only to draw nearer both in spirit and in truth, unto thyself, and to whatever relates to thy glory!

CHAP. XXVI.

ON THE FEAR OF MAN.

Hɛ, that unduly fears man, cannot truly fear God: And he, that lives much in the fear of God, will not regard over much what man can do unto him. The want of faith is the root of all carnal fear, which becomes less and less pressing, as faith gathers strength and increases in the soul. It is a sad hindrance in the ways of God, as well as torment, to live under the views, opinions, prejudices, and passions of worldly men.

The fear of man bringeth a snare; and a snre for all sorts of evil. Mild, gentle, feeling, and delicate tempers, are most exposed to this danger; and they should pray much to him, who strengthens the weak, for fortitude without rudeness, for resolution without roughness, and for stability without stubbornness, that so they may properly act and hold out in time of trial.

When it is a principle graciously established in the soul, that men can do nothing to us but which is for our good, and that they must do whatever is; it greatly abates that

fickle feebleness of nature, which, out of too much love and care for itself, brings us into bondage of heart to wretched worms, whose breath is in their nostrils, and themselves, in this way, not to be accounted of.

CHAP. XXVII.

ON MY OWN IMPERFECTIONS.

WHILE I am in the flesh, I must be incompassed with many infirmities: and while I am in the world I cannot escape trial and temptation. These things are grievous to my spirit; but I see that they are permitted, to wean me from myself, and to draw off my heart from the creatures to my only true refuge in God.

What feebleness, at times, do I not feel in duty; what fickleness and unsteadiness, in following my Redeemer; what dulness and distraction in prayer; so that I can hardly remain firm and lively, long together, in the pursuit of that good, which my soul most desires and approves. It is a war indeed in my members to get my corrupted nature down, and to have the life of grace warm and vigorous within me. I cannot but groan, at times, in this tabernacle, being burdened, and almost oppressed, by the evils within and about me.

Were it not for divine help, O what should I do? Like Peter on the sea, I have sometimes ventured boldly after my Lord; but like him too, through faintness of heart and weakness of faith, at other times, I have cried out, Lord, save, or I perish! Thou hast helped me indeed, blessed be thy name, O my God; and yet I cannot but reproach myself for the cold forgetfulness and weakness of my spirit, in doubting so often of thy faithfulness, and in not keeping hold of thy pro

mises.

Thus, Lord, I feel myself a poor, a frail, and altogether a weak and worthless man; fit for nothing but thy mercy, and capable of nothing, when left to my own nature, but rebellion against it. When I survey myself, and all my confused and ruined faculties, I am filled with shame, and cannot but wonder at thy long-suffering towards me. wretch that I am, in what a vile body of șin do I live! How am I always struggling against thee with my perverse and wicked flesh, contrary to the true and lasting interests of my soul? How ready to yield to thine enemy and mine; or to give up all for lost, rather than maintain the hard and painful struggle with corruption and sin?

When I have been lively and zealous for my God, how often have I been ready to overlook, to misapply, or to turn his grace to the foolish vanity of my own mind? Insomuch, at times, I seem all flesh to myself,

and to have neither true light, life, wisdom, nor strength from above within me. My failures are and have been so numerous, the apostasy of my heart so great, the conduct of my life and temper so mutable and irregular, and all my frame so poor and wavering, so cold and weak in embracing the best things, that I am ready to bemoan with the prophet, Woe is me, for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips! My whole head is sick, and my whole heart is faint.

Others may talk of their wills and their powers, their duties and their deserts; but, as for me, I can scarcely lift up my eyes to heaven when I consider myself: Rather with the publican my brother, I must smite upon my breast and say, God be merciful to me a sinner! Instead of looking on myself as a fine holy creature, who can appear confidently before my God, I shrink with contrition and shame at the thought, that I have done little else than dishonour him all my days, and deserve nothing for the best thing I was ever able to do, but confusion and

sorrow.

O what plague is discovered in a man's own heart, when he knows himself; and how little doth he appear in his own eyes, when he hath been made to view, in some true light and degree, the piercing purity and perfections of God.

And yet, O marvellous to say, God is pleased, by all the weak and contrary things

in me, to magnify his own power and glory. By these, he makes me out of humour with myself; by these, he drives me from a thousand refuges of lies; by these, he compels me to cleave unto him, as my only Rock, Succour, and Remedy. In this way, I can feel, as well as read, what the apostle meant, where he says, Most gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; for when I am weak, then I am strong. These are strange paradoxes to the natural heart; but blessed is the man who can truly understand and enter into their sweet sense and experience.

THE

CHAP. XXVIII.

BELIEVER RECEIVES FOOD AS WELL
AS LIGHT, IN THE WORD AND

DOCTRINES OF CHRIST.

THE mere notion of divine things, without their power, cannot profit the soul. As a man may be poor with the plan of a large estate, of which he hath no possession; so a professor of christianity may have the bible before him, and may be able to raise very high and fine speculations from it, and yet have no true knowledge or enjoyment of the truths which it contains.

Aminister may preach of these truths with great clearness, and with fine and fervid de