Truly, O worldlings! I pity you. Now you seem to be great
and full of fun. But, though you shine on the outside, there is an awful
blank within. If in this life only I have hope, I would of all men be
most miserable; for the greatest thing I could either hope for, or
desire below, are trifling in comparison of the great and glorious things of
eternity that I aspire after. What good would my life do me, did I not live
to die, that I may live forever? What would my time be—but a rotation of
toils and troubles, did it not afford me an opportunity to prepare and
improve for eternity? How would every forethought about this present life
trouble me, did not the solid hope of a future world sustain me?
As for my part, I would not wish a worse hell, than that
my eternal habitation were among the wicked in Mesech—where my unsubdued
corruptions and carnal affections were perpetuated. But I know in whom I
have believed, and that he will not delay to gather his scattered sheep
together, that there may be one Shepherd, and one flock, in the fields
above. Eternity is already begun in my soul, and my inward part is refreshed
with foretastes of fruition and glory. Hence my thoughts take wing beyond
the bounds of time, and dwell, (though, alas! too short,) amidst the glories
of the better world. Hence I am contented with my present state, and would
not exchange my condition with kings. Hence the early beamings of that
blessed day, when my Beloved and I shall meet, to part no more—refresh and
ravish all my soul. Hence I triumph amidst all the transitory scenes of
sorrow which I labor under; and am not moved, either by unjust reproach, or
vain applause.
O the emptiness of this present world! but O the
excellences of the world to come! Faith and hope—fetch me some of the
first-ripe fruits, some of the grapes of Eshcol. Surely, this world would be
a wilderness to me, did I not look on myself only as a traveler through
it—as a way-faring man that shall tarry therein but for a few nights.
There is a restlessness in my bosom that shall never be
removed until I rest in God. Yes, even now, God is the resting-place of my
soul, otherwise I would be tormented with strong pain, and torn with agonies
of mind. Yet the most pleasant calm and tranquility I enjoy here, through
the imperfections of this state, and remaining corruption—is far from being
complete at best, and oftentimes is interrupted. But the rest I wait for, is
refreshing, perfect, and eternal.
Hasten, then, the day when you shall descend to mount
your glorious throne, and appear the second time without sin unto salvation;
when you shall accomplish all my desires, fill my longing soul, admit me to
the nearest communion, and satisfy me with the sublimest bliss. For this I
patiently wait. In the mean time, I lay up my treasures in heaven, where I
dwell by hope, and have taken up my mansion by faith in the promise, until
the day of my solemn removal come, when by the divine command, I shall be
carried over to the land of rest.
Miserable are those who have no joy in the prospect of a
world to come—without which I would be swallowed up in sorrow. Miserable are
those who find their pleasure, and place their happiness—in the painted
trifles of a momentary life—but are tortured with the thoughts of eternity,
and put on the rack if they glance beyond the grave!