The Saints' Everlasting Rest

or canst thou possibly be so unbelieving, as to doubt whether that life be any better then this? O my soul! do not the dullness of thy desires after Rest, accuse thee of most detestable ingratitude and folly? Must thy Lord procure thee a Rest at so dear a rate, and dost thou no more value it? Must he purchase thy Rest by a life of labour and sorrow, and by the pangs of a bitter, cursed death? and when all is done, hadst thou rather be here without it? Must he go before to prepare so glorious a Mansion for such a wretch; and art thou now loth to go and possess it? must his blood, and care, and pains be lost? O unthankful, unworthy foul! Shall the Lord of glory be willing of thy company, and art thou unwilling of his? are they fit to dwell with God, that had rather stay from him? Must he crown thee, and glorify thee against thy will? or must he yet deal more roughly with thy darling flesh? and leave thee never a corner in thy ruinous cottage for to cover thee, but fire thee out of all, before thou wilt away? Must every Sense be an inlet to thy sorrows? and every friend become thy scourge? and Jobs Messengers be thy daily intelligencers? and bring thee the Curranto's of thy multiplied calamities, before that Heaven will seem more desirable then this Earth? Must every joint be the seat of Pain? and every Member deny thee a room to rest in? and thy groans be indited from the very heart, and bones, before thou wilt be willing to leave this flesh? Must thy heavy burdens be bound upon thy back? and thy so-intolerable Paroxysms become incessant? and thy intermittent ⟨p. 821⟩agueish woes be turned into continual burning Fevers? Yea, must Earth become a very Hell to thee, before thou wilt be willing to be with God? O impudent soul, if thou be not ashamed of this! what is loathing, if this be love? Look about thee, O my soul; behold the most lovely Creature, or the most desirable State; and tell me, Where wouldst thou be, if not with God? Poverty is a burden, and riches a snare: Sickness is little pleasing to thee, and usually health as little safe; the one is full of sorrow, and the other of sin. The frowning World doth bruise thy heel; and the smiling World doth sting thee to the heart: When it seemeth ugly, it causeth loathing; when beauteous, it is thy bane; when thy condition is bitter, thou wouldst fain spit it out;

or canst thou possibly be so unbelieving, as to doubt whether that life be any better then this? O my soul! do not the dulness of thy desires after Rest, accuse thee of most detestable ingratitude and folly? Must thy Lord procure thee a Rest at so dear a rate, and dost thou no more value it? Must he purchase thy Rest by a life of labor and sorrow, and by the pangs of a bitter, cursed death? and when all is done, hadst thou rather be here without it? Must he go before to prepare so glorious a Mansion for such a wretch; and art thou now loth to go and possess it? must his blood, and care, and pains be lost? O unthankful, unworthy foul! Shall the Lord of glory be willing of thy company, and art thou unwilling of his? are they fit to dwell with God, that had rather stay from him? Must he crown thee, and glorifie thee against thy will? or must he yet deal more roughly with thy darling flesh? and leave thee never a corner in thy ruinous cottage for to cover thee, but fire thee out of all, before thou wilt away? Must every Sense be an inlet to thy sorrows? and every friend become thy scourge? and Jobs Messengers be thy daily intelligencers? and bring thee the Curranto's of thy multiplied calamities, before that Heaven will seem more desireable then this Earth? Must every joynt be the seat of Pain? and every Member deny thee a room to rest in? and thy groans be indited from the very heart, and bones, before thou wilt be willing to leave this flesh? Must thy heavy burdens be bound upon thy back? and thy so-intolerable Paroxysms become incessant? and thy intermittent