I would not from what has been said, discourage any who have lived in a course of Sin, from earnest seeking to God for his Mercy in their last hours. Even then they are not utterly destitute of hope. The Gospel sets forth the Mercy of God to returning Sinners in various forms, and expressions of incomparable Tenderness. When the lost Sheep was recovered, there was Joy, as if a Treasure had been found. The Prodigal had wasted his Estate in Lust and Luxury, and by a harsh reduction came to himself, reflected with shame upon his Folly and Rebellion, and the sense of his Misery (not a more ingenuous or noble principle at first) compelled him to go to his Father, to try what his Affection would do. And it was not a vain Presumption, for he found the effects of his compassionate Love. When he was a great way off, his Father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his Neck and kissed him. And the Sun said, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy Son. But the Father said to his Servants, Bring out the best Robe, and put a Ring on his Finger, and Shoes on his Feet, and bring hither the fatted ⟨p. 141⟩Calf, and kill it, let us eat and be merry: for this my Son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found. The design of Christ was to represent his heavenly Father in that Parable, and to wounded Spirits that feel the intolerable weight of Sin, the Mercy and mildness of the Gospel is to be shown. God is rich in Mercy to all that call upon him in Truth. But to tell Sinners who securely proceed in an habitual course of evil, that they may be saved at last, and notwithstanding their presumptuous repulses of Gods calls to his Service, yet they may come into the Vineyard at the eleventh hour, and be rewarded, is to give countenance and protection to Sin, and to harden them to Destruction. Poison is not cured by giving Food, but Antidotes, that put Nature into a Passion till it be expelled. The Terrors of the Lord can only prove medicinal to such depraved Souls.
I would not from what has been said, discourage any who have lived in a course of Sin, from earnest seeking to God for his Mercy in their last hours. Even then they are not utterly destitute of hope. The Gospel sets forth the Mercy of God to returning Sinners in various forms, and expressions of incomparable Tenderness. When the lost Sheep was recovered, there was Joy, as if a Treasure had been found. The Prodigal had wasted his Estate in Lust and Luxury, and by a harsh reduction came to himself, reflected with shame upon his Folly and Rebellion, and the sence of his Misery (not a more ingenuous or noble principle at first) compell'd him to go to his Father, to try what his Affection would do. And it was not a vain Presumption, for he found the effects of his compassionate Love. When he was a great way off, his Father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his Neck and kissed him. And the Sun said, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy Son. But the Father said to his Servants, Bring out the best Robe, and put a Ring on his Finger, and Shoes on his Feet, and bring hither the fatted ⟨p. 141⟩Calf, and kill it, let us eat and be merry: for this my Son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found. The design of Christ was to represent his heavenly Father in that Parable, and to wounded Spirits that feel the intolerable weight of Sin, the Mercy and mildness of the Gospel is to be shown. God is rich in Mercy to all that call upon him in Truth. But to tell Sinners who securely proceed in an habitual course of evil, that they may be saved at last, and notwithstanding their presumptuous repulses of Gods calls to his Service, yet they may come into the Vineyard at the eleventh hour, and be rewarded, is to give countenance and protection to Sin, and to harden them to Destruction. Poison is not cured by giving Food, but Antidotes, that put Nature into a Passion till it be expell'd. The Terrours of the Lord can only prove medicinal to such depraved Souls.
