The state of the case speaks it self, that there is no sitting still here. This is no condition, (Soul) to be rested in; unless thou art provided to encounter the terrors of eternal darkness, and endure the torture of everlasting burnings. Yet am I not unapprehensive how great a difficulty a carnal heart will make of it, to bestir itself in order to any redress of so deplorable a case. And how real a difficulty it is to say any thing, that will be thought regardable to such a one. Our sad experience ⟨p. 267⟩tells us, that our most efficacious words are commonly wont to be entertained, as neglected puffs of wind; our most convictive reasonings, and persuasive exhortations lost (yea, and though they are managed too in the name of the great God) as upon the deaf, and dead. Which is too often apt to tempt into that resolution, of speaking no more in that name. And were it not that the dread of that great Majesty retains us; how hard were it to forbear such expostulations; Lord, why are we commonly sent upon so vain an errand? Why are we required to speak to them that will not hear? and expose thy sacred truths and counsels, to the contempt of sinful worms? to labour day by day in vain, and spend our strength for nought. Yea; we cannot forbear to complain. None so labour in vain as we. Of all men, none so generally, improsperous, and unsuccessful. Others are wont to see the fruit of their labours, in proportion to the expense of strength in them. But our strength is labour, and sorrow, (for the most part) without the return of a joyful fruit. The Husbandman ploughs in hope, and sows in hope, and is, commonly, partaker of his hope; we are sent to plough, and sow among Rocks, and Thorns, and in the high Way; how seldom fall we upon good ground! where we have any increase. Yea Lord! how often are men the harder for all our labours with them, the deader for all endeavours to quicken them. Our ⟨p. 268⟩breath kills them, whom thou sendest us to speak life to, and we often become to them a a deadly savour. Sometime, when we think somewhat is done to purpose, our labour, all returns, and we are to begin again; and when the duties we persuade to come directly to cross mens interests, and carnal inclinations, they revolt and start back, as if we were urging them upon flames, or the swords point, and their own souls, and the eternal glory are regarded as a thing of naught.
The state of the case speaks it self, that there is no sitting still here. This is no condition, (Soul) to be rested in; unless thou art provided to encounter the terrours of eternal darkness, and endure the torture of everlasting burnings. Yet am I not unapprehensive how great a difficulty a carnal heart will make of it, to bestir itself in order to any redresse of so deplorable a case. And how real a difficulty it is to say any thing, that will be thought regardable to such a one. Our sad experience ⟨p. 267⟩tells us, that our most efficacious words are commonly wont to be entertained, as neglected puffs of wind; our most convictive reasonings, and perswasive exhortations lost (yea, and though they are managed too in the name of the great God) as upon the deaf, and dead. Which is too often apt to tempt into that resolution, of speaking no more in that name. And were it not that the dread of that great Majesty retains us; how hard were it to forbear such expostulations; Lord, why are we commonly sent upon so vain an errand? Why are we required to speak to them that will not hear? and expose thy sacred truths and counsels, to the contempt of sinful worms? to labour day by day in vain, and spend our strength for nought. Yea; we cannot forbear to complain. None so labour in vain as we. Of all men, none so generally, improsperous, and unsuccessful. Others are wont to see the fruit of their labours, in proportion to the expence of strength in them. But our strength is labour, and sorrow, (for the most part) without the return of a joyfull fruit. The Husbandman ploughs in hope, and sowes in hope, and is, commonly, partaker of his hope; we are sent to plough, and sow among Rocks, and Thorns, and in the high Way; how seldom fall we upon good ground! where we have any increase. Yea Lord! how often are men the harder for all our labours with them, the deader for all indeavours to quicken them. Our ⟨p. 268⟩breath kills them, whom thou sendest us to speak life to, and we often become to them a a deadly savour. Sometime, when we think somewhat is done to purpose, our labour, all returns, and we are to begin again; and when the duties we perswade to come directly to cross mens interests, and carnal inclinations, they revolt and start back, as if we were urging them upon flames, or the swords point, and their own souls, and the eternal glory are regarded as a thing of naught.
