Chapter I: WHOEVER hath read the foregoing chapters with attention, is, I hope, (6)

*So that if you don’t think it hard to be deprived of the pleasures of _gluttony_, for the sake of religion, you have no reason to think it hard to be restrained from any worldly pleasure. For search as deep, and look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be found, that is _nobler_, or _greater_, than _high eating_ and _drinking_, unless you look for it in the wisdom of religion.

And if all that is in the world, are only so many _empty cups_, what does it signify which you take, or how many?

17. If you would but use yourself to such meditations as these, to reflect upon the vanity of _all orders_ of life without piety, to consider how all the ways of the world, are only so many different ways of error, blindness, and mistake; these meditations would awaken your soul into a zealous desire of that solid happiness which is only to be found in recourse to God.

18. To meditate upon the perfection of the divine attributes, to contemplate the glories of heaven, to consider the joys of saints and angels living for ever in the brightness and glory of the divine presence; these are the meditations of souls advanced in piety, and not suited to every capacity.

But to see and consider the _emptiness_ and error of all worldly happiness, to see the _grossness_ of _sensuality_, the _poorness_ of pride, the _stupidity_ of covetousness, the _vanity_ of dress, the _blindness_ of our passions, the _uncertainty_ of our lives, and the _shortness_ of all worldly projects; these are meditations that are suited to all capacities. They require no depth of thought, or sublime speculation; but are forced upon us by all our senses, and taught by almost every thing that we see and hear.

This is that _Wisdom that crieth, and putteth forth her voice in the streets_, Prov. viii. 1. that standeth at all our doors, that appealeth to all our senses, teaching us in every thing and every where, by all that we see, and all that we hear, by births ♦and burials, by sickness and health, by life and death, by pains and poverty, by misery and vanity, and by all the changes of life; that there is nothing else for man to look after, no other end in nature for him to drive at, but a happiness in religion.

♦ duplicate word removed ‘and’

CHAP. XI.

_That not only a life of |vanity|, or |sensuality|, but even
the |most regular| kind of life, that is not governed by
great devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its wants
and emptiness to the eyes of all the world. This
represented in various characters._

1. *_OCTAVIUS_ is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in most parts of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom in _Europe_. The other day, being just recovered from a lingering _fever_ he took upon him to talk thus to his friends.

“My _glass_, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes see how many marks of _age_ and _death_ I bear about me: but I plainly feel myself sinking away faster than any standers-by imagine. I fully believe, that one year more will conclude my reckoning.”

The attention of his friends was much raised by such a declaration, expecting to hear something truly excellent from so learned a man, who had but a year longer to live; when _Octavius_ proceeded in this manner, “For these reasons, says he, my friends, I have left off all _taverns_; the wine of those places is not good enough for me in this decay of nature. I must now be _nice_ in what I drink. I can’t pretend to do as I have done; and therefore I am resolved to furnish my own _cellar_ with a little of the very best, tho’ it cost me ever so much.”

2. A few days after _Octavius_ had made this declaration to his friends, he relapsed into his former illness, was committed to _a nurse_, who closed his eyes before his fresh parcel of wine came in.

Young _Eugenius_ who was present at this discourse went home a new man.

I never, says _Eugenius_, was so deeply affected with the wisdom and importance of religion, as when I saw how _poorly_ and _meanly_ the learned _Octavius_ was to leave the world, thro’ the want of it.

3. *Was _all_ to die with our _bodies_, there might be some pretence for those _different sorts_ of happiness, that are now so much talked of: but since _our all_ begins at the death of our bodies; since all men are to be immortal, either in misery or happiness, in a world entirely different from this; since they are all hastening thence at all uncertainties, as fast as death can cut them down; some in _sickness_, some in _health_, some _sleeping_, some _waking_, some at _midnight_, others at _cock-crowing_, and at all hours they know not of; is it not certain, that no man can exceed another in joy and happiness, but so far as he exceeds him in those virtues which fit him for a happy death?

*_Cognatus_ is a sober, regular _clergyman_, of good repute in the world, and well esteemed in his parish. All his parishioners say he is an _honest_ man, and very notable at making a _bargain_. The farmers listen to him with great attention, when he talks of the properest time of selling corn.

He has been for twenty years a diligent observer of _markets_, and has raised a considerable fortune by good management.

_Cognatus_ is very _orthodox_, and full of _esteem_ for our _English_ liturgy; and if he has not prayers on _Wednesdays_ and _Fridays_, ’tis because his _predecessor_ had not used the parish to any such custom. As he cannot serve both his livings himself; so he makes it matter of _conscience_ to keep a _sober curate_ upon one of them, whom he _hires_ to take care of all the souls in the parish, at as _cheap_ a rate as a sober man can be procured.

_Cognatus_ has been very prosperous all his time; but still he has had the uneasiness and vexations that they have, who are deep in worldly business. _Taxes_, _losses_, _crosses_, _bad mortgages_, _bad tenants_, and the hardness of the times, are frequent subjects of his conversation, and a good or a bad _season_ has a great effect upon his spirits.

_Cognatus_ has no other end in growing rich, but that he may leave a considerable fortune to a _niece_, whom he has _politely_ educated in expensive finery, by what he has saved out of the tythes of _two livings_.

The neighbours look upon _Cognatus_ as an happy clergyman, because they see him (as they call it) in _good circumstances_; and some of them intend to dedicate their own sons to the church, because they see how well it has succeeded with _Cognatus_, whose father was but an _ordinary man_.

♦5. *But now if _Cognatus_, when he first entered into holy orders, had perceived how absurd a thing it is to grow _rich_ by the gospel; if he had proposed to himself the example of some _primitive father_; if, instead of twenty years care to lay up treasures upon earth, he had distributed the income of every year in the most Christian acts of charity.

♦ Number 4 omitted in text.

If instead of tempting his _niece_ to be proud, and providing her with such ornaments as the _apostle_ forbids, he had cloathed, comforted, and relieved numbers of _widows_ and _orphans_, who were all to appear for him at the last day:

*If instead of the cares and anxieties of _bad bonds_, _troublesome mortgages_, and _ill bargains_, he had had the constant comfort of knowing, that his treasure was securely laid up, where neither moth corrupteth, nor thieves break thro’ and steal; could it with any reason be said, that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity of his order, or lessened any of that happiness, which is to be found in his sacred employment?

If instead of rejoicing in the happiness of a second _living_, he had thought it unbecoming the office of a clergyman to traffick for gain in _holy things_, as to open a shop.

*If he had thought it better to recommend some _honest labour_ to his _niece_, than to support her in _idleness_ by the labour of a _curate_; better that she should want _fine cloaths_, and a _rich husband_, than that cures of souls should be farmed out, and brother clergymen not suffered to live by those altars at which they serve. If this had been the spirit of _Cognatus_, could it with any reason be said, that these rules of religion, this strictness of piety, had robbed _Cognatus_ of any real happiness? Could it be said, that a life thus governed by the spirit of the gospel, must be _dull_ and _melancholy_, if compared to that of raising a fortune for a _niece_?

6. Look now at that condition of life which draws the envy of all.

*_Negotius_ is a temperate, honest man. He served his time under a master of great trade; but has, by his own management, made it a more considerable business than ever it was before. For thirty years last past, he has been corresponding with all parts of _Europe_. The general good of trade seems to _Negotius_ to be the general good of life; whatever he commends or condemns, either in church or state, is commended, or condemned, with regard to trade.

As money is continually pouring in upon him; so he often lets it go in various kinds of expence and generosity, and sometimes in ways of charity.

_Negotius_ is always ready to join in any public contribution. If a _purse_ is making at any place where he happens to be, whether it be to buy a plate for a horse-race, or to redeem a _prisoner_ out of gaol, you are always sure of having something from him.

He has given a fine _ring of bells_ to a church in the country; and there is much expectation that he will some time or other make a more beautiful _front_ to the _market-house_, than has yet been seen in any place: for it is the generous spirit of _Negotius_, to do nothing in a mean way.

7. If you ask what it is that has secured _Negotius_ from all _scandalous vices_, it is the same thing that has kept him from all _strictness of devotion_, it is his great business. He has always had too many important things in his head: his thoughts are too much employed, to suffer him to fall either into a course of _rakery_, or to feel the necessity of an _inward, solid_ piety.

For this reason he hears of the pleasures of debauchery, and the pleasures of piety with the ♦same indifferency; and has no more desire of living in the one than in the other, because neither of them consists with that turn of mind, and multiplicity of business, which are his happiness.

♦ inserted omitted word ‘same’

*If _Negotius_ was asked, what it is which he drives at in life? He would be as much at a loss for an answer, as if he was asked, what any other person was thinking of. For though he always seems to himself to know what he is doing, and has many things in his head, which are the motives of his actions; yet he cannot tell you of any _one general end_ of life that he has chosen with deliberation, as being truly worthy of all his labour and pains.

He has several confused notions in his head, which have been a long time there: such as these; that it is _something great_ to have more business than other people, to have more dealings upon his hands than a hundred of the same profession, to grow continually richer and richer, and to raise an immense fortune before he dies. The thing that seems to give _Negotius_ the greatest life and spirit, and to be most in his thoughts, is an expectation that he shall die richer than any of his business ever did.

8. The generality of people when they think of happiness, think upon _Negotius_; in whose life every instance of happiness is supposed to meet, sober, prudent, rich, prosperous, generous and charitable.

Let us now look at this condition in another, but truer light.

*Let it be supposed, that this same _Negotius_ was a painful, laborious man, very deep in variety of affairs; that he neither drank, nor debauched, but was sober and regular in his business. Let it be supposed, that he grew old in this course of trading, and that the _end_ and _design_ of all his labour, and care, and application to business, was only this, that he might die possessed of more than an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_.

Let it be supposed that the sober part of the world say of him when he ♦is dead, that he was a great and happy man, a thorough master of business, and had acquired an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_ when he died.

♦ ‘his’ replaced with ‘is’

9. *Now if this was really the case, I believe that it would be readily granted that a life of such business was as poor and ridiculous as any that can be invented. But it would puzzle any one to shew, that a man that has spent all his time and thoughts in business and hurry, that he might die, as it is said, worth an hundred thousand pounds, is any whit wiser than he, who has taken the same pains to have as many pairs of _boots_ and _spurs_ when he leaves the world.

*For if the _state_ of our souls be our _whole state_, if the only end of life be to die as _free_ from sin, and as _exalted_ in virtue as we can; if naked as we came, so naked are we to return, and to stand a trial before Christ and his holy angels, for everlasting happiness or misery, what can it possibly signify, what a man had, or had not, in this world? What can it signify what you call these things that a man left behind him; whether you call him _his_, or any _one’s_ else; whether you _call_ them _trees_ or _fields_, or birds and feathers; whether you _call_ them an hundred _thousand pounds_, or an hundred thousand pair of _boots_ and _spurs_? I say _call_ them; for the _things_ signify no more to him than the _names_.

Now ’tis easy to see the folly of a life thus spent, to furnish a man with such a number of _boots_ and _spurs_. But yet there needs no better faculty of seeing, no finer understanding, to see the folly of a life spent in making a man possessor of _ten towns_ before he dies.

*For if, when he has got all his _towns_, or all his _boots_, his soul is to go into his _own place_ amongst separate spirits, and his body to be laid by in a _coffin_, till the last trumpet calls him to judgment; where the enquiry will be, how _humbly_, how _devoutly_, how _meekly_, how _piously_, how _charitably_, we have _spoke_, _thought_, and _acted_, whilst we were in the body? How can we say, that he who has wore out his life in raising an _hundred thousand pounds_, has acted wiser for himself, than he who has had the same _care_ to procure an hundred thousand of _any thing_ else?

10. *But farther, let it now be supposed, that _Negotius_, when he first entered into business, happening to read the gospel with _attention_, found he had a much greater business upon his hands, than that to which he had served an apprenticeship: that there were things which belong to man, of much more importance than all that our eyes can see; so glorious, as to deserve all our thoughts; so dangerous, as to need all our care; and so certain, as never to deceive the faithful labourer.

Let it be supposed, that by reading this book, he had discovered that his soul was more to him than his body: that it was better to grow in the virtues of the soul, than to have a large body, or a full purse; that it was better to be fit for heaven, than to have a variety of fine houses upon the earth; that it was better to secure an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things which he cannot keep; better to live in habits of humility, piety, charity, and self-denial, than to die unprepared for judgment; better to be most like our Saviour, than to excel all the tradesmen in the world, in business and bulk of fortune.

Let it be supposed, that _Negotius_, believing these things to be true, entirely devoted himself to God at his first setting out in the world, resolving to pursue his _business_ no farther than was consistent with great devotion, humility, and self-denial; and for no other ends, but to provide himself with a sober subsistence, and to do all the good he could, to the souls and bodies of his fellow creatures.

Let it therefore be supposed, that instead of the continual hurry of business, he was frequent in his retirements; that instead of restless desires after more riches, his soul had been full of the love of God and heavenly affection, constantly watching against worldly tempers, and always aspiring after divine grace; that instead of worldly cares and contrivances, he had been busy in fortifying his soul against all approaches of sin; that instead of costly shew, and the expensive generosity of a splendid life, he had loved and exercised all instances of humility and lowliness; that instead of great treats and full tables, his house had only furnished a sober refreshment to those that wanted it.

Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him free from all kinds of envy: that his piety made him thankful to God in all crosses and disappointments: that his charity kept him from being rich, by a continual distribution to all objects of compassion.

♦12. Now, had this been the Christian spirit of _Negotius_, can any one say, that he had lost the true happiness of life, by thus conforming to the Spirit, and living up to the hope of the gospel?

♦ Number 11 omitted in text.

*Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such virtues as these, which keep heaven always in our sight, which both delight and exalt the soul here, and prepare it for the presence of God hereafter, must be _poor_ and _dull_, if compared to that of heaping up riches, which can neither stay with us, nor we with them?

It would be endless to multiply examples of this kind, to shew you how little is lost, and how much is gained, by introducing a strict and exact piety into every condition of human life.

I shall now therefore leave it to your own meditation, to carry this way of thinking farther, hoping that enough is said, to convince yourself, that an exalted piety is so far from rendering any life dull and tiresome, that it is the only joy and happiness of any condition in the world.

13. *Imagine to yourself some person in a _consumption_, or any other _lingering distemper_ that was _incurable_.

If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon doing every thing in the spirit of religion, making the wisest use of all his time, fortune, and abilities. If he was for carrying every duty of piety to its greatest height, and striving to have all the advantage that could be had in the remainder of his life: if he avoided all business, but such as was necessary; if he was averse to all the follies and vanities of the world, had no taste for _finery_ and _shew_, but sought for all his comfort in the hopes and expeditions of religion, you would certainly commend his prudence; you would say, that he had taken the right method to make himself as joyful and happy, as any one can be in a state of such infirmity.

*On the other hand, if you should see the same person, with _trembling_ hands, short breath, _thin_ jaws, and _hollow_ eyes, wholly intent upon business and bargains, as long as he could speak: if you should see him pleased with _fine cloaths_, when he could scarce stand to be dressed, and laying out his money in _horses_ and _dogs_, rather than purchase the prayers of the poor for his soul, which was so soon to be separated from his body, you would certainly condemn him, as a weak, silly man.

14. Now, as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the wisdom and happiness of a religious spirit in a _consumptive man_; so, if you pursue the same way of thinking, you will as easily perceive the same wisdom and happiness of a pious temper in every other state of life.

For how soon will any man that is in _health_, be in the state of him that is in a _consumption_? How soon will he want all the same comforts of religion, which every dying man wants?

*And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because we have not above a year to live, is it not being more wise, and making ourselves more happy, to live piously, because we may have more years to come? If one year of piety before we die, is so desirable, are not more years of piety much more desirable?

15. If a man had _five fixed_ years to live, he could not possibly think at all, without intending to make the best use of them _all_. When he saw his stay so short in this world, he must needs think that this was not a world for him; and when he saw how near he was to another world, that was eternal, he must surely think it necessary to be very diligent in preparing for it.

Now as reasonable as piety appears in such a circumstance of life, it is yet more reasonable in every circumstance of life, to every thinking man.

For who but a madman can recount that he has _five_ years _certain_ to come?

*And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our worldly tempers, and live wholly unto God, because we are _certain_ that we are to die at the end of _five years_; surely it must be much more reasonable and necessary for us to live in the same spirit, because we have no _certainty_ that we shall live _five weeks_.

16. *Again, if we are to add _twenty_ years to the _five_, which is, in all probability, more than will be added to the lives of many people, who are at man’s estate; what a poor thing it is! How small a difference is there between five, and twenty-five years?

It is said, that a _day_ is with God as a _thousand years_, and a thousand years as one day; because, in regard to his eternity, this difference is as nothing.

*Now, as we are created to be _eternal_, to live an endless succession of ages upon ages, where _thousands_, and _millions of thousands_ of years will have no proportion to our everlasting life in God; so with regard to his eternal state, which is our real state, twenty-five _years_ is as poor a pittance as twenty-five _days_.

We can never make any true judgment of time as it relates to us, without considering the true state of our _duration_. If we are _temporary_ beings, then a little time may justly be called a great deal in relation to us; but if we are _eternal_ beings, then the difference of a few years is as nothing.

17. If we were to suppose _three_ different _sorts_ of rational beings, all of _different_, but _fixed_ duration; one sort that lived _certainly_ only a _month_, the other a _year_, and the third an _hundred years_.

If these beings were to meet together, and talk about time, they must talk in a very different language. _Half_ an _hour_ to those who were to live but a _month_, must be a very different thing, to what it is to those, who are to live an _hundred years_.

As therefore time is thus a different thing, with regard to the _state_ of those who enjoy it; so if we would know what time is with regard to ourselves, we must consider our state.

Now since our eternal state, is as certainly ours, as our present state; since we are as certainly to live for ever, as we are now to live at all; it is plain, that we cannot judge of the value of any particular time, as to us, but by comparing it to that eternal duration for which we are created.

If you would know what _five years_ signify to a being that was to live an _hundred_, you must compare _five_ to a _hundred_, and see what proportion it bears to it, and then you would judge right.

*So if you would know, what _twenty_ years signify to a son of _Adam_, you must compare it, not to a _million_ of ages, but to an _eternal duration_, to which no number of millions bears any proportion; and then you will judge right, by finding it _nothing_.

18. Consider therefore this; how would you condemn the folly of a man, that should lose his share of future glory, for the sake of being _rich_, or _great_, or _praised_, or delighted in _any enjoyment_, only _one poor_ day before he was to die!

But if the time will come, when a number of years will seem less to every one than a day does now; what a condemnation must it then be, if eternal happiness should be lost, for something less than the enjoyment of a day!

Why does a day seem a trifle to us now? It is because we have years to set against it. It is the duration of years that makes it seem as nothing.

*What a _trifle_ therefore must the years of a _man_’s _age_ appear, when they are forced to be set against _eternity_, when there shall be nothing but eternity to compare them with!

*And this will be the case of every man, as soon as he is out of the body; he will be forced to forget the distinction of days and years, and to measure time, not by the course of the sun, but by setting it against eternity.

As the _fixed stars_, by reason of our being placed at such distance from them, appear but as so many _points_; so when we, placed in eternity, shall look back upon _all time_, it will appear but as a _moment_.

*Then, a _luxury_, an _indulgence_, a _prosperity_, a _greatness_ of _fifty_ years, will seem to every one that looks back upon it, as the same _poor short_ enjoyment, as if he had been snatched away in his _first sin_.

These few reflections upon _time_, are only to shew how poorly they think, how miserably they judge, who are less careful of an eternal state, because they _may_ be at some _years_ distance from it, than they would be, if they knew they were within a few _weeks of it_.

CHAP. XII.

_Concerning that part of devotion which relates to |times|
and |hours| of |prayer|. Of daily |early| prayer in the
morning. How we may improve our |forms| of prayer, and
increase the |spirit| of devotion._

1. HAVING in the foregoing chapters shewn the necessity of a devout spirit, in every part of our common life, in the discharge of all our business, in the use of all the gifts of God: I come now to consider that part of devotion, which relates to _times_ and _hours_ of prayer.

*I take it for granted, that every Christian, that is in health, is up _early_ in the morning; for it is much more reasonable to suppose a person up _early_, because he is a _Christian_, than because he is a _labourer_, or a _tradesman_, or a _servant_, or has business that wants him.

*We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man that is in _bed_, when he should be at his _labour_, or in his _shop_. We can’t tell how to think any thing good of him, who is such a slave to drowsiness, as to neglect his business for it.

*Let this therefore teach us to conceive, how odious we must appear in the sight of heaven, if we are in _bed_, shut up in _sleep_, when we should be praising God; and are such slaves to drowsiness, as to neglect our devotions for it.

For if he is to be blamed as a _slothful drone_, that rather chuses the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to perform his proper worldly business, how much more is he to be reproached, that had rather lie folded up in a bed, than be raising up his heart to God in acts of praise and adoration.

2. Prayer is the nearest approach to God, and the highest enjoyment of him, that we are capable of in this life.

It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalted use of our best faculties, and the highest imitation of the blessed inhabitants of heaven.

When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy desires to the throne of grace, we are then in our highest state, we are upon the utmost height of human greatness; we are not before _kings_ and _princes_, but in the presence of the _Lord_ of all the world, and can be no higher till death is swallowed up in glory.

On the other hand, _sleep_ is the _poorest_, _dullest_ refreshment of the body; that is so far from being intended as an _enjoyment_, that we are forced to receive it either in a state of _insensibility_, or in the folly of _dreams_.

*_Sleep_, is such a _dull_, _stupid_ state of existence, than even amongst _mere animals_, we despise them most which are most drowsy. He therefore that chuses to enlarge the slothful indolence of sleep, rather than be early at his devotions to God; chuses the dullest refreshment of the body, before the highest, noblest enjoyment of the soul; he chuses that state, which is a reproach to _mere animals_, rather than that exercise, which is the glory of _angels_.

3. *Besides, he that cannot deny himself this drowsy indulgence, but must pass away good part of the morning in it, is no more prepared for prayer when he is up, than he is prepared for _fasting_, or any other _self-denial_. He may, indeed, more easily read over a _form_ of prayer, than he can perform those duties; but he is no more disposed for the _true spirit_ of prayer, than he is disposed for _fasting_. For sleep, thus indulged, gives a _softness_ and _idleness_ to all our tempers, and makes us unable to relish any thing, but what suits with an _idle state_ of mind, and gratifies our natural tempers, as sleep does. So that a person that is a slave to this idleness, is in the same temper when he is up; and tho’ he is not asleep, yet he is under the effects of it: and every thing that is _idle_, _indulgent_, or _sensual_, pleases him for the same reason that sleep pleases him: on the other hand, every thing that requires _care_, _trouble_, or _self-denial_, is hateful to him for the same reason that he hates to rise.

4. It is not possible in nature for an _epicure_ to be truly devout; he must renounce his sensuality, before he can relish the happiness of devotion.

Now, he that turns sleep into an _idle indulgence_, does as much to corrupt his soul, to make it a slave to bodily appetites, as he that turns the necessity of eating into a course of indulgence.

A person that eats and drinks too much, does not feel such effects from it as those do, who live in _notorious_ gluttony and intemperance; but yet his course of indulgence, tho’ it be not _scandalous_ in the eyes of the world, nor such as _torments_ his own conscience, is a great and constant hindrance to his improvement in virtue: it gives him _eyes that see not_, and _ears that hear not_; it creates a sensuality in the soul, increases the power of bodily passions, and makes him incapable of entering into the true spirit of religion.

And this is the case of those who waste their time in sleep; it does not _disorder_ their lives, or _wound_ their consciences, as _notorious acts_ of intemperance do; but, like any other more moderate course of indulgence, it silently, and by smaller degrees, wears away the spirit of religion, and sinks the soul into a state of dulness and sensuality.

5. If you consider devotion only as a _time_ of so much prayer, you may perhaps perform it, tho’ you live in this daily indulgence; but if you consider it as a _state_ of the heart, that is deeply affected with a sense of its own misery and infirmities, and desires the Spirit of God more than all things in the world, you will find the spirit of indulgence, and the spirit of prayer, cannot subsist together. Self-denial, of _all kinds_, is the very life and soul of piety; but he that has not so small a degree of it, as to be able to be early at his prayers, can have no reason to think that he has taken up his cross, and is following Christ.

*What conquest has he got over himself? What right-hand has he cut off? What trials is he prepared for? What sacrifice is he ready to offer to God, who cannot be so cruel to himself, as to rise to prayer at such a time, as the drudging part of the world are content to rise to their labour?

6. *Some people will not scruple to tell you, that they indulge themselves in sleep, because they have nothing to do: and that if they had either _business_ or _pleasure_ to rise to, they would not lose so much of their time in sleep. But such people must be told, that they mistake the matter; that they have a great deal of business to do; they have a _hardened heart_ to change; they have the _whole spirit_ of religion to get. For surely, he that thinks devotion to be of less moment than business or pleasure; or that he has nothing to do, because nothing but his prayers want him, may be justly said to have the whole spirit of religion to seek.

You must not therefore consider how small a crime it is to _rise late_; but you must consider how great a misery it is to want the _spirit_ of religion; to have a heart not rightly affected with prayer, and to live in such softness and idleness, as makes you incapable of the most fundamental duties of a Christian life.

When you read the scriptures, you see a religion that is all _life_, and _spirit_, and _joy_ in God; that supposes our souls risen from earthly desires and bodily indulgences, to prepare for another body, another world, and other enjoyments. You see Christians represented as temples of the Holy Ghost, as children of the day, as candidates for an eternal crown, as watchful virgins, that have their lamps always burning in expectation of the bridegroom. But can he be thought to have this joy in God, this care of eternity, this watchful spirit, who has not zeal enough to rise to his prayers?

7. If I was to desire you not to study the gratification of your _palate_, in the niceties of meats and drinks, I would not insist upon the crime of wasting your money in such a way, tho’ it be a great one; but I would desire you to renounce such a way of life, because it supports you in such a state of sensuality and indulgence, as renders you incapable of relishing the most essential doctrines of religion.

For the same reason, I don’t insist much upon the crime of wasting your time in sleep, tho’ it be a great one; but I desire you to renounce this indulgence, because it gives a softness and idleness to your soul, and is so contrary to that _lively_, _zealous_, _watchful_, _self-denying_ spirit, which was not only the Spirit of Christ and his apostles, and the spirit of all the saints and martyrs which have ever been among men, but must be the spirit of those who would not sink in the common corruption of the world.

*Here therefore we must fix our charge against this practice; we must blame it not as having this or that particular evil, but as a _general habit_, that extends itself thro’ our whole spirit, and supports a state of mind that is wholly wrong.

It is contrary to piety; not as accidental slips and mistakes in life are contrary to it, but in such a manner, as an ill habit of body is contrary to health.

On the other hand, if you was to rise early every morning, as an instance of self-denial, as a method of renouncing indulgence, as a means of redeeming your time, and fitting your spirit for prayer, you would find mighty advantages from it. This method, tho’ it seems such a small circumstance, would in all probability, be a means of great piety. It would keep it constantly in your head, that softness and idleness were to be avoided; that self-denial was a part of Christianity. It would teach you to exercise power over yourself, and make you able to renounce other pleasures and tempers that war against the soul.

But above all, what is so planted and watered, will certainly have an increase from God. You will then speak from your heart, your soul will be awake, your prayers will refresh you like meat and drink, you will feel what you say, and begin to know what saints and holy men have meant by fervour in devotion.

8. Hoping therefore that you are now convinced of the necessity of rising early to your prayers, I shall proceed to lay before you a method of daily prayer.

I don’t take upon me to prescribe to you the use of any _particular forms_ of prayer, but you will here find some helps, how to furnish yourself with such as may be useful. And if your heart is ready to pray in its own language, I press no necessity of borrowed forms.

For tho’ I think a form of prayer very _necessary_ to _public_ worship, yet if any one can find a better way of raising his heart unto God in private, I have nothing to object against it; my design being only to assist and direct such as stand in need of this assistance.

It seems right for such an one to begin with a _form_ of prayer; and if, in the midst of it he finds his heart ready to break forth into other words, he may leave his _form_, and follow those fervours of his heart, till it again want the assistance of his usual petitions.

*This seems to be the _true liberty_ of _private_ devotion: it may be under the direction of some _form_; yet not so tied down to it, but that it may be free to take such new expressions as its present fervours furnish it with, which sometimes carry the soul more powerfully to God, than any expressions that were ever used before.

9. Most people are changeable in regard to devotion. Sometimes our hearts have such _strong_ apprehensions of the divine presence, and are so full of compunction, that we cannot speak in any language but that of _tears_.

Sometimes the light of God’s countenance shines so bright, we see so far into the invisible world, we are so affected with the wonders of the goodness of God, that our hearts worship in a language higher than that of words, and we feel transports of devotion, which only can be felt.

On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into our bodies, so _dull_ and _unaffected_ with that which concerns our souls, that we cannot keep pace with our _forms_ of confession, or feel half of that in our hearts, which we have in our mouths; we thank and praise God with forms of words, but our hearts have little or no share in them.

We may provide against this _inconstancy_ of our hearts, by having at hand such _forms_ of prayer, as may best suit us when our hearts are in their _best_ state, and also be most likely to stir them up, when they are _sunk_ into _dulness_.

10. The first thing you are to do, when you are upon your knees, is, with a short _silence_, let your soul place itself in the presence of God; use this, or some other method, to separate yourself from all common thoughts, and make your heart as sensible as you can of the divine presence.

Now, if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as who can say it is not? How poorly must they perform their devotions, who are always in a _hurry_; who begin them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time to repeat their very _form_, with attention? Theirs is properly _saying_ prayers, instead of _praying_.

If you was to use yourself, as far as you can, to pray always in the same place; if you was to reserve that place for devotion, and not allow yourself to do any thing common in it; if you was never to be there yourself, but in times of devotion; if any _little room_, or, if that cannot be, if any particular _part_ of a room was thus used, this kind of consecration of it, as a place _holy_ unto God, would much assist your devotion.

11. It may be of use to you to observe this farther rule: when at any time, either in reading the _scripture_, or any book of _piety_, you meet with a passage, that more than ordinarily affects your mind, turn it into the _form_ of a petition, and give it a place in your prayers.

At all the _stated hours_ of prayer, it may be of benefit to you, to have something _fixed_, and something at _liberty_, in your devotions.

You may have some _fixed_ subject to be the chief matter of your prayer at that particular time; and yet have liberty to add such _other petitions_, as your condition may then require.

For instance; as the _morning_ is to you the beginning of a new life; as God has then given you a new enjoyment of yourself, and a fresh entrance into the world, it is highly proper that your _first_ devotions should be _praise_ and thanksgiving to God, as for a new creation; and that you should devote _body_ and _soul_, all you _are_, and all you _have_, to his service and glory.

Receive therefore every day, as a _resurrection_ from death, as a new enjoyment of life; meet every _rising sun_ with such sentiments of God’s goodness, as if you had seen it, and all things, _new created_ upon your account; and under the sense of so great a blessing, let your heart praise and magnify so good and glorious a Creator.

Therefore _praise_ and _thanksgiving_, and _oblation_ of yourself to God, may be the _fixed_ subject of your _first_ prayers in the morning; and then take the liberty of adding such other devotions, as the _accidental_ difference of your state, or the accidental difference of your heart, shall direct.

12. *One of the greatest benefits of _private_ devotion, consists in adapting our prayers to the difference of our _state_, and the difference of our hearts.

*By the difference of our _state_, is meant the difference of our _external state_, as of _sickness_, _health_, _pains_, _losses_, _disappointments_, _troubles_, particular _mercies_ or _judgments_ from God, and all sorts of _kindnesses_, _injuries_, or _reproaches_ from other people.

Now, as these are great parts of our state of life, as they make great difference in it, by continually changing; so our devotion will be made doubly beneficial to us, when it watches to receive and sanctify all these _changes_ of our state, and turns them all into so many occasions of a more particular application to God, of such thanksgivings, such resignation, such petitions, as our present state more especially requires.

*And he that makes every change in his state, a reason of presenting unto God some particular petitions suitable to that change, will soon find, that he has taken an excellent means, not only of _praying_ with fervour, but of _living_ as he prays.

13. *We are likewise always to adapt some part of our prayers to the _difference_ of our _hearts_; by which is meant the different tempers of our hearts, as of _love_, _joy_, _peace_, _tranquility_, _dulness_ and _dryness_ of _spirit_, _anxiety_, _discontent_, _motions_ of _envy_ and _ambition_, _dark_ and _disconsolate thoughts_, _resentments_, _fretfulness_, and _peevish tempers_.

If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy passions, of _love_ and _joy_ in God, we should then offer the tribute of thanksgiving.

If, on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with _heavy_ passions, with _dulness_ of spirit, _anxiety_ and _uneasiness_, we must then look up to God in acts of humility, confessing our unworthiness, opening our troubles to him, beseeching him in his good time to lessen our infirmities, and to deliver us from these passions.

By this wise application of our prayers, we shall get all the relief from them that is possible; and the very _changeableness_ of our hearts, will prove a means of exercising a greater variety of holy tempers.

You will perceive by this, that persons ought to have a great share in composing their own devotions.

As to that part of their prayers, which is always fixed, they may use forms composed by other persons; but in that part which they are to suit to the present _state_ of their _life_, and the _present_ state of their _heart_, they must let the sense of their own condition help them to such kinds of _petition_, _thanksgiving_, or _resignation_, as their present state requires.

14. But it is amazing to see how ♦eagerly men employ their _parts_, their _study_, _application_, and _exercise_; how all helps are called to their assistance, when any thing is intended in worldly matters; and how little they use their _parts_, _sagacity_, and abilities, to raise and increase their devotion.

♦ ‘eargerly’ replaced with ‘eagerly’

*_Mandanus_ is a man of excellent parts, and clear apprehension. He is well advanced in age, and has made a great figure in his business. Every part of _trade_ that has fallen in his way, has had some improvement from him; and he is always contriving to carry every method of doing any thing well to its greatest height. _Mandanus_ aims at the greatest perfection in every thing. The _strength_ of his mind, and his just way of thinking, make him intent upon removing all imperfections.

He can tell you all the defects and errors in all the common methods, whether of _trade_, _building_, or improving _land_ or _manufactures_. The clearness and strength of his understanding, which he is constantly improving, by continual exercise in these matters, by often digesting his thoughts in writing, and trying every thing every way, has rendered him a great master in most concerns in human life.

Thus has _Mandanus_ gone on, increasing his _knowledge_ and _judgment_, as fast as his years came upon him.

The one thing which has not fallen under his improvement, nor received any benefit from his judicious mind, is his _devotion_: this is just in the same _poor_ state it was, when he was only six years of age; and the _old man_ prays now in that little form of words which his mother used to hear him repeat night and morning.

This _Mandanus_, that hardly ever saw the poorest _utensil_, or ever took the meanest _trifle_ into his hand, without considering how it might be _made_, or _used_ to better advantage, has gone all his life-long praying in the same manner as when he was a child; without ever considering how much _better_ or _oftner_ he might pray.

If _Mandanus_ sees a book of _devotion_, he passes it by, as he does a _spelling-book_; because he remembers that he learned to _pray_ so many years ago under his _mother_, when he learnt to _spell_.

Now, how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this man of sense, who has so much judgment in every thing, but that which is the _whole wisdom_ of man?

And how miserably do many people, more or less, imitate this conduct?

15. *_Classicus_ is a man of learning, and well versed in all the best authors of antiquity. He has read them so much, that he has entered into their spirit, and can imitate the manner of any of them. All their thoughts are his thoughts, and he can express himself in their language. He is so great a friend to this improvement of the mind, that if he lights on a young scholar, he never fails to advise him concerning his studies.

_Classicus_ tells his young man, he must not think he has done enough, when he has only learnt _languages_; but that he must be daily conversant with the best authors, read them again and again, catch their spirit by living with them; and that there is no other way of becoming like them, or of making himself a man of _taste_ and _judgment_.

How wise might _Classicus_ have been, if he had but thought as _justly_ of _devotion_, as he does of _learning_?

He never, indeed, says any thing _shocking_ or _offensive_ about _devotion_, because he never _thinks_ or _talks_ about it. It suffers nothing from him, but neglect and disregard.

The two testaments would not have had so much as a place amongst his books, but that they are both to be had in _Greek_.

16. _Classicus_ thinks, he sufficiently shews his regard for the holy scripture, when he tells you, that he has no other books of piety besides them.

It is very well, _Classicus_, that you prefer the bible to all other books of piety; he has no judgment, that is not thus far of your opinion.

But if you will have no other book of piety besides the _bible_, because it is the best, how comes it, _Classicus_, that you don’t content yourself with _one_ of the _best_ books among the _Greeks_ and _Romans_? How comes it that you are so eager after _all_ of them? How comes it that you think the knowledge of one is a necessary help to the knowledge of the other? How comes it that you are so earnest, so laborious, so expensive of your time and money, to restore _broken periods_, and _scraps_ of the ancients?

How comes it that you tell your _young scholar_, he must not content himself with barely understanding his authors, but must be continually reading them _all_, as the only means of entering into their spirit, and forming his own judgment according to them?

Why then must the bible lie alone in your study? Is not the spirit of the saints, the piety of the holy followers of Jesus Christ, as good and necessary a means of entering into the spirit and _taste_ of the gospel, as the reading of the ancients is of entering into the spirit of antiquity?

Is your young poet to search after _every line_, that may give new wings to his fancy, or direct his imagination? And is it not as reasonable for him, who desires to improve in the divine life, to search after every strain of devotion, that may move, kindle, and inflame the holy ardour of his soul?

Do you advise your _orator_ to translate the best orations, to commit much of them to memory, to be frequently exercising his talent in this manner, that habits of thinking and speaking justly may be formed in his mind? And is there not the same advantage to be made by books of devotion? Should not a man use them in the same way, that habits of devotion, and aspiring to God in holy thoughts, may be well formed in his soul?

Now the reason why _Classicus_ does not _think_ and judge thus reasonably of devotion, is owing to his never thinking of it in any other manner, than as the repeating a _form_ of _words_. It never in his life entered into his head, to think of devotion as a _state of the heart_, as a _temper_ that is to _grow_ and _increase_ like our _reason_ and _judgment_, and to be formed in us by such a diligent use of proper means, as are necessary to form any other wise habit of mind.

And it is for want of this, that he has been content all his life with the _bare letter_ of prayer, and eagerly bent upon entering into the _spirit_ of _Heathen poets_ and _orators_.