The works of George Swinnock, M.A

I Wish that I may daily think of death,¹ and wait, believing, and repenting, and working out my salvation, till my change shall come. My whole time is given me, that therein I might prepare and dress my soul for my blessed eternal estate; Why should it not be employed for that end? The Child who hath all day been diligent about his duty, may expect his Fathers good word at night; But what Master will give a reward to him in the evening, who hath all the day long served his enemy? My life is the seed which will yield a crop of horror, or comfort in an hour of death; If that be good, my Harvest will be glorious and joyful; if that be sinful, my Harvest will be bitter and sorrowful; Do men gather Grapes of Thorns, or Figs of Thistles? The Grapes of comfort are not to be expected from the Thistles of corruption; nor the Figs of peace, from the thorns of impiety. I should blush to commit to the keeping of a cleanly and considerable person, a foul and filthy vessel; With what face can I commend to the holy and glorious ⟨p. 688⟩God, an impure and polluted soul? O how dreadful will it be to meet with my dying bed, before I have met with the Lord of life, and to be going out of the world, before I have seriously considered why I came into it? My great work in this world, is to get my depraved nature healed by the blood and spirit of Christ; if• I forget my business when I have time to do it, and trifle away my days in doing evil, or doing nothing, I lose my soul, am unfaithful to my Master, and deepen my judgement by the number of my days.• That Traveller may well be aghast and perplexed, who hath a long journey to go upon pain of death in one day, for which the whole day is little enough, and seeth the sun near setting before he hath begun his journey. How ill doth the evening of my time, and the morning of my task accord together? How justly may God reserve the dregs of his wrath for me, if I reserve the dregs of my• days for him? What folly am I guilty of, in deferring my preparation for death?

I Wish that I may daily think of death,¹ and wait, beleiving, and repenting, and working out my salvation, till my change shall come. My whole time is given me, that therein I might prepare and dress my soul for my blessed eternal estate; Why should it not be imployed for that end? The Child who hath all day been diligent about his duty, may expect his Fathers good word at night; But what Master will give a reward to him in the evening, who hath all the day long served his enemy? My life is the seed which will yeild a crop of horror, or comfort in an hour of death; If that be good, my Harvest will be glorious and joyful; if that be sinful, my Harvest will be bitter and sorrowful; Do men gather Grapes of Thorns, or Figs of Thistles? The Grapes of comfort are not to be expected from the Thistles of corruption; nor the Figs of peace, from the thorns of impiety. I should blush to commit to the keeping of a cleanly and considerable person, a foul and filthy vessel; With what face can I commend to the holy and glorious