How can we forbear to cry out of the depths, to the Father of our Spirits, that he would pity, and relieve his own Off-spring? yea are we not weary of our crying? and yet more weary of holding in? How do repelled Temptations return again? and vanquished Corruptions, recover strength? ⟨p. 408⟩We know not when our work is done. We are miserable that we need to be always watching, and more miserable, that we cannot watch, but are so often surprised and overcome of evil. We say sometimes with our selves we will seek relief in retirement; but we cannot retire from our selves, or in converse with Godly friends, but they sometimes prove snares to us, and we to them. Or we hear, but our own miseries repeated in their complaints, would we pray? How faint is the breath we utter? How long is it ere we can get our Souls possest, with any becoming apprehensions of God, or lively sense of our own concernments? Would we meditate? We sometimes go about to compose our thoughts, but we may as well assay to hold the Winds in our fist. If we venture forth into the world, how do our Senses betray us? How are we mocked with their impostures? Their nearer objects become with us, the only realities, and eternal things are all vanished into airy shadows. Reason and Faith are laid asleep, and our Sense dictates to us what we are to believe, and do, as if it were our only guide, and Lord. And what are we not yet weary? Is it reasonable to continue in this State of our own choice? Is misery become so natural to us, so much our element, that we cannot affect to live out of it? Is the darkness and dirt of a dungeon more grateful to us then a free open air and sun. Is this Flesh of ours so lovely a thing that we had rather suffer so many ⟨p. 409⟩deaths in it; then one in putting it off and mortality with it? While we carry it about us, our Souls impart a kind of life to it, and it gives them death in exchange. Why do we not cry out more feelingly, O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this Body of Death? Is it not grievous to us to have so cumbersome a yoke-fellow, to be tied (as Mezentius is said to have done) the living and the dead together.
How can we forbear to cry out of the depths, to the Father of our Spirits, that he would pity, and relieve his own Off-spring? yea are we not weary of our crying? and yet more weary of holding in? How do repell'd Temptations return again? and vanquished Corruptions, recover strength? ⟨p. 408⟩We know not when our work is done. We are miserable that we need to be always watching, and more miserable, that we cannot watch, but are so often surprized and overcome of evil. We say sometimes with our selves we will seek relief in retirement; but we cannot retire from our selves, or in converse with Godly friends, but they sometimes prove snares to us, and we to them. Or we hear, but our own miseries repeated in their complaints, would we pray? How faint is the breath we utter? How long is it ere we can get our Souls possest, with any becoming apprehensions of God, or lively sense of our own concernments? Would we meditate? We sometimes go about to compose our thoughts, but we may as well assay to hold the Windes in our fist. If we venture forth into the world, how do our Senses betray us? How are we mockt with their impostures? Their neerer objects become with us, the onely realities, and eternal things are all vanisht into airie shadowes. Reason and Faith are laid asleep, and our Sense dictates to us what we are to believe, and do, as if it were our only guide, and Lord. And what are we not yet wearie? Is it reasonable to continue in this State of our own choice? Is misery become so natural to us, so much our element, that we cannot affect to live out of it? Is the darkness and dirt of a dungeon more grateful to us then a free open air and sun. Is this Flesh of ours so lovely a thing that we had rather suffer so many ⟨p. 409⟩deaths in it; then one in putting it off and mortality with it? While we carry it about us, our Souls impart a kind of life to it, and it gives them death in exchange. Why do we not cry out more feelingly, O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this Body of Death? Is it not grievous to us to have so cumbersome a yoke-fellow, to be tied (as Mezentius is said to have done) the living and the dead together.
