A call to the unconverted, to turn and live

The wisdom of God hath thought meet to lay mens salvation or destruction exceeding much upon the choice of their own ⟨p. 127⟩wills; that no man shall come to heaven that chose not the way to heaven; and no man shall come to hell but shall be forced to say, I have the thing I chose, my own will did bring me hither. Now, if I could but get you to be willing, to be thoroughly and resolvedly, and habitually willing, the work were more than half done. And alas, must we lose our friends, and must they lose their God, their happiness, their souls, for want of this? God forbid? It is a strange thing to me that men are so inhuman and stupid in the greatest matters, that in lesser things are civil and courteous, and good neighbours. For ought I know, I have the love of all, or almost all my neighbours, so far, that if I should send to every man in the town, or parish, or country, and request a reasonable courtesy of them, they would grant it me; and yet when I come to request of them the greatest matter in the world for themselves, and not for me, I can have nothing of many of them but a patient hearing. I know not whether people think a man in the pulpit is in good sadness or not, and means as he speaks; for I think I have few neighbours, but if I were sitting familiarly with them, and telling them of what I have seen or done, or known in the world, they would believe me, and regard what I say; but when I tell them, from the infallible word of God, what they themselves shall see and know in the world to come, they show by their lives they do either not believe it, or not much regard it. If I met ever any one of them on the way, and told them yonder is a coal pit, or there is a quicksand, or ⟨p. 128⟩there are thieves lie in wait for you; I could persuade them to turn by. But when I tell them that satan lieth in wait for them, and that sin is poison to them, and that hell is not a matter to be jested with, they go on as if they did not hear me. Truly neighbours, I am in as good earnest with you in the pulpit, as I am in my familiar discourse: and if ever you will regard me, I beseech you let it be here. I think there is never a man of you all, but if my own soul lay at your wills, you would be willing to save it (though I cannot promise that you would leave your sins for it.)

The wisdom of God hath thought meet to lay mens salvation or destruction exceeding much upon the choice of their own