thly thing that they two cannot
part on even terms; there is neither laughter in their meeting, nor in
their shaking of hands tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of
Spirits and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in
an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light or
with none at all. His conscience and his hand are friends, and (what
devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever
uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burden of a willing sin,
not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples. He would not, if he
could, run away from himself or from God; not caring from whom he lies
hid, so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are
passengers to him, not guests; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their
harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from
his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one
that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as
he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His
strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do
good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough for
himself and others, which are ever stretched forth for beneficence, not
for need. He walks cheerfully in the way that God hath chalked, and
never wishes it more wide or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby
he is foiled strengthen him; he comes forth crowned and triumphing out
of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath make him
beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God, in whom he
is; and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for His own sake.
His eyes stick so fast in heaven that no earthly object can remove them;
yea, his whole self is there before his time, and sees with Stephen, and
hears with Paul, and enjoys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have,
and takes possession beforehand of his room amongst the saints; and
these heavenly contentments have so taken him up that now he looks down
displeasedly upon the earth as the region of his sorrow and banishment,
yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evils. He holds
it no great matter to live, and his greatest business to die; and is so
well acquainted with his last guest that he fears no unkindness from
him: neither makes he any other of dying than of walking home when he is
abroad, or of going to be