Human nature in its fourfold state ... In several practical discourses

Secondly, The influences of heaven are lost on such a tree: in vain doth the rain fall upon it: in vain is it laid open to the winter-cold and frosts. The Lord of the vineyard digs about many a dead soul, but it is not bettered. Bruise the fool in a mortar, his folly will not depart. Tho' he meets with many crosses, yet he retains his lusts: let him be laid on a sick-bed, he will there lie like a sick beast, groaning under his pain; but not mourning for, nor turning from his sin. Let death itself stare him in the face; he will presumptuously maintain his hope, as if he would look the grim messenger out of countenance. Sometimes there are common operations of the divine Spirit performed on him: he is sent home ⟨p. 172⟩with a trembling heart; and with arrows of conviction sticking in his soul; but at length he prevails against these things, and turns as secure as ever. Thirdly, Summer and winter are alike to the branches of the dead stock. When others about them are budding, blossoming, and bringing forth fruit; there is no change on them; the dead stock has no growing time at all. Perhaps it may be difficult to know, in the winter, what trees are dead, and what are alive; but the spring plainly discovers it. There are some seasons, wherein there is little life to be perceived, even among saints; yet times of reviving come at length. But even when the vine flourisheth, and the pomegranates bud forth (when saving grace is discovering itself, by its lively actings, wheresoever it is) the branches on the old stock are still withered: when the dry bones are coming together, bone to bone, amongst saints; the sinners bones are still lying about the grave's mouth. They are trees that cumber the ground, are near to be cut down: and will be cut down for the fire, if God in mercy prevent it not by cutting them off from that stock, and ingrafting them into another.

Secondly, The influences of heaven are lost on such a tree: in vain doth the rain fall upon it: in vain is it laid open to the winter-cold and frosts. The Lord of the vineyard digs about many a dead soul, but it is not bettered. Bruise the fool in a mortar, his folly will not depart. Tho' he meets with many crosses, yet he retains his lusts: let him be laid on a sick-bed, he will there ly like a sick beast, groaning under his pain; but not mourning for, nor turning from his sin. Let death itself stare him in the face; he will presumptuously maintain his hope, as if he would look the grim messenger out of countenance. Sometimes there are common operations of the divine Spirit performed on him: he is sent home