clined, that is, both towards God as its end, and towards Christ as the way to him.

As to God himself, its end. The soul finds upon reflection, it was dead towards God, without motion towards him, without inclination, with all its powers bent and set quite another way; so that to persuade it to begin a course of holy motion towards God, was like persuading a stone to fly upwards. It could not trust the original truth, nor love the sovereign good, nor obey the supreme authority. Its course was nothing else but continual recession from him, towards whom it should have been continually pressing forward with all its might. It was wont to say to him, in whom was its life and all its hope, "Depart from me, I desire not the knowledge of thy ways;" it was utterly alienated from the life of God, and chose to live as without him in the world. And although it still remain thus in too great a degree, yet as it abhors this as a hateful way of living, and desires it may be otherwise, so is it sensibly delighted, that it does in some degree perceive a change, and that now it can find itself returning into its right and natural state of subordination to God.

And although in returning, and in its continual course afterwards towards God, there be much cause for the exercise of repentance,-the disposition whereto is a part of that new nature now communicated,-yet even such relentings, as are due and suitable upon this account, are not unpleasant: there is pleasure mingled with

such tears, and with those mournings which are not without hope, and which flow, naturally and without force, from a living principle within, as waters from their still freshly-springing fountain. When the soul finds itself unbound and set at liberty, when it can freely pour out itself to God, dissolve kindly and melt before him, it does it, with regret only at what it has done and been, not at what it is now doing,—except that it can do it no more; aspiring even to the infinite herein, while it yet sees it must be confined within some bounds. It loves to lie in the dust and abase itself; and is pleased with the humiliation, contrition, and brokenness of heart, which repentance towards God includes in it. So that as God is delighted with this sacrifice, the soul is delighted with the offering of itself up to him.

What inexpressible pleasure accompanies its devoting itself to God, when bemoaning itself, and returning with weeping and supplication, it says, "Now, lo, I come to thee, thou art the Lord my God. I have brought thee back thine own, which I had sacrilegiously alienated and stolen away, the heart which was gone astray, that has been so long a fugitive from thy blessed presence, from thy service and communion. Take now the soul which thou hast made; possess thy own right; enter upon it, stamp it with the entire impression of thine own seal, and mark it for thine. Other lords shall no more have dominion. What have I to do any more with the idols, wherewith I was wont to provoke thee to jealousy? I will now make mention of thy name,

and of thine only. I bind myself to thee in everlasting bonds, in a covenant never to be forgotten."

The self denial, which is included in this transaction, has no little pleasure in it. When the soul freely quits all pretence to itself, and by its own consent passes into his acknowledged right,-disclaims itself, and all its own former interests, inclinations, and ends, and is resolved to be to him and to no other,-when this is done unreservedly, without any intention of retaining or keeping back any thing from him... absolutely, without making any conditions of its own, but only agreeing to and thankfully accepting his ... peremptorily and without hesitation, and without halting between two opinions,—how does it now rejoice to feel itself offer willingly! They, who have life and sense about them, can tell there is pleasure in all this. And the oftener repetition is made hereof,-so it be done with life, not with trifling formality—they so often renew the relishes of the same pleasure.

Continued commerce with God, agreeable to the tenor of that covenant struck with him, how pleasant and delightful is it! How pleasant to be a friend of God, an associate of the Most High, a domestic, no more a stranger or foreigner, but of his own household,-to live wholly upon the plentiful provisions, and under the happy order and government of his family,-to have a heart to seek all from him, and lay out all for him!

How great is the pleasure of trust, of living

free from care, that is, from care of any thing but how to please and honour him in a cheerful unsolicitous dependance, expecting from him our daily bread, believing he will not let our souls famish,-that, while they hunger and thirst after righteousness, they shall be filled,that they shall be sustained with the bread and waters of life, that, when they hunger, he will feed them with hidden manna, and with the fruits that grow on the tree of life in the midst of the Paradise of God,-that, when they thirst, he will give water, and add milk and honey without money and without price.

How pleasant, not to doubt but he that feeds ravens and clothes lilies, will feed and clothe us, to be so taken up in seeking his kingdom and righteousness, as freely to leave it to him to add the other things as he thinks fit,—to take no thought for to-morrow,-to have a heart framed herein according to divine precept,—not to be encumbered or kept in an anxious suspense by the thoughts and fears of what may fall out, (by which many suffer the same affliction a thousand times over, which God would have them suffer but once.) A firm repose on the goodness of Providence, and its sure and never erring wisdom,—a steady persuasion, that our heavenly Father knows what we have need of, and what it is fittest for us to want, to suffer, or enjoy,how delightful a life do these make, and how agreeable to one born of God, his own Son, and heir of all things,—as being joint heirs with

Christ, and claiming by that large grant that says, "all things are yours."

To live in the fear of God is not without its pleasure. It composes the soul, expels the vanity which is not without vexation, represses exorbitant motions, checks unruly passions, keeps all within in a pleasant peaceful calm.

To live in his love is delight itself, or a tendency towards it. To be in such a temper of soul as to resolve, "Him I will seek and pursue, him I will study to please and serve, and spend my strength and life in serving him, though I yet know not whether he will accept, or how he will deal with me,"—this cannot but have a certain sensible delectation in it.

To live in a stated habitual subjection to him as the Lord of our lives, how pleasant is it! To have learned to obey, to be accustomed to the yoke, to taste and prove the goodness and acceptableness of his will, through an effectual transformation in the renewal of our minds,-to be, by the law of the spirit of life, made free from the law of sin and death,-to be able to speak it as the undisguised sense of our hearts, "because thy law is holy, therefore thy servant loveth it," to reckon it a royal law of liberty, so as to account ourselves so much the more free, by how much we are the more thus bound, this is a temper, that has not more of duty in it than it has of delight. There is such a thing as delighting in the law of God according to the inward man, when there is yet a difficulty in