The works of George Swinnock, M.A

Again,¹ Why should I out of fear disown my Saviour? Is there any safety but in sanctity? Whilst I travail in the Kings High-way, I have a promise of protection, but if I leave that upon any pretence, I run my self into peril and perdition. Those that when called to fight, fly from their colours, die without mercy. What can I expect, if I leave the Captain of my Salvation, but Marshal Law, even eternal death? I may, possibly, by my cowardice, keep my skin whole, but I wound my conscience; I sink my soul, to save my body; as Lot, prostitute my Daughter, my dearest off-spring, that will abide with me for ever, to save my guests, which lodge with me for a night, and will be gone from me in the morning. What is it I fear, that I should be guilty of so heinous a fault? Is it the ⟨p. 222⟩worlds frowns and fury? Why, Its kindness is killing, and therefore its cruelty is healing. If my God see it good, he can and will defend me from the worlds cruelty, without my denying Christ, and in direct courses; and if it be his will, that I suffer for well-doing, I may commit the keeping of my soul to him, as to a faithful Creator. Certainly there is nothing to be gotten by the Worlds love, and nothing (worth ought) to be lost by its hatred. Why then should I seek that love which cannot help me, or fear that hate which cannot hurt me? If I should be so foolish as to love it for loving me, my God would hate me for loving it. Do not I know that the friendship of the World is enmity against God; If I loath it for hating me, it cannot injure me for loathing it. Let it then hate me, I will forgive it, but if it love me, I will not requite it; for since its love is hurtful, and its hate harmless, I may well contemn its fury, and hate its favour; Lord, thou hast commanded me, neither to love the worlds smiles, nor to fear its frowns; I acknowledge that its allurements have been too prevalent in gaining my love, and its affrightments too powerful in causing my fear; O that thy exceeding rich and precious promises, might make me despise all its glorious proffers; and faith in thy threatenings, stablish my heart against all its childish bug-bears; The fear of man bringeth a snare, but he that trusteth in thee is sure; Let the dread of thy Majesty swallow up (as Moses rod the Egyptians) all fear of men.

Again,¹