question my willingness to be thine? At what dearer rate should I tell thee that I love thee? Wilt thou not believe my bitter passion proceeded from love? Have I made myself in the gospel a lion to thine enemies, and a lamb to thee, and dost thou overlook my lamb-like nature? Had I been willing to let thee perish, what need I have done and suffered so much? What need I follow thee with such patience and importunity? Why dost thou tell me of thy wants; have I-not enough for me and thee? Or of thy unworthiness; for if thou wast thyself worthy, what shouldst thou do with my worthiness? Did I ever invite, or save, the worthy and the righteous; or is there any such upon earth? Hast thou nothing; art thou lost and miserable, helpless and forlorn? Dost thou believe I am an all-sufficient Saviour, and wouldst thou have me? Lo, I am thine, take me; if thou art willing, I am; and neither sin, nor Satan, shall break the match." These, O these were the blessed words which his Spirit from his gospel spoke unto me, till he made me cast myself at his feet, and cry out, "My Saviour and my Lord, thou hast broke, thou hast revived my heart; thou hast overcome, thou hast won my heart; take it, it is thine; if such a heart can please thee, take it; if it cannot, make it such as thou wouldst have it." Thus, O my soul! Mayest thou remember the sweet familiarity thou hast had with Christ; therefore, if acquaintance will cause affection, let out thy heart unto him. It is he hath stood by thy bed of sickness, hath eased thy pains, refreshed. thy weariness, and removed thy fears. He hath been always ready, when thou hast earnestly sought him; hath met thee in public and private;

hath been found of thee in the congregation, in thy house, in thy closet, in the field, and in thy waking nights, in thy deepest dangers.'

13. "If bounty and compassion be an attractive of love, how unmeasurable then am I bound to love him! All the mercies that have filled up my life, all the places that ever I abode in, all the societies and persons I have been conversant with, all my employments and relations, every condition I have been in, and every change I have passed through, all tell me, that the fountain is overflowing goodness. Lord, what a sum of love am I indebted to thee! And how does my debt continually increase! How should I love again for so much love! But shall I dare to think of requiting thee, or of recompensing all thy love with mine! Will my mite requite thee for thy golden mines; my seldom wishes, for thy constant bounty, mine which is nothing, or not mine, for thine which is infinite and thine own? Shall I dare to contend in love with thee; or set my borrowed languid spark against the Sun of love? Can I love as high, as deep, as broad, as long, as love itself; as much as he that made me, and that made me love, and gave me all that little which I have? As I cannot match thee in the works of power, nor make, nor preserve, nor rule the worlds; no more can I match thee in love. No, Lord, I yield; I am overcome. blessed conquest! Go on victoriously, and still prevail, and triumph in thy love. The captive of love shall proclaim thy victory! when thou leadest me in triumph from earth to heaven, from death to life, from the tribunal to the throne; myself, and all that see it, shall acknowledge thou hast prevailed, and all shall say, behold how he loved him! Yut

let me love in subjection to thy love; as thy redeemed captive, though not thy peer. Shall I not love at all, because I cannot reach thy measure? O that I could feelingly say, I love thee, even as I love my friend, and myself! Though I cannot say, as the apostle, Thou knowest that I love thee; yet I can say, Lord, thou knowest that I would love thee. I am angry with my heart, that it doth not love thee; I chide it, yet it doth not mend; I reason with it, and would fain persuade it, yet I do not perceive it stir; I rub and chafe it in the use of thy ordinances, and yet I feel it not warm within me. Unworthy soul! Is not thine eye now upon the only lovely object? Art thou not beholding the ravishing glory of the saints? And dost thou not love? Art thou not a rational soul, and should not reason tell thee, that earth is a dungeon to the celestial glory? Art thou not thyself a spirit, and shouldst thou not love God, who is a Spirit, and the Father of spirits? Why dost thou love so much thy perishing clay, and love no more the heavenly glory? Shalt thou love when thou comest there; when the Lord shall take thy carcase from the grave, and make thee shine as the sun in glory forever and ever; shalt thou then love, or shalt thou not? Is not the place a meeting of lovers? Is not the life a state of love? Is it not the great marriage day of the Lamb? Is not the employment there the work of love, where the souls with Christ take their fill? O then, my soul, begin it here! Be sick of love now, that thou mayest be well with love there. Keep thyself now in the love of God; and let neither life, nor death, nor any thing separate thee from it; and thou shalt be kept in the fulness of love forever, and nothing

shall imbitter or abate thy pleasure; for the Lord hath prepared a city of love, a place for communicating love to his chosen, and they that love his name shall dwell therein."

14. "Awake then, O my drowsy soul! To sleep under the light of grace is unreasonable, much more in the approach of the light of glory. Come forth, my dull congealed spirit, thy Lord bids thee rejoice, and again rejoice. Thou hast lain long enough in thy prison of flesh, where Satan hath been thy jailor, cares have been thy irons, fears thy scourges, and thy food the bread and water of affliction; where sorrows have been thy lodging, and thy sins and foes have made the bed, and an unbelieving heart hath been the gates and bars that have kept thee in: The angel of the covenant now calls thee, and strikes thee, and bids thee arise, and follow him. Up, O my soul, and cheerfully obey, and thy bolts and bars shall all fly open; follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth. Shouldst thou fear to follow such a guide Can the sun lead thee to a state of darkness? Will he lead thee to death, who died to save thee from it? Follow him, and he will shew thee the paradise of God; he will give thee a sight of the New Jerusa lem, and a taste of the tree of life. Come forth, my drooping soul, and lay aside thy winter-dress; let it be seen by thy garments of joy and praise, that the spring is come; and as thou now seest thy comforts green, thou shalt shortly see them white and ripe for harvest, and then thou shalt be called to reap, and gather, and take possession. Should I suspend and delay my joys till then? Should not the joys of spring go before the joys of harvest? Is title nothing before possession? Is the

heir in no better a state than a slave? My Lord hath taught me to rejoice, in hope of his glory; and how to see it through the bars of a prison; for when I am persecuted for righteousness' sake, he commanded me to rejoice, and be exceeding glad, because my reward in heaven is great. I know he would have my joys exceed my sorrows; and as much as he delights in the humble and contrite he yet more delights in the soul that delights in him. Hath my Lord spread me a table in this wilderness, and furnished it with the promises of everlasting glory, and set before me angel's food? Doth he frequently and importunately invite me to sit down, and feed, and spare not? Hath he, to that end, furnished me with reason, and faith, and a joyful disposition, and is it possible that he should be unwilling to have me rejoice? Is it not his command, to delight thyself in the Lord; and his promise, to give the desires of thine heart? Art thou not charged, to rejoice evermore: yea, to sing aloud, and shout, for joy? Why should I then be discouraged? My God is willing, if I were but willing. He is delighted in my delights. He would have it my constant frame, and daily business, to be near him in my believing meditations, and to live in the sweetest thoughts of his goodness. O blessed employment, fit for the sons of God! But thy feast, my Lord, is nothing to me without an appetite: Thou hast set the dainties of heaven before me; but alas! I am blind, and cannot see them; I am sick, and cannot relish them; I am so benumbed, that I cannot put forth a hand to take them. I therefore humbly beg this grace, that as thou hast opened heaven to me in thy word, so thou wouldst open mine eyes to see it, and my heart