Mount Pisgah, or, A prospect of heaven being an exposition on the fourth chapter…Movnt Pisgah, or, A prospect of heaven being an exposition on the fourth chapter…

It is an error in Philosophy, to call Death a total privation of the habit, Divinity hath corrected that error, while it hath taught us to call the dissolution of Nature in the Saints, (at the most) but a sleep; ¹which in the Philosophers own notion, is but a partial privation, and doth admit of a Regress or returning again to the habit, or former state and capacity, more beautiful, active, and vigorous than ever; as hereafter shall appear.

It is an errour in Philosophy, to call Death a total privation of the habit, Divinity hath corrected that errour, while it hath taught us to call the dissolution of Nature in the Saints, (at the most) but a sleep; ¹which in the Philosophers own notion, is but a partial privation, and doth admit of a Regress or returning again to the habit, or former state and capacity, more beautiful, active, and vigorous than ever; as hereafter shall appear.

1. 1Mors ista quam adeò perhorrescimus adeò timemus non est exitus sed transitus veni et eterum qui nos in lucem reponat dies. Sen.

A comfortable notion! which were it realized by Believing, would be able to silence our complaints, and to still all our moan-makings over our departed Christian friends and Relations; how sweet and precious soever they have been to us.

For, do we indeed take on so, when any of the Family are gone to Bed before us, in the Evening? Do we, indeed, cry out, woe and alas, my Father is fallen asleep, my Mother is laid to Rest, my dear Yoke-fellow is gone to bed before me; my sweet Child, the delight of mine eyes, the joy of my heart, his eyes are closed, the Curtains drawn close about him, and I cannot awake him? Do we I say thus take on and afflict our selves in this case? no surely, he would be accounted little better than a Mad-man, or a Fool, that should do so; Oh fie, then fie for shame, why do we so here? the case is the same; only if the night be a little longer (which yet no man can determine before hand) the morning will be infinitely more joyous, and make us more abundant compensation for our patience and expectation: why are we so unlike our selves in one, and in the other? Surely, because we either forget our notions, or believe them not; we call the absence of our Friends by a wrong name. We say, my Father is dead, my Mother is dead, my Isaac is dead, my dear Yoke-Fellow is not, and these be killing words: Dead! the Letter killeth.