A94157:430
The door of salvation opened by the key of regeneration
The door of salvation opened by the key of regeneration: or A treatise containing the nature, necessity, marks and means of regeneration; as also the duty of the regenerate. / By George Swinnocke, M.A. and pastor of Rickmersworth in Hertfordshire.
London: printed by John Best for Tho. Parkhurst, 1661
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
And O when thou diest, man, what wilt thou then do? as soon as that Captain death strikes the first stroke, whole Armies of woes will fall upon thee.
And O when thou diest, man, what wilt thou then do? as soon as that Captain death strikes the first stroak, whole Armies of woes will fall upon thee.
Reader, I have told thee somewhat of thy lamentable portion in this life; though none can give thee a full Inventory of thy personal wretched estate. One would think that every line under this head, should be as a dagger stabbing thee at the heart, and that if there were nothing else but these small guns (I call them so comparatively) of miseries in this world, the fear of them should cause thee to fly, as the distressed dove to the clefts of the rock, the wounds of a crucified Christ. But this is not all, the murdering-piece, the great Ordnance is yet behind: ⟨p. 226⟩I must hasten to write of thy misery in the other world, which thou poor wretch (though now without fear, yet) art hastening to feel.
Reader, I have told thee somewhat of thy lamentable portion in this life; though none can give thee a full Inventory of thy personal wretched estate. One would think that every line under this head, should be as a dagger stabbing thee at the heart, and that if there were nothing else but these small guns (I call them so comparatively) of miseries in this world, the fear of them should cause thee to flie, as the distressed dove to the clifts of the rock, the wounds of a crucified Christ. But this is not all, the murdering-piece, the great Ordnance is yet behind: ⟨p. 226⟩I must hasten to write of thy misery in the other world, which thou poor wretch (though now without fear, yet) art hastning to feel.