more desirous, because we never yet had the favour to see thee, who art so dear unto us. O favour us therefore so much, most gracious Lord, as to come and gratify our desires with that unknown, that long looked for sight of thee. III. And there is still a greater reason to desire it, and to be in love with his appearing; because then we hope to be perfected and consummated in love. This is an affection, you have heard, so pleasurable, that we are enticed thereby, or rather sweetly forced to strain our souls to the utmost expression of it. When we have found an object worthy of this passion, the delight it gives us invites, nay compels, our hearts to the most abundant effusion of it; that so we may not want the highest degree of delight and joy. But alas! love in this world, though exceeding sweet, is not, as we usually speak, all honey; but there is some bitterness mingled together with it. The heart that is struck with it receives a wound which cannot be perfectly healed till it enjoys its desires, and that you know is not without the company of anguish and pain. 1. For we find that when men admit into their hearts the love of any mortal creature like themselves, the soul, which before was whole, unbroken and entire, is as it were separated and torn by this passion, both from itself and all other objects; save only that which hath engaged its affection. Now all men know that no heart can be thus parted and divided without a sense of grief and smart, attending on such a divulsion and rending of it from itself: till it feel that soul, which it loves as another self, effectually joined to it. And then (2) we find that after it hath obtained well assured hopes of this, yet those eager desires and longings that are in this passion still carry their sting in them; and make the heart but ill at ease until they be accomplished. Both which it were easy to apply to that devout affection wherewith pious. souls are touched towards our blessed Saviour; which is very unquiet and full of trouble till they know and feel that he loves them. 3. But I shall rather observe, (which is peculiar to this holy love,) that the wounds, as I may call them, which are made in any heart by the wonderful kindness of our Saviour, who loved us so much as to die for us, are wont very oft to be a torment to it; because it can love him no more, and doth not feel such vehement transports of affection to him, as it desires, and he hath merited. And then (4) though we are fully persuaded that we do sincerely and heartily love him, yet this proves a great trouble to us, here in this present state, that we fancy him sometimes to be a stranger to us; and he seems to treat us as if he were suspicious of our love. And (5) when we have the greatest sense of his most tender mercies, and he sheds abroad his love in our hearts; this creates a new grief, because he stays no longer with us, and we cannot call him back, as oft as we please, to give us those delicious tastes of his infinite love. But (6) there is nothing so considerable in this matter as that we cannot enjoy those gracious visits from our Lord (of which we are so desirous, and which fill the heart with the greatest love to him and delight in him) but they conclude in sighs and groans, and leave us much unsatisfied, while we are in this mortal body. That very love which God himself excites, those heavenly impressions which his own hand makes upon our hearts, the greatest ardours of divine affection wherewith we are inspired from above; are not without their pangs of trouble in all those who, with earnest intention of mind and most hearty desires, give up themselves to follow them, and seriously endeavour to comply with them. For while a devout soul (that is in a lively manner touched by him) stretches its wings, as I may say, and spreads itself with great affection that it may mount up in vehement love unto him; it presently feels how unable it is to answer those divine motions, and sees, to its sorrow, that its wings are not grown large enough to bear it so high as it then aspires. There is a powerful spirit indeed, which stimulates it to fly aloft where he is; but while it endeavours to obey its inspirations, it is strongly dragged and pulled down by the earthly tabernacle to these inferior enjoyments. It is borne away with violent and swift desires; and at the same time sinks below, and sadly flags for want of power. Like the bird that is not yet fully fledged, which would fain fly when it hears the mother call, but finding its wings too weak, is forced to fall into some hedge or tree, and there is content to hop up and down, and please itself in its little chirpings among the branches; so doth the devout soul feel itself when it is very desirous to correspond with the heavenly motions that are stirring in it, and when it thinks it hears the Father of spirits saying, Come up hither. It fails in the attempt; and can only make some small but feeble essays towards its celestial country. It is soon tired and grows weary; and while it pants and breathes after high and excellent things, cannot reach them or come nigh them; but faints away and spends itself in sighs, which are so much the sadder, because it sees the spacious heavens before its eyes, and yet must be content to drop down and sit still upon the earth. Yea, the very stretching of her wings puts the soul to pain, when she cannot fly. The straining of herself is very uneasy; when she can only groan, but not raise up herself to the pitch that she desires. She suffers a kind of torment between these two; the strength of her affections, and the weakness of her ability; the sharpness of her sight, and the dulness of her enjoyment. O miserable creature that I am, what shall I do? (is the dejected soul in this case apt to say.) Pardon me, dear Lord, if my great love to thee make me call myself miserable; when I know that I am very happy. It is my desire to be nearer to thee, which makes me deplore not only my distance from thee, but the feebleness of my soul in its endeavours to approach thee. O what a change have a few moments made in me! I thought just now I was going up to heaven; and alas! here I lie at this present sighing upon the ground. The divine breath, methought, was carrying me above; and I, unable to accompany it, am still here below. I felt as if I was all life and spirit a little while ago; and now I am almost dead. I seemed as if I should have quite forgot this world; and now I can scarce think of any thing else. O how sweet it would be, but to remember the tastes that I had of thy transcendent love! whereas now, alas! I can scarce relish any thing that is good. What shall I do with myself? or what shall I desire for this poor soul, which is thus sadly burdened and pressed down by the corruptible body? My heart is with Jesus; but, O how little do I enjoy of him! I am not myself, I am become another thing than I was before; and yet how little is there of Jesus in me! How wide is the distance still between me and my dearest Lord! How do I long to be exactly like him; but how short, O how vastly short am I of him! And how like a stranger doth he sometime seem! How do I lose, in this blind and dark estate, the sight and sense of his most precious love! I know my heart loves him; but what a grief is it that my love is so weak, so dull, so little worthy of him! O blessed Jesus, what a favour is it that thou wilt be pleased to cast, at any time, a gracious look upon such a cold and senseless heart as this of mine! With what thanks ought I to receive the smallest testimony of thine inestimable love! which is so sweet, that it makes us sigh because we can enjoy no more of it. Ah! that this vessel should be so narrow and strait, as to contain so little of thy love! Ah the dulness of this heart, which entertains thee so poorly, that it is no wonder thou makest so short a stay, so exceeding short a stay with me! How sad is it to think of this heavy clog, which will never let me follow thee far, when I have the strongest attractions from thee! Fain would my soul climb up unto thee; but when I have got a little way, down I come, and have lost that glorious sight I had of thee. And if thou art pleased to lift me up as high as heaven, how soon is the mind weighed down again, while it museth upon those celestial things! O the constant joys which I hoped to have! how are they vanished! O the satisfaction which began to be in this heart, which now lies grovelling in the dust, filled with nothing but sighings after thee! And blessed be thy goodness that it doth sigh after thee. I thank thee that I feel such love, such vehement desire there, as makes it long for more of thee. I will never cease to sigh after thee. I will still long for that time when thou, Lord, wilt be pleased to appear, and make all sighing fly away by a constant sight and enjoyment of thee. For this I will groan, that I may be so happy as to see thee; and that thou wilt make me as strong, as sometime thou makest me desirous, to accompany thee. I will pray for this, that thou wouldst come and heal those wounds which love hath made, by making me perfect in thy love. O come therefore, dearest Lord, and turn my desires into enjoyment, my sickness into health, my weakness into strength, these flutterings of my soul into a flight: into a flight, I say, from this earth into the air; where I may no sooner wish to be with thee, but I may feel my soul snatched away, and leap for joy to find itself in thy embraces. Come, O my Lord, come, thou lover of souls, and let me not languish in these longings any more. Come, and leave no place for any fears that I shall lose thy company. Come, and give me the full satisfaction I promise myself in thy sweetest society. I am content to suffer one pain, that I may thereby put an end to all. Death is no longer dreadful to me, when I think it will bring me something nearer to thee. Thou mayest rend my soul when thou pleasest from this flesh; that it may be torn no more, as it uses to be, when it is pulled back by other things, and would gladly follow thee. O join me perfectly, most perfectly to thee; that I may love thee as much as the most enlarged spirit is capable to love thee. Happy should I be, if I could do nothing else but love thee, and feel that thou lovest me. O hasten the day when my time shall be divided between these two sweetest employments; of expressing my most ardent love to thee, and rejoicing in the full satisfaction of thy love to me. CHAP. XIII. Two other reasons why, if we love ourselves, we must needs love this appearing. IV. So we ought to wish, if we seriously believe there will be such a day, because we naturally love life and immortality, which till then cannot be perfectly bestowed on us. Our Lord indeed hath brought these to light, and given us an assured hope that none of those who believe in him shall perish: but, as the everlasting life he puts us in possession of when we |