of sin in fetters, which if we shake off with our bodies, it is the utmost to be hoped for. Could we see through the momentary pleasures that tempt us into habits of sin; could we foresee the extreme difficulty of breaking a habit of sin, once it is confirmed, together with the infinite miseries it must infallibly bring upon us, if not totally subdued, (and who so blind as not to see these things?) we should be ashamed to call ourselves rational creatures, did we not, with all possible expedition and resolution, labour to prevent or conquer every habit of sin. As, on the other hand, without habits of virtue and goodness, it is impossible to be happy, ought we not, from the first hour of serious reflection, to resolve on entertaining our minds with a continual round of religious meditations, and constantly exercising all our powers in acts of virtue, that religion and virtue may root themselves in our hearts, may grow up to maturity in our affections, and plentifully shed abroad their lovely fruits in all our actions? The entrance into all arts and habits is attended with some awkwardness and distaste, especially when we begin to practice, in order to a habit directly opposite to a wicked one lately laid aside. But a little time and resolution will enable us to get the better of this rawness; and still, as we become more expert and ready in the practice of what is right, we shall begin to find the more satisfaction in it, not only because it is agreeable in itself, but because pleasure always waits on habit. We easily learn arts that please, and contract habits in which we find, or hope to find, delight. And why should not those of virtue be the most delightful of all? If peace and satisfaction within, if credit and honour from without, if self-approbation in all we think, if courage and cheerfulness in all we do, if the sweet intercourse of blessings received from God, and of gratitude repaid by an innocent and affectionate heart, be delightful, then must those habits, that procure us these immense advantages, be inexpressibly delightful. Come then, let us waste no more time in words; but, with hearts deeply detesting our evil habits, and earnestly desirous of such as are pleasing in the sight of God, let us hasten to his table; let us devoutly beseech him, with his almighty hand, to root up, and pluck out of our nature, all habits of sin; and, in their place, to plant those of true religion and virtue, to his eternal honour, and our everlasting salvation; through Christ Jesus our Redeemer, to whom, with the Father, and the Holy Ghost, be all might, majesty, dignity, and dominion, now, and for evermore. Amen. DISCOURSE XXIX. THE NECESSITY OF A SPEEDY REPENTANCE. ISAIAH LV. 6, 7. Seek ye the Lord, while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and he shall have mercy on him ; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. Ir is the first principle of every living thing, of the most stupid brute, and even of the most insensible insect, to fly from that which threatens it with misery or destruction, and to seek its own safety and preservation. Yet the most sensible and thinking man must foresee the evils that approach him, and know his danger, before he can make a single step out of their way. It is not the greatness of the danger we are in, but the keenness of our own apprehensions, that alarms us. Accordingly, our caution is always proportioned to our apprehension. Of two persons, equally in danger, the one shall be struck with a greater degree of fear, and consequently shall take more care to escape, than the other. Of two evils, the one infinitely exceeding the other, the least is often the most cautiously avoided; because it happens through mistake, to be the most sensibly apprehended. Since then we never proportion our caution immediately to the danger itself, but to our own apprehensions, it must be a matter of the highest moment to us to form right apprehensions of the things, and still the greater any evil really is, and the more likely it may be to befall us, to be propor tionably the more alarmed at its approach. So much does it concern us, thus to fit our apprehensions to our dangers, that, in case we do otherwise, we shall sometimes, although in a state of sin, and in the utmost danger of total and eternal ruin, be more careful to shun the inconsiderable or mistaken evils of this life, than the infinite miseries of the next; and as often as duty (which frequently happens) is attended with present danger, shall be too strongly tempted to avoid the danger, by slighting the duty; that is, like an ill-managed horse, that starts from a bird, and throws himself over a precipice, we shall fly from the smaller evils that attend on virtue to try us, into the infinitely greater miseries wherewith vice is punished. Is it not very strange, that reasonable creatures should so miserably misplace their apprehensions, and know so little how to proportion them to their dangers, when the evils to be apprehended are so widely, so vastly, different both in kind and degree? And is it not matter of still greater amazement, that people who discover, on all other occasions, the greatest sensibility and force of thought, should often be found among the blindest of those, who tremble at mere momentary or imaginary mischiefs, and plunge forward into endless misery, with a measure of stupidity exceeding that of the most senseless brute? There are several infirmities that help to pass this gross and fatal imposition on us; such as, first, that too great attachment to the things about us, which, engaging all our attention, leaves us little or none for things to come. We are so taken up with hearing, feeling, tasting, seeing, that we can foresee nothing, at least nothing beyond the present state of things. A small screen, placed near the eye, can shut out the most glorious and extended prospect; nor do we even care to look by it, if it happens to catch our observation with two or three pretty fantastic figures, or painted landscapes. Again, the faith of many is weak, and of course, their apprehensions of misery in another life must be proportionably feeble. Their doubts in this case, contrary to what happens in all other cases, prevent their fears. Others, although their reason is convinced, and they do actually believe, yet their hearts are not engaged. They have faith, but it is asleep or dead. They believe, but they do not so much as tremble. Many, again, dont know the state of their own minds. They are farther gone in sin than they imagine. Habit hath made their vices familiar to them. Besides, they do not much care for discovering deformities in themselves. Thus they are not sure they need repentance; or if they are, yet not knowing the inveteracy of their disorder, they know not how speedy and powerful the cure ought to be. But farther: Most people are tender of themselves; so that although they believe in a future state, and know themselves to be unfit for the happiness of that state; nay, although they find themselves daily hardening in sin, and drawing nearer to the brink of ruin; yet they so tenderly love their ease, and their pleasures, they so horribly dread the thought of denying themselves, of weeping, of mortifying, of dying to sin, that they are unable to look repentance in the face. Though the gangrene is spreading apace, and with it death is making a hasty progress, yet they cannot resign the limb to the saw, because it will hurt them. The distemper, although extremely dangerous, may be cured; but then the medicine is bitter, and the patient's palate is so delicate, that he cannot swallow it. How then will death, eternal death, go down with him. Foolish and senseless as he may seem, who is in this unhappy state of mind, yet we frequently see persons of the quickest apprehension, and clearest understanding, thus circumstanced. They believe sin, unrepented of, will be punished with eternal misery. They have at times, a shocking sense of that misery. They are convinced the pleasures of sin bear no proportion to it, All this, however, does not hinder them from indulging themselves in sins of the grossest nature, with as little regard to their danger, as the most thorough-paced infidel or fool can boast of. Strong as their faith is, their passions are yet stronger. Besides, the object of passion is present; that of faith is future; and presence outweighs infinity, in the balance of a sensual or worldly mind. Reason and faith act no other part, than that of spies on the actions of such men. The generality of ill livers, vainly hoping for length of days, and time to repent, lose the present opportunity, which, for many reasons, is always the best. They desire and hope for what they are already possessed of, as if they were not to have the same, or greater amusements, to engross every moment of their future time, as it shall arrive. They will soon repent, but not now. This is their rule and resolution today; and, in one sense, they are true to it, for it shall be their resolution too to-morrow; and so on, till at length the time comes when they must repent; but, unhappily for them, death comes with it, and it is too late. It may be, if the nature and necessity of repentance, together with the encouragements, motives, and helps, to it, were brought properly under our consideration, we should not only know better how to set about the necessary work, but find more alacrity to carry us through it. First then, as to the nature of repentance, we may be sure it is not a mere remorse. Mere guilt is sufficient to condemn us; but it must be something else that can procure a discharge and pardon for us. Nor is it a bare ceasing from sin, through fear of punishment, or the severity of affliction, or the decay of passion and desire in old age. In all this there is no hatred of sin, nor love of God; but only a chain laid on the neck of our sinful inclinations, which alike disables us from doing good and hurt; whereas, in a true repentance, we must learn to do well,' as necessarily 'as cease to do evil.' Again, it is not a late concern for sin, like that of Judas, when the opportunity and power of repairing the mischief we have done is quite past. Though such a concern should be deep enough to put a man on destroying himself, yet what amends does he make by so doing, either to God, or the .world, for all the injuries he has offered to both? Or what account does this enable him to give of the good he had in his power to do, but neglected? In a true repentance there must be a deep abhorrence of sin, on account of its own natural foulness. Without this we can never be secure of keeping temptations at a sufficient distance. If we do not hate them, we shall be too ready to parley with them; and this is almost necessarily attended with a reconciliation to them. In sincere repentance, we must truly represent to ourselves the great certainty and severity of the punishment |