ their fainting heads. His Spirit whispers peace and consolation to their consciences. In the strength of these heavenly succours, they quit the field, not captives but conquerors, with ’ hopes full of immortality.’

And now they are gone. The struggles of reluctant nature are over. The body sleeps in death; the soul launches into the invisible state. But, who can imagine the delightful surprise, when they find themselves surrounded by guardian angels, instead of weeping friends? How securely do they wing their way, and pass through unknown worlds, under the conduct of those celestial guides? The vale of tears is quite lost. Farewell, for ever, the realms of woe, and range of malignant beings! They arrive on the frontiers of inexpressible felicity. They * are come to the city of the living God:’ while a voice sweeter than music in her softest strains, sweet as the harmony of hymning seraphim, congratulates their arrival, and bespeaks their admission: Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, that the heirs of glory may enter in.

Here, then, let us leave the spirits and souls of the righteous; escaped from an entangling wilderness, and received into a paradise of delights! Escaped from the territories of disquietude, and

* Deut. xxxiii. C7« settled in regions of unmolested security! Here, they sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of their Father. Here, they mingle with an innumerable company of angels, and rejoice around the throne of the Lamb: rejoice in the fruition of present felicity, and in the assured expectation of an inconceivable addition to their bliss; when God shall call the heavens from above, and the earth, that he may judge his people*.

Fools accounted their life madness, and their end to be without honour: but they are numbered among the children of God; and their lot, their distinguished and eternal lot, is among the saintst! However, therefore, an undiscerning world may despise, and a profane world vilify, the truly religious; be this the supreme, the invariable desire of my heart: ‘Let me live the life and die the death of the righteous. Oh! let my latter end and future state be like theirs!’

“What figure is that which strikes my eye from an eminent part of the wall? It is not only placed in a more elevated situation than the rest, but carries a more splendid and sumptuous air than ordi-

* Seneca’s reflections upon the state of holy souls delivered from the burden of the flesh, are sparkling and fine, yet very indistinct and empty compared with the particulars mentioned above, and with many others that might be collected from Scripture, ‘In hoc tarn procelloso et in omnes tempestates exposito navigantibns mari, nullus portus nisi mortis est. Ne itaque invideris fratri tuo; quiescit. Tandem liber, tandem tutus, tandem aeternus est. Fruitur nunc aperto et libero’coelo; ex humili et xlepresso, in eum emicuit locum, qui solutas vinculis animas beato recipit sinu j et nunc omnia rerum natura bona cum summa voluptatepercipit.’ Sen. ad Polyb.

t Wisdom, v. 4, 5.

nary. Swords and spears, murdering engines and instruments of slaughter, adorn the stone with a formidable magnificence. — It proves to be the monument of a noble warrior.

Is such respect, thought I, paid to the memory of this brave soldier for sacrificing his life to the public good? 1 lien what honours, what immortal honours, are due to the great Captain of our salvation? who, though Lord of the angelic legions, and supreme commander of all the heavenly hosts, willingly offered himself a bleeding propitiation for sinners!

The one died, being a mortal, and only yielded up a life which was long before forfeited to divine justice; which must soon have been surrendered as a debt to nature if it had not fallen as a prey to war. Bui Christ took flesh and gave up the ghost though he was the great I Am, the fountain of existence, who calls happiness and immortality all his own. He who thought it no robbery to be equal with God, he whose outgoings were from everlasting, even he was made in the likeness of man, and cut off out of the land of the living. Wonder, O heavens! be astonished, O earth! He died the death, of whom it is witnessed, that he is * the true God and eternal life *.’

The one exposed himself to peril in the service of his sovereign and his country, which, though it was glorious to do, yet would have been ignominious in such circumstances to have declined. But Christ took the field, though he. was the blessed and only Potentate, the King of kings, and Lord of lords. Christ took the field, though he was sure to drop in the engagement, and put on the harness, though he knew beforehand that it must reek with his blood. That Prince of heaven resigned his royal person, not barely to the hazard but to the inevitable stroke, to death, certain in its approach

* 1 John, v. 20.

and armed with all its horrors; and for whom? Not for those who were in any degree deserving, but for his own disobedient creatures, for the pardon of condemned malefactors; for a band of rebels, a race of traitors, the most obnoxious and inexcusable of all criminals, whom he might have left to perish in their iniquities, without the least impeachment of his goodness, and to the display of his avenging justice,

The one, it is probable, died expeditiously, was suddenly wounded and soon slain. A bullet lodged in his heart, a sword sheathed in his breast, or a battle-ax cleaving the brain, might put a speedy end to his misery, dispatch him ’ as in a moment;’ whereas the divine Redeemer expired in tedious and protracted torments. His pangs were as lingering as they were exquisite. Even in the prelude to his last suffering, what a load of sorrows overwhelmed his. sacred humanity! till the intolerable pressure wrung blood, instead of sweat, from every pore: till the crimson flood stained all his raiment and tinged the very stones. But, when the last scene of the tragedy commenced, when the executioner’s hammer had nailed him to the cross, O! how many dismal hours did that illustrious sufferer hang, a spectacle of woe to God, to aDgels, and to men! His temples mangled with the thorny crown! his hands and feet cleft with the rugged irons! his whole body covered with wounds and bruises! and his soul, his very soul, pierced with pangs of unutterable distress?

So long he hung, that nature through all her dominions was thrown into sympathizing commotions. The eaith could no longer sustain such barbarous indignities without trembling, nor the sun behold them without horror. Nay, so long did he hang in this extremity of agony and torture, that the alarm reached even the remote regious of the. dead. Never, O my soul, never forget the amazing truth. The Lamb of God was seized, was bound, was slaughtered with the utmost inhumanity, and endured death in all its bitterness for thee. His murderers, studiously cruel, so guided the fatal cup, that he tasted every drop of its gall, before he drank it off to che very dregs.

Once again, the warrior died like a hero, and fell gallantly in the field of battle. But died not Christ as a fool dieth *? Not on the bed of honour with scars of glory in his breast, but like some execrable miscreant on a gibbet, with lashes of the vile scourge on his back. Yes, the blessed Jesus bowed his expiring head on the accursed tree, sus pended between heaven and earth, as an outcast from both and unworthy of either.

What suitable returns of inflamed and adoring devotion can we make to the Holy One of God; thus dying, that we might live; dying in ignominy and anguish, that we might live for ever in the heights of joy, and sit for ever on thrones of glory? Alas! it is not in us, impotent, insensible mortals, to be duly thankful. He only who confers such inconceivably rich favours, can inkindle a proper warmth of grateful affection. Then build thyself a monument, most gracious Immanuel, build thyself an everlasting monument of gratitude in our souls. Inscribe the memory of thy matchless beneficence, not with ink and pen, but with that precious blood which gushed from thy wounded veins. Engrave it, not with the hammer and chisel, but with that sharpened spear which pierced thy sacred side. Let it stand conspicuous and indelible, not on outward tables of stone, but on the very inmost tables of our hearts.

* 2 Sam. iii. 33. Of this indignity our Lord complains: Are you come out as against a thief? — Matt. xxvi. 55.

One tiling more let me observe, before I bid adieu to this intombed warrior, and his garnished sepulchre. How mean are these ostentatious methods, of bribing the vote of fame, and purchasing a little posthumous renown! What a poor substitute for a set of memorable actions, is polished alabaster, or the mimickry of sculptured marble! The real excellency of this bleeding patriot* is written on the minds of his countrymen; it would be remembered with applause so long as the nation subsists, without this artificial expedient to perpetuate it. And such, such is the monument I would wish for myself. Let me leave a memorial in the breasts of my fellow-creatures. Let surviving friends bear witness, that 1 have not lived to myself alone, nor been altogether unserviceable in my generation. Oh! let an uninterrupted series of beneficent offices be the inscription; and the best interests of my acquaintance, the plate that exhibits it.

* Sir Bevil Granville, slain in the civil wars, at an engagement with the rebels. It may possibly be some entertainment to the reader, if I subjoin Sir Bevil’s character, as it is drawn by that celebrated pen which wrote the history of those calamitous times. That which would have clouded any victory, says the noble historian, and made the loss of others less spoken of, was the death of Sir Bevil Granville. He was indeed an excellent person, whose activity, interest, and reputation, were the foundation of what had been done in Cornwall: his temper and affections so public, that no accident which happened could make any impression upon him: and his example kept others from taking any thing ill, or at least seeming to do so. In a word, a brighter courage and a gentler disposition were never married together, to make the moat cheerful and innocent conversation.’

Clar. Hist. Reb. Vol. II.

Let the poor as they pass by my grave point at the little spot, and thankfully acknowledge, ‘There lies the man whose unwearied kindness was the constant relief of my various distresses, who tenderly visited my languishing bed, and readily supplied my indigent circumstances. How often were his counsels a guide to my perplexed thoughts, and a cordial to my dejected spirits! ‘Tis owing to God’s blessing, en his seasonable charities, aad prudent consolations, that I now live, and live in comfort.’ Let a person, once ignorant and ungodly, lift up his eyes to heaven, and say within himself, as he walks over my bones, ‘Here are the last remains of that sincere friend, who watched for my soul. 1 can never forget with what heedless gaiety I was posting on in the paths of perdition; and I tremble to think into what irretrievable ruin I might quickly have been plunged, had not his faithful admonitions arrested me in the wild career. I was unacquainted with the Gospel of peace, and had no concern for its uusearchable treasures; but now, enlightened by his instructive conversation, 1 see the all-sufficiency of my Saviour, and animated by his repeated exhortations, I count all things but loss, that I may win Christ. Methinks, his discourses seasoned with religion, and set home by the divine Spirit, still tingle in my ears, are still warm on my heart, and, I trust, will be more and more operative, till we meet each other in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’

The only infallible way of immortalizing our characters, a way equally open to the meanest and most exalted fortune, is,. ‘To make our calling and election sure,’ to gain some sweet evidence that our names are written in heaven. Then, however they may be disregarded or forgotten among men, they will not fail to be had in everlasting remembrance before the Lord. This is, of all distinctions, far the noblest. Ambition,

be this thy object, and every page of Scripture will sanctify thy passion; even grace itself will fan thy flame. As to earthly memorials, yet a little while, and they are all obliterated. The tongue of those, whose happiness we have zealously promoted, must soon be silent in the coffin. Characters cut with a pen of iron, and committed to the solid rock, will ere long cease to be legible*. But as many as are inrolled * in the Lamb’s book of life,’ lie himself declares, shall never be blotted out from those annals of etemityt. When a flight of years has mouldered the triumphal column into dust; when the brazen statue perishes under the corroding hand of time; those honours still continue, still are blooming and incorruptible, in the world of glory.

Make the extended skies your tomb;

Let stars record your worth:
Yet know, vain mortals, all must die,

As nature’s sickliest birth.

A’ould bounteous Heav’n indulge my pray’r,

I frame a nobler choice;
isor, living, wish the pompous pile;

Nor, deal, regret the loss.

Jn thy fair book of life divine,

My God, inscribe my name:
There let it fill some humble place,

Beneath the slaughter’d Lamb.

Thy saints, while ages roll away,

In endless fame survive;
Their glories, o’er the wrongs of iime

Greatly triumphant, live.

Yonder entrance leads, I suppose, to the vault. Let me turn aside, and take one view of the habi>

* Data sunt ipsis quoque fata sepulchris.

t Rev. iii. 5. Juv.

tation, and its tenants. The sullen door grafts upon its hinges: not used to receive many visitants, it admits me with reluctance and murmurs. What meaneth this sudden trepidation; while I descend the steps, and am visiting the pale nations of the dead? Be composed, my spirits; there is nothing to fear in these quiet chambers. ‘Here, even the wicked cease from troubling.’

Good heavens! what a. solemn scene! How dismal the gloom! Here is perpetual darkness, and night even at noon-day. How doleful the solitude! Not one trace of cheerful society; but sorrow and terror seem to have made this their dreaded abode. Hark! how the hollow dome resounds at every tread. The echoes, that long hav« slept, are awakened; and lament, and sigh along the walls.

A beam or two finds its way through the grates, and reflects a feeble glimmer from the nails of the coffins. So many of those sad spectacles, half concealed in shades, half seen dimly by the baleful twilight, add a deeper horror to those gloomy mansions. I pore upon the inscriptions, and am just able to pick out, that these are the remains of the rich and renowned. No vu’gar dead are deposited here. The most illustrious and right honourable have claimed this for their last retreat: and, indeed, they retain somewhat of a shadowy pre-eminence. They lie, ranged in mournful order, and in a sort of a silent pomp, under the arches of an ample sepulchre; while meaner corpses, without much ceremony, ’ go down to the stones of the pit.’

My apprehensions recover from their surprise. I find here are no phantoms, but such as fear raises. However, it still amazes me to observe the wonders of this nether world. Those who received vast revenues, and called whole lord- -shsps their own, are here reduced to half a dozen feet of earth, or confined in a few sheets of lead. Rooms of state and sumptuous furniture are resigned for no other ornament than the shroud, for no other apartment than the darksome niche. Where is the star, that blazed upon the breast; or coronet, that glittered round the temples? The only remains of departed dignity are, the weather-beaten hatchment and the tattered escutcheon. I see no splendid retinue surrounding this solitary dwelling. The lordly equipage hovers no longer about the lifeless master. He has no other attendant than a dusty statue, which, while the regardless world is as gay as ever, the sculptor’s hand has taught to weep.

Those who gloried in high-born ancestors and noble pedigree here drop their lofty pretensions. They acknowledge kindred with creeping things, and quarter arms with the meanest reptiles, They say to corruption, Thou art my father; and to the worm, Thou art my mother and my sister. Or, should they still assume the style of distinction, ah! how impotent were the claim! how apparent the ostentation! Is it said by their monument, Here lies the great r How easily is it replied by the spectator!

False marble! where?

Nothing but poor and sordid dust lies here.

Mortifying truth! Sufficient, one would think, to -wean the most sanguine appetite from this transitory state of’ things; from its sickly satisfactions, its fading glories, its vanishing treasures.

For now, ye lying vanities of life!

Ye ever-tempting, ever-cheating train!

“Where are you now? And what is your amount?

What is all the world to these poor breathless beings? What are their pleasures? a bubble broke. What their honours? a dream that is

5*, m ^tal of their enjoyforgotten. What the «£*l ° d to in.

able; but, now death what h t, p.

Hue and weighed it h» s ,ighterthan

tUti Alas! «- shorter ann p
the dancing spark, ana

solving smoke. ase. Recollect

Indulge, my soul, a serion P thy

all the gay thing, the J™ Heve examine

eyes and inveigle thy an estimate ot

those baits of sense, here t amMg th

their real value S^P^^a in the lap ot
favourites of fortone who of hooour and
pleasure, who shine. the Yetp how

swim in tides 0f,”;Xoclaim thy exit! And soon will the pass mg beU pr sumtnoned thee to When once that .ron ca these gra.

thy future reckonm,jUerehow th
tifications be! Ar “.a^P nAid) or ,„„.

pageantry ot the mos Q £ t air, And, rious circumstances, i anis. r coveted,

fc this a happ-ess so pa :onatelopund.ng

I thank you, ye relic me ot magnificent name ,. Ye ril the voiumes the littleness of the wor d in a wmd. of my library. Yo« “^ ‘Mouldering in an urn, iog-sheet, your g”n*e“r ™ fs „f the noth.ng- „l the most mdisputabU proo did pr oess of oreated thmgs. Ne«r leglb,e dence write this ‘”P?’“”^, lord, or on the characters, as e a« ot my ,f corpse of bis grace*. Let weaUhy sonsp pay their obsequious court o J Verroents, Ld ignobly fawn, or anxious y my tlmugtsylljltenjpe

1 I Mors sola fatetur ,,juv.

Q~ntulasinthominumcorPuscnla.

templation, to the sepulchres of their sires; and learn, from their sleeping dust — to moderate my expectation from mortals, to stand disengaged from every undue attachment to the little interests of time, to get above the delusive amusements of honour, the gaudy tinsels of wealth, and all the empty shadows of a perishing world.

Hark! what sound is that! In such a situation every noise alarms. Solemn and slow, it breaks again upon the silent air. ‘lis the striking of the clock; designed, one would imagine, to ratify all my serious meditations. Methinks it says Amen, and sets a seal to every improving hint. It tells me, that another portion of my appointed time is elapsed. One calls it, ’ the knell of my departed hours.’ ‘lis the watchword to vigilance and activity. It cries in the ear of reason, ‘Redeem the time. Catch the favourable gales of opportunity: O! catch them, while they breathe; before they are irrecoverably lost. The span of life shortens continually. Thy minutes are all upon the wing, and hastening to be gone. Thou art a borderer upon eternity, and making incessant advances to the state thou art contemplating.’ May the admonition sink deep into an attentive and obedient mind! May it teach me that heavenly arithmetic, of numbering my days, and applying my heart unto wisdom!’

I have often walked beneath the impending promontory’s craggy cliff; I have sometimes trod the vast spaces of the lonely desert, and penetrated the inmost recesses of the dreary cavern: but never, never beheld nature louring with so tremendous a form; never felt such impressions of awe striking cold on my heart, as under these black-browed arches, amidst these mouldy walls, and surrounded by such rueful objects; where melancholy, deepest melancholy, for ever spread* her raven wings! Let me now emerge from fh« damp and dreadful obscurity! Farewell, ye seats of desolation, and shades of death! Gladly I revisit the realms of day.

Having cast a superficial view upon these receptacles of the dead, curiosity prompts my inquiry to a more intimate survey. Could we draw back the covering of the tomb; could we discern what those are now who once were mortals — O! how would it surprise and grieve us ! — surprise us, to behold the prodigious transformation which has taken place on every individual; grieve us, to observe the dishonour done to our nature in general within these subterraneous lodgments!

Here, the sweet and winning aspect, that wore perpetually an attractive smile, grins horribly a naked ghastly skull. The eye that outshone the diamond’s brilliancy, and glanced its lovely lightning into the most guarded heart: alas? where is it i Where shall we find the rolling sparkler? How are all its sprightly beams eclipsed, totally eclipsed! The tongue, that once commanded all the power of eloquence, in this strange land has ’ forgot its cunning.’ Where are now those strains of harmony which ravished our ears? Where is that flow of persuasion, which carried captive our judgments? The great master of lauguageand of song is become silent as the night that surrounds him. The pampered flesh, so lately clothed in purple and fine linen, how is it covered rudely with clods of clay! There was a time, when the timourously nice creature would scarce ’ adventure to set a foot upon the ground for delicateness and tenderness *,’ but is now enwrapped in clammy earth, and sleeps on no softer a pillow than the ragged gravel-stones. Here, ’ the strong men bow themselves.’ The nervous arm is unstrung; the brawny sinews are related; the limbs, not

* Deut. xxviii. o(j.

long ago the seats of vigour and activity, lie down motionless; and the bones, which were as bars of iron, are crushed into dust.

Here, the man of business forgets all his favourite schemes, and discontinues the pursuit of gain. Here, is a total stand to the circulation of merchandise, and the hurry of trade. In these solitary recesses, as in the building of Solomon’s temple, is heard no sound of the hammer and ax. The winding-sheet and the coffin are the utmost bound of all earthly devices. Hitherto may they go, but no farther.’ Here, the sons of pleasure take a final farewell of their dear delights. Ko more is the sensualist anointed with oil, or crowned with rose-buds. He chants no more to the melody of the viol, nor revels any longer at the banquet of wine. Instead of sumptuous tables and delicious treats, the poor voluptuary is himself a feast for fattened insects; the reptile riots on his flesh; the worm feeds sweetly on him*.’ Here also beauty fails; bright beauty drops her lustre here. O! how her roses fade, and her lilies languish, in this bleak soil! How does the grand leveller pour contempt upon the charmer of our hearts! How turn to deformity, what captivated the world before!

Could the lover have a sight of his once enchanting fair-one, what a startling astonishment would seize him! * Is this the object J not long ago so passionately admired! I said, she was divinely fair ;,and thought her somewhat more than mortal. Her form was symmetry itself; every elegance breathed in her air; and all the Graces waited on her motions. Twas music, when she spoke; but, when she spoke encouragement, ’twas little less than rapture. How my heart danced to those charming accents! And can that which,

* Job, xi:iv. 20.

5d MEDITATIONS

some weeks ago, was to admiration lovely, be now so insufferably loathsome? Where are those blushing cheeks? where the coral lips? where that ivory neck, on which the curling jet in such glossy ringlets flowed? with a thousand other beauties of person, and ten thousand delicacies of action*? Amazing alteration! Delusory bliss! Fondly I gazed upon the glittering meteor. It shone brightly; and I mistook it for a star; for a permanent and substantial good. But how is it fallen! fallen from an orb, not its own! And all that I can trace on earth, is but a putrid mass.’

Lie, poor Florella! He deep, as thou dost, in obscure darkness. Let night, with her impenetrable shades, always conceal thee. May no prying eye, be witness to thy disgrace: but let thy surviving sisters think upon thy state, when they contemplate the idol in the glass. When the pleasing image rises gracefully to view, surrounded with a world of charms, and flushed with joy at the consciousness of them all; then, in those minutes of temptation and danger, when vanity uses to steal into the thoughts — then, let them remember what a veil of horror is drawn over a face, which was once beautiful and brilliant as theirs. Such a seasonable reflection might regulate the labours of the toilet, and create a more earnest solicitude, to polish the jewel, than to varnish the casket. It might then become their highest ambition to have the mind decked with divine virtues, and dressed after the amiable pattern of their Redeemer’s holiness.

And would this prejudice their persons, or depreciate their charms? Quite the reverse. It

* Quo fugit Venus? heu I quove color? dccens
Quo motus? Quid habet illius, illius,
Qure spirabat amores,
Quae me surpueratmihi ? — Hor.

would spread a sort of heavenly glory over the finest set of features, and heighten the loveliness of every other engaging accomplishment. What is yet a more inviting consideration, these flowers would not wither with nature nor be tarnished by time; but would open continually into richer beauties, and flourish even in the winter of age. But the most incomparable recommendation of these noble qualities, is, that, from their hallowed relics, and from the fragrant ashes of the phoenix, will ere long arise an illustrious form, bright as the wings of angels, lasting as the light of the new Jerusalem.

For my part, the remembrance of this sad revolution shall make me ashamed to pay my devotion to a shrine of perishing flesh, and afraid7 to expect all my happiness from so brittle a joy. It shall teach me not to think too highly of well-proportioned clay, though formed in the most elegant mould, and animated with the sweetest soul, ‘lis Heaven’s last, best, and crowning gift, to be received with gratitude, and cherished with love, as a most valuable blessing; not worshipped with the incense of flattery and strains of fulsome adoration, as a goddess. It will cure, I trust, the dotage of my eyes; and incline me always to prefer the substantial ’ ornaments of a meek and virtuous spirit, before the transient decorations of white and red on the skiu.

Here I called in my roving meditations from their long excursion on this tender subject. Fancy listened awhile to the soliloquy of a lover. Now judgment resumes the reins and guides my thoughts to more near and self-interesting inquiries. However, upon a review of the whole scene, crowded with spectacles of mortality and trophies of death, I could not forbear smiting my breast, and fetching a sigh, and lamenting over the noblest (jf all visible beings, laid prostrate under the feet D2 of the pale horse and his rider*.’ I could not forbear repeating that pathetic exclamation; * Oh! thout Adam, what hast thou done.*’ What desolation has thy disobedience wrought in the earth? See the malignity, the ruinous malignity of sin! Sin has demolished so many stately structures of flesh: sin has made such havock among the most excellent ranks of God’s lower creation: and sin (that deadly bane of our nature) would have plunged our better part into the execrable horrors of the nethermost hell, had not our merciful Mediator interposed, and given himself for our ransom. Therefore what grateful acknowledgments does the whole world of penitent sinners owe; what ardent returns of love will a whole heaven of glorified believers pay, to such a friend, benefactor, and deliverer!

Musing upon these melancholy objects, a faithful remembrancer suggests from within — ‘Must this sad change succeed in me also? Am I to draw my last gasp; to become a breathless corpse; and be, what I deplorej? Is there a time approaching, when this body shall be carried out upon the bier, and consigned to its clay-cold bed? while some kind acquaintance, perhaps, may drop one parting tear, and cry, Alas! my brother! Is the time approaching?’ Nothing is more certain; a decree, much surer than the law of the Medes and Persians, has irrevocably determined the doom.

Should one of these ghastly figures burst from

* Rev. vi. 8.

+ 2 Esdr. yii. 41.

J I pass, with melancholy state,

By all these solemn heaps of fate;

And think, as soft and sad I tread

Above the venerable dead,

‘Time was, like me, they life possess’d;

And time will bf, when 1 shall rest.’ — Parnell.

his confinement, and start up in a frightful deformity before me — should the haggard skeleton lift a clattering hand, and point it full in my view — should it open the stiffened jaws, and with a hoarse tremendous murmur break this profound silence-should it accost me, as Samuel’s apparition addressed the trembling king, ‘The Lord shall deliver thee also into the hands of death; yet a little while, and thou shalt be with me*,’ — the solemn warning, delivered in so striking a manner, must strongly impress my imagination. A message in thunder would scarce sink deeper. Yet, there is abundantly greater reason to be alarmed by that express declaration of the Lord God Almighty, * Thou shalt surely die.’ Well then, since sentence is passed, since 1 am a condemned man, and know not when the dead warrant may arrive; let me die to sin, and die to the world, before I die beneath the stroke of a righteous God. Let me employ the little uncertain interval of respite from execution, in preparing for a happier state and a better life; that when the fatal moment come?, and I am commanded to shut my eyes upon all

* 1 Sam. xxviii. It). On this place, the Dutch translator of the Meditations has added a note, to correct, very probably, what he supposes a mistake. On the same supposition, I presume, the compilers of our rubric ordered the last verse of Ecclus. xlvi. to be omitted in the daily service of the church.. But that the sentiment hinted above is strictly true; that it was ^TD 7^1011* Samuel himself, (not an infernal spirit, personating the prophet) who appeared to the female necromancer at Endor, appeared not in compliance with any diabolical incantation, but in pursuance of the divine commission; this, I think, is fully proved in the historical account of the life of David, Vol. I. chap, xxiij.

things here below, I may open them again to see my Saviour in the mansions above.

Since this body, which is so fearfully and wonderfully made, must fall to pieces in the grave; since I must soon resign all my bodily powers to darkness, inactivity, and corruption, let it be my constant care to use them well while I possess them! Let my hands be stretched forth to relieve the needy, and always be more ’ ready to give than to receive.’ Let my knees bend in deepest humiliation before the throne of grace, while my eyes are cast down to the earth in penitential confusion, or devoutly looking up to heaven for pardoning mercy! In every friendly interview, let the ’ law of kindness dwell on my lips;’ or rather, if the seriousness of ray acquaintance permits, let the Gospel of peace flow from my tongue. O! that I might be enabled, in every public concourse, to lift up my voice like a trumpet, and pour abroad a more joyful sound than its most melodious accents, in proclaiming the glad tidings of free salvation! Be shut, my ears, resolutely shut, against the malevolent whispers of slander, and the contagious breath of filthy talking. But be swift to hear the instructions of wisdom; be all attention when your Redeemer speaks; imbibe the precious truths; and convey them carefully to the heart. Carry me, my feet, to the temple of the Lord, to the beds of the sick, and houses of the poor. May all my members, devoted entirely to my divine Master, be the willing instruments of promoting his glory!

Then, ye embalniers, ye may spare your pains. These works of faith and labours of love, these shall be my spices and perfumes. Enwrapped in these, I would lay me gently down, and sleep sweetly in the blessed Jesus; hoping that God will * give commandment concerning my bones,’ and one day fetch them up from the dust, as silvoi’

AMONG THE TOMES. tft

from the furnace, purified I say not, seven times, but seventy times seven.’

Here my contemplation took wing, and in an instant alighted in the garden, adjoining to Mount Calvary. Having viewed the abode of my deceased fellow-creatures, methought I longed to see the place where our Lord lay. And, O! what a marvellous spectacle was once exhibited in this memorable sepulchre! He, ’ who clothes himself with light as with a garment, and walks upon the wings of the wind*;’ He was pleased to wear

* The Scriptures, speaking of the Supreme Being, say — He walketh upon the waves of the sea; to denote his uncontrollable power, Job, ix. 8. — He walketh in the circuit of heaven; to express the immensity of his presence, Job, xxii. 14. — He walketh upon the wings of the wind; to signify the amazing swiftness of his operation, Psal. civ. 3; in which last phrase there is, 1 think, an elegance and emphasis, not taken notice of by our commentators, yet unequalled in any writer. — Not, Heflieth; He runneth; but, He walketh: and that, on the very wings of the wind; on the most impetuous of elements, roused into its utmost rage, and sweeping along with inconceivable rapidity. A tumult in nature, not to be described, is the composed and sedate work of the Deity. A speed, not to be measured, is (with reverence I use the expression, and to comport with our low methods of conception) the solemn and majestic foot-pace of Jehovah. How flat are the following lines, even in the great master of lyric song,

Ocyor cervis, et agente nimbos
Ocyor Euro,

when compared with this inimitable stroke of divine poetry — He walketh upon the wings of the wind!

m MEDITATIONS

the habiliments of mortality, and dwelt among the prostrate dead. Who can repeat the wondrous truth too often? Who can dwell upon the transporting theme too long? He, who sits enthroned in glory, and diffuses bliss among all the heavenly hosts; Me was once a pale and bloody corpse, and pressed this little spot.

O death! how great was thy triumph in that hour! Never did thy gloomy realms contain such a prisoner before. Prisoner, did I say? No; He was more than conqueror. He arose, far more mightily than Samson, from a transient slumber; broke down the gates, and demolished the strongholds of those dark dominions. And this, O mortals, this is your only consolation and security. Jesus has trod the dreadful path, and smoothed it for your passage. Jesus, sleeping in the chambers of the tomb, has brightened the dismal mansion, and left an inviting odour in those beds of dust. 3 ne dying Jesus! (never let the comfortable truth depart from your minds! the dying Jesus) is your sure protection, your unquestionable passport, through the territories of the grave. Believe in Him, and they shall prove ’ a highway to Sion;’ shall transmit you safe to Paradise. Believe in Him, and you shall be no losers, but unspeakable gainers, by your dissolution. For hear what the oracle of heaven says upon this important point: * Whoso believeth in Me, shall never die*.’ What sublime and emphatical language is this! This much, at least, it must import — The nature of that last change shall be surprisingly altered for the better; it shall no longer be inflicted as a punishment, but rather be vouchsafed as a bless. ing. To such persons it shall come attended with such a train of benefits, as will render it a kind of happy impropriety to call it dying. Dying! .No;

* John, xi. £6.

’tis then they truly begin to live. Their exit is the end of their frailty and their entrance upon perfection. Their last groan is the prelude to life and immortality.’

O ye timorous souls, that are terrified at the sound of the passing-bell, that turn pale at the sight of an opened grave, and can scarce behold a coffin or a skull without a shuddering horror: Ye that are in bondage to the grisly tyrant, and tremble at the shaking of his iron red; cry mightily to the Father of your spirits, for faith in his dear Son. Faith will free you from your slavery*. Faith will embolden you to tread on (this fiercest

* Death’s terror is the mountain faith removes: ‘i’is faith disarms destruction. — Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb.

These, and some other quotations, I am proud to borrow from the Night-Thoughts, especially from Night the Fourth; in which, energy of language, sublimity of sentiment, and the most exquisite beauties of poetry, are the least perfections to be admired. Almost every line glows with devotion, rises into the most exalted apprehensions of the adorable Redeemer, and is animated with the most lively faith in his all-sufficient mediation. The author of this excellent performance has the peculiar felicity of ennobling all the strength of style, and every delicacy of imagination, with the grand and distinguishing truths of Christianity. These thoughts give the highest entertainment to the fancy, and impart the noblest improvement to the mind. They not only refine our taste, but prepare us for death, and ripen us for glory. I never take up this admirable piece, but I am ready to cry out — tecum vivere amem, tectum obeam libens; i.e. ‘Inspire me with such a spirit, and life shall ke delightful, nor death itself unwelcome.’ u

MEDITATIONS

of) serpents*. Old Simeon, clasping the child Jesus in the arms of his flesh, and the glorious Mediator in the arms of his faith, departs with tranquillity and peace. That bitter persecutor Saul, having won Christ, being found in Christ, longs to be dismissed from cumbrous clay, and kindles into rapture at the prospect of dissolutiont. Methinks I see another of Immanuel’s followers, trusting in his Saviour, leaning on his Beloved, go down to the silent shades with composure and alacrity J. In this powerful name an innumerable company of sinful creatures have set up their banners, and ‘overcome, through the blood of the Lamb.’ Authorised by the Captain of thy salvation, thou also mayst set thy feet upon the neck of this king of terrors. Furnished with this antidote, thou also mayst play around the hole of the asp, and put thy undaunted hand on this cockatrice-den§. Thou mayst feel the viper fastening to thy mortal part, and fear no evil: thou shalt one day shake it off by a joyful resurrection, and suffer no harm.

Resurrection! That cheering word eases my mind of an anxious thought, and solves a most momentous question. I was going to ask, wherefore do all these corpses lie here, in this abject condition? Is this their final state? Has death conquered, and will the tyrant hold captivity captive? How long wilt thou forget them, O Lord, for ever?’ No, saith tlje voice from heaven, the word of divine revelation; the righteous are all ’ prisoners of hopelT.’ There is an hour (an awful secret that, and known only to all-foreseeing Wisdom) an appointed hour there is, when an act of grace will pass the great seal above, and give

* Luke, x. 19.
t 2 Pet. i. 14.
J) Acts, xxviii. .5.

t Phil.i 23. 2 Tim.iv. 7,8.
$Isai. xi. 8.
^T Zech. ix. 12,

AMONG THE TOMBS. f>3

them an universal discharge, a general delivery from the abodes of corruption. Then shall the Lord Jesus descend from heaven, with the shout of the archangel and the trump of God. Destruction itself shall hear his call, and the obedient grave give up her dead. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, they shake off the sleep of ten thousand years, and spring forth, like the bounding roe, to 4 meet their Lord in the air.’

And O! with what cordial congratulations, what transporting endearments, do the soul and body, those affectionate companions, re-unite! But with how much greater demonstrations of kindness are they both received by their compassionate Redeemer! The Ancient of days, who comes in the clouds of heaven, is their friend, their father, their bridegroom. He comes with irresistible power and infinite glory, but they have nothing to fear from his majestic appearance. Those tremendous solemnities, which spread desolation and astonishment through the universe, serve only to inflame their love and heighten their hopes. The Judge, the awful Judge, amidst all his magnificence and splendour, vouchsafes to confess their names, vouchsafes to commemorate their fidelity, before all the inhabitants of the skies, and the whole as* sembled world.

Hark! the thunders are hushed. See! the lightnings cease their rage. The angelic armies stand in silent suspense. The whole race of Adam is wrapped in pleasing or anxious expectation. And now, that adorable Person, whose favour is better than life, whose acceptance is a crown of glory, lifts up the light of his countenance upon the righteous; he speaks, and what ravishing words proceed from his gracious lips! what ecstasies of delight they enkindle in the breasts of the faithful! * I accept you, O my people! Ye are they that believed in my name. Ye are they that renounced yourselves, and are complete iii me. I see no spot or blemish in you, for ye are washed in my blood, and clothed .with my righteousness. Renewed by my Spirit, ye have glorified me on earth, and have been faithful unto death. Come then, y servants of holiness, enter into the joy of your Lord. Come, ye children of light, ye blessed of my Father, receive the kingdom that shall never be removed, wear the crown which fadeth not away, and enjoy pleasures for evermore!’

Then, it will be one of the smallest privileges of the righteous, that they shall languish no more; that sickness will never again show her pale countenance in their dwellings*. Death itself will be ’ swallowed up in victory.’ That fatal javelin, which has drank the blood of monarchs, and finds its way to the hearts of all the sons of Adam, shall be utterly broken. That enormous sithe, which has struck empires from their root, and swept ages and generations into oblivion, shall ’ lie by in perpetual uselessness. Sia also, which filled thy quiver, thou insatiate archer! — sin, which strung thy arm with resistless vigour; which pointed all thy shafts with inevitable destruction — sin will then be done away. Whatever is frail or depraved will be thrown off with our grave-clothes. All to come is perfect holiness, and consummate happiness, the term of whose continuance is eternity.

* Isaiah, speaking of the new Jerusalem, mentions this as one of its immunities: ‘The inhabitants thereof shall no more say, I am sick.’ Another clause in its royal charter runs thus: ‘God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be a«y more pain.’ Isai, wcxiii. 24. Rev. xxi. 4.

O eternity! eternity! how are our boldest, our strongest thoughts, lost and overwhelmed in thee! Who can set landmarks to limit thy dimensions, or find plummets to fathom thy depths? Arithmeticians have figures to compute all the proeressions of time; astronomers have instruments to calculate the distances of the planets; but what numbers can state, what lines can gauge, the lengths and breadths of eternity? ‘It is higher than heaven, what canst thou do? deeper than hell, what canst thou know? the measure thereof is longer than the earth, broader than the sea *.’

Mysterious, mighty existence! a sum not to be lessened by the largest deductions! an extent not to be contracted by all possible diminutions! None can truly say, after the most prodigious waste of ages, ‘So much of eternity is gone;’ for, when millions of centuries are elapsed, it is but just commencing; and, when millions more have run their ample round, it will be no nearer ending. Yea, when ages, numerous as the bloom of spring, increased by the herbage of summer, both augmented by the leaves of autumn, and all multiplied by the drops of rain which drown the winter — when these and ten thousand times ten thousand more — more than can be represented by any similitude, or imagined by any conception — when ail these are revolved and finished, eternity, vast, boundless, amazing eternity, will only be beginning!

What a pleasing, yet awful thought is this! full of delight, and full of dread. O! may it alarm our fears, quicken our hopes, and animate all our endeavours! Since we are so soon to launch into this endless and inconceivable state, let us give all diligence to secure our entrance

* Job, xi. 8, 9.

into bliss. Now, let us give all diligence, bftcause there is no alteration in the scenes of luturity. The wheel never turns: all is stedfast and immoveable beyond the grave. Whether we are then seated an the throne, or stretched on the rack; a seal will be set to our condition by the hand pf everlasting mercy or inflexible justice. The saints always rejoice amidst the smiles of Heaven; their harps are perpetually tuned; their triumphs admit of no interruption. The ruin of the wicked is irremediable. The fatal sentence, once passed, is never to be repealed. No hope of exchanging their doleful habitations; but all things bear the same dismal aspect for ever and ever.

The wicked! my mind recoils * at the apprehension of their misery. It has studiously waved the fearful subject, and seems unwilling to pursue it, even now. But ’tis better to reflect upon it for a few minutes, than to endure it to eternal ages. Perhaps the consideration of their aggravated misery may be profitably terrible; may teach me more highly to prize the Saviour, who * delivers from going down into the bottomless pit;’ may drive me, like the avenger’s sword, to this only city of refuge for obnoxious sinners.

The wicked seem to lie here, like malefactors, in a deep and strong dungeon, reserved against the day of trial. ‘Their departure was without peace.’ Clouds of horror sat louring upon their closing eye-lids, most sadly foreboding the * blackness of darkness for ever.’ When the last sickness seized their frame, and the inevitable change advanced; when they saw the fatal arrow fitting to the strings, saw the deadly archer aiming at their heart, and felt the envenomed shaft fasten-

* — Animus meminisse horret, luetuque refugit.

Vire.

ed in their vitals — pood God! what fearfulness came upon them! What horrible dread overwhelmed them! How did they stand shuddering and aghast upon the tremendous precipice! excessively afraid to plunge into the abyss of eternity, yet utterly unable to maintain their standing on the verge of life.

O! what pale reviews, what startling prospects conspire to augment their sorrows! They look backward and behold! a most melancholy set ne! sins unrepented of; mercy slighted; and the day of grace ending! They look forward, and nothing presents itself but the righteous Judge, the dreadful tribunal, and a most solemn reckoning. ‘J hey roll around their affrighted eyes en attending friends. If accomplices in debauchery, it sharpens their anguish to consider this farther aggra. vation of their guilt, that they have not sinned alone, but drawn others into the snare. It reli. gious acquaintance, it strikes afresh gash into their hearts, to think of never seeing them any more, but only at an unapproachable distance, separated by the unpassablegulph.

At last, perhaps, they begin to pray. Finding no other possible way of relief, they are constrained to apply unto the Almighty. With trembling lips and a faltering tongue they cry unto that Sovereign Being, ’ who kills and makes alive.’ But why have they deferred, so long deferred, their addresses to God? “Why have they despised «til his counsels, and stood incorrigible under his incessant reproofs? How often have tltey been forewarned of these terrors, and most importunately entreated to seek the Lord while he might be found? I wish they may obtain mercy at the eleventh, at the last hour. I wish they may be snatched from the jaws, the opened, the gaping, the almost closing jaws of damnation. But, alas! who can tell whether affronted Majesty will lend an ear to their complaint? whether the Holy On« will work a miracle of grace in behalf of such transgressors? He may, for aught any mortal knows, ’ laugh at their calamity, and mock when heir fear cometh.’

Thus they lie, groaning out the poor remains of life; their limbs bathed in sweat; their heart struggling with convulsive throes; pains insupportable throbbing in every pulse; and innumerable darts of agony transfixing their conscience.

In that dread moment, how the frantic, soul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement; Runs to each avenue; and shrieks for help; But shrieks in vain! How wishfully she looks On all she’s leaving, now no longer hers! A little longer, yet a little longer, O! might she stay, to wash away her crimes, And fit her for her passage! Mournful sight! Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan She heaves, is big with horror; but the foe, Like a staunch murd’rer, steady to his purpose, Pursues her close through ev’ry lane of life, Nor misses once the track; but presses on; Till, forc’d at last to the tremendous verge, At once she sinks*. —

If this be the end of the ungodly, ’ my soul, come not thou into their secret! unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united!’ How awfully accomplished is that prediction of inspired wisdom! Sin, though seemingly sweet in the commission, yet at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Fly, therefore, from the tents, O! fly from the ways of such wretched men.

Happy dissolution! were this the period of their woes. But, alas! all these tribulations are only

* See a valuable poem, entitled ‘The Grave.’ ‘the beginning of sorrows;’ a small drop only from that cup of trembling,’ which is mingled for their future portion. No sooner has the last pang dislodged their reluctant souls, but they are hurried into the presence of an injured angry God; not under the conducting care of beneficent angels, but exposed to the insults of accursed spirits, who lately tempted them, now upbraid them, and will for ever torment them. Who can imagine their confusion and distress, when they stand guilty and inexcusable before their incensed Creator? They are received with frowns. The God that made them has no ’ mercy on them*.’ The Prince of Peace rejects them with abhorrence, He consigns them over to chains of darkness and receptacles of despair, against the severer doom and more public infamy of the greit day. Then, all the vials of wrath will be emptied upon these wretched creatures. The law they have violated, and the Gospel they have slighted; the power they have, defied, and the goodness they have abused; will all get themselves honour in their exemplary destruction. Then God, the God to whom vengeance belongeth, will draw the arrow to the very head, and set them as the mark of bis inexorable displeasure.

Resurrection will be no privilege to them; but immortality itself their everlasting curse. Would they not bless the grave, that land where all things are forgotten,’ and wish to lie eternally hid in its deepest gloom? But the dust refuses to conceal their persons, or to draw a veil over their practices. They also must awake; must arise; must appear at the bar, and meet the Judge; a Judge, before whom ’ the pillars of heaven tremble, and the earth melts away;’ a Judge,

* Isaiah,, xxvii, 2.

once long-suffering and very compasionate, but now unalterably determined to teach stubborn offenders what it is to provoke the Omnipotent Godhead; what it is to trample upon the blood of his Son, and offer despite to all the gracious overtures of his Spirit.

O! the perplexity! the distraction, that must seize the impenitent rebels when they are summoned to the great tribunal! What will they do in this day of severe visitation, this day of final decision? Where? how? whence can they find help? To which of the saints will they turn? WThither betake themselves for shelter or for succour? Alas! ’tis all in vain! ’tis all too late. Friends and acquaintance know them no more; men and angels abandon them to their approaching doom; even the Mediator, the Mediator himself, deserts them in this dreadful hour. To fly, will be impracticable: to justify themselves, still more impossible: and now, to make any supplications, utterly unavailable.

Behold! the books are opened; the secrets of all hearts are disclosed; the hidden things of darkness are brought to light. How empty, how ineffectual now, are all those refined artifices, with which hypocrites imposed upon their fellow creatures, and preserved a character in the sight of men! The jealous God, who has been about their path, and about their bed, and ‘spied out all their ways, sets before them the things that they have done. They cannot answer him one in a thousand, nor stand in the awful judgment. The heavens reveal their iniquities, and the earth rises up against them*. They are speechless with guilt, and stigmatized with infamy before all the armies of the sky and all the nations of the redeemed. What a favour would they esteem it, to hide their

Job, xx. C”.

ashamed heads in the bottom of the ocean, or even to be buried beneath the ruins of the tottering world!

If the contempt poured upon them be thus insupportable, how will their hearts endure when the sword of infinite indignation is unsheathed, and fiercely waved around their defenceless heads, or pointed directly at their naked breasts? How must the wretches scream with wild amazement, and rend the very heavens with their cries, when the right-aiming thunderbolts go abroad! — go abroad with a dreadful commission to drive them from the kingdoms of glory, and pluuge them, not into the sorrows of a moment, or the tortures of an hour, but into all the restless agonies of unquenchable fire and everlasting despair*.

Misery of miseries! too shocking for reflection to dwell upon. But if so dismal to foresee, and that at a distance, together with some comfortable expectation of escaping it, O! how bitter, inconceivably bitter, to bear, without any intermission, cr any mitigation, through hopeless and eternal ages!

Who has any bowels of pity? Who has any sentiments of compassion? Who has any tender concern for his fellow-creatures? Who? — in God’s name and for Christ’s sake, let him show it, by warning every man, and beseeching every man, to seek toe Lord while he may be found, to throw down the arms of rebellion before the act of indemnity expires, submissively to adore the Lamb, while he holds out the golden sceptre. Here, let us act the friendly part to mankind; here, ‘et

* Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all, but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever burning sulphur unconsum’d. Alilt. E the whole force of oJr benevolence exert itself, in exhorting relations, acquaintance, neighbours, whomsoever we may probably influence, to take the wings of faith unfeigned, of repentance undelayed, and flee away from this wrath to come.

Upon the whole, what stupendous discoveries are these! Lay them up in a faithful remembrance,

0 my soul; recollect them with the most serious attention, when thou licst down, and when thou risest up; when thou walkest, receive them for thy companions; when thou talkest, listen to them as thy prompters; and whatever thou doest, consult them as thy directors. Influenced by these considerations, thy views will greaten, thy affections be. exalted, and thou thyself raised above the tantalizing power of perishing things. Dulymindful of these, it will be the sum of thy desires and the scope of thy endeavours, to gain the approbation of that Sovereign Being who will then fill the throne and pronounce the decisive sentence; thou wilt see nothing worth a wish*, in comparison of having his will for thy rule, his glory for thy aim, and his Holy Spirit for thy ever actuating principle

Wonder, O man; be lost in admiration at those prodigious events which are coming upon the universe; events, the greatness of which nothing finite can measure; such as will cause whatever is considerable or momentous in the annals of all generations to sinkjinto littleness and nothing; events (Jesus prepare us for their approach, defend us when they take place!) big with the everlasting fates of all the living and the dead.

1 must see the graves cleaving, the sea teeming,

* Great day of dread, decision, and despair! At thought of thee, each sublunary wish Lets go its eager grasp, and quits the world.

Night-Thoughts.

and swarms unsuspected, crowds unnumbered, yea, multitudes of thronging nations, rising from both: I must see the world in flames, must stand at the dissolution of all terrestrial things, and be an attendant on the burial of nature: I must see the vast expanse of the sky wrapt up like a scroll, and the incarnate God issuing forth from light inaccessible, with ten thousand times ten thousand angels, to judge both men and devils: I must see the curtain of time drop, see all eternity disclosed to view, and enter upon a state of being that will never, never have an end.

And ought I not (let the vainest imagination determine, ought I not) to try the sincerity of my faith, and take heed to my ways? Is there an inquiry, is there a care, of greater, of equal, of comparable importance? Is not this an infinitely pressing call, to see that my loins are girded about, my lamp trimmed, and myself dressed for the bridegroom’s appearance? that, washed in the fountain opened in my Saviour’s side, and clad with the marriage-garment wove by his obedience, I may be found in peace, unblameable, and unreprovable. Otherwise how shall I stand with boldness when the stars of heaven fall from their orbs? How shall I come forth erect and courageous, when the earth itself reels to and fro like a drunkard *? How shall I look up with joy, and see my salvation drawing nigh, when the hearts of millions and millions fail for fear?

Now, madam, lest my meditations set in a cloud, and leave any unpleasing gloom upon your mind, let me once more turn to the brightening prospects of the righteous. A view of them and their delightful expectations may serve to exhilarate the thoughts, which have been musing upon mtlaucholysnljects, and hovering about, the edges of infernal

* Isaiah, xxiv. 20.

darkness; just as a spacious field, arrayed in cheerful green, relieves and reinvigorates the eye which has fatigued itself by poring upon some minute, or gazing upon some glaring object.

The righteous seem to lie by, in the bosom of the earth, as a weary pilot in some well-sheltered creek, till all the storms which infest this lower world are blown over: here they enjoy safe anchorage, are in no danger of foundering amidst the waves of prevailing iniquity, or of being shipwrecked on the rocks of any powerful temptation. But ere long we shall behold them hoisting the flag of hope, riding before a sweet gale of atoning merit and redeeming love; till they make, with all the sails of an assured faith, the blessed port of eternal life.

Then, may the honoured friend to whom I am writing, rich in good works, rich in heavenly tempers, but inexpressibly richer in her Saviour’s righteousness, O! may she enter the harbour like a gallant stately vessel, returned successful and victorious from some grand expedition, with acclamations, honour, and joy! while my little bark, attendant on the solemnity, and a partaker of the triumph, glides humbly after, and both rest together in the haven, the wished-fdr, blissful haveo, of perfect security and everlasting repose.