VII. SERM. Amongst the most cruel of all those forrows which wound the spirit of man, muft doubtlefs be the deaths of thofe we love. When the mind hath been long endeared to a particular object, and the affections fettled on it, what can equal the anguish and disquietude of that mind which is obliged to part from it? This is a wound which it is not in the power of human nature to heal; in this distress nothing can fupport the fpirit of man, but that which is alone fuperior to itthe fpirit of God; -the divine grace, and that alone, can intervene to fave our eyes from tears, and our feet from falling. But the great fource of anguish, the principal and almoft overflowing fountain of human difquietude, is guilt: this is the great disturber of our peace, and the interrupter of our harmony. The fpirit perhaps may not feel the wound when it is first given; but the inftant VII. inftant that reflection draws forth the SERM. arrow, the pain is exquifite. History hath recorded a cruel tyrant whofe table was spread, in all the pomp of luxury, with all the dainties that the earth, or air, or fea, could produce: but the fame history informs us, that whilst the fword hung over his head, he had little relish to the banquet: and thus it is with all the great and wicked of this world; guilt embitters the cup of grandeur, and poisons the feast of affluence. It is in vain that the good things of this life are placed before, whilft the rod of divine vengeance is over them; they cannot taste or enjoy them; the flesh cannot rejoice when the fpirit is wounded. All the misfortunes which arife from our own folly, (and most of them are the confequences of it) are chiefly embittered by our reflection on having thoroughly deserved them. Ask the libertine K 2 VII. SERM. tine on his bed of fickness, whence his greatest anguish proceeds, and he will confefs, that it is not what he feels from the disease, fo much as his confcioufnefs of that guilt and intemperance which was the occafion of it. Afk the remorfeless usurer, who, after preying for years on the wants of his fellow-creatures, is at last detected in his iniquity, and reduced to penury and diftrefs, what it is that renders his condition most miserable if he speaks with fincerity, he will tell you, it is not the lofs of his riches which fits heavy on him, fo much as the unjust means by which he acquired them; not that he feels himself poor and deftitute, but that he knows at the fame time how much he deferves to be fo. Afk the atheist and free-thinker, in the bitterness of disease, or the hour of death, whence his greatest misery arises, and he will tell you, that it is not from the VII. fense of present pain, but the fears of SERM, future mifery; not from the lofs of that which he is leaving here, but the dread of what he may expect hereafter. Will they not, ought they not effectually to convince us, that to be happy, we must be good; to be at peace, we must be innocent. There is a practice amongst us, which hath often been the fatal effect of this difquietude, the practice of selfmurder; a practice fo common, that every year, every month, every week, nay almoft every day, furnishes us with fresh examples of it; a practice, which, dreadful and abominable as it is, hath been honoured by the tear of pity, and even fometimes encouraged by the fanction of public applaufe. How grievously must the spirit be wounded, when that death which it had fo long contemplated with horror and averfion, fhall become the object of its defires: the form of worldly K 3 SERM. worldly afflictions must beat VII. upon us, when we fly to the very hard for a grave fhelter from it. When we cry with Job, Why is light given to him that is in mifery, and life unto him that hath an heavy heart? for I will fleep in the duft, and if thou seek me in the morning I fhall not be found. The good Job indeed, notwithstanding thefe his complaints, fubmitted to the heavy judgments of his Creator: he knew (as every wife and pious man must know) that God only had a right to deftroy that being which he had made; and that our own life is no more at our own difpofal, than that of others. The crime of fuicide is doubtlefs of all wickedness the most dreadful, because it admits not, like other crimes, of reparation or repentance. The deferter may return to the field of battle, and redeem that character by bravery which he had loft cowardice; but when the fearful un manly |