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T HOU seemest to have been long from me; let nothing any longer
detain thee, but my sister’s necessity, or father’s authority. I
am in a comfortable state of health, through divine goodness, to
which be glory for ever. See that thou love and admire that fountain
of our life, and peace: and be ever mindful that ’tis all thy business to
love, and serve, and praise thy Creator and Redeemer. I have no
other business but this to write to thee about: but this is all our
business. What we use to call business is but vanity and pastime in
comparison of this. Remember that ’tis thy one end, to glorify God,
and enjoy him for ever. Learn well that lesson, and know, that it is the
only thing necessary. Every morning remember that thy serving and
pleasing God is the whole business of that day, and therefore set out
accordingly with an express design and intention to please God in
thy eating, drinking, visiting, conversing, and duties throughout the
day. My most dear heart, I have nothing in the world that doth
concern thee, or me so much to write of to thee, as this. Oh that thou
mayst still be laying up in heaven! Still furthering thy account; still
adding to the heap, and increasing thy glorious reward? Nothing is
done for God, but thou shalt hear of it again. What is not done for
God, is but so much lost. Those things which others do, being led by
their natural affections and desires, those things do thou with holy
aims, for spiritual ends, and then God will put it on the account, as so
much done for him. So it is, my dearest, God keeps a true account.
See that thou believe it, and so plough in hope, and sow in hope,
pray and hear with an eye to the sure reward. Let thy hopes be
strong and lively, and then thy hands will be strong, and thy
resolutions and affections will be strong. My time is very precious,
and I would not lose an inch of it. See thou to it, that my time in
writing this letter be not lost time. Love God the more, and set thy
heart the straiter towards him, and practise this one thing, in every
action look to thy end, and then I have got well, and thou better by
these counsels. My dearest, I love thee in truth and tenderness, but
my love signifies little, unless it serve thine eternal good.
JOS. ALLEINE.
[To his wife.]
My dear heart,
M Y heart
* is now a little at rest to write to thee. I have been these
three days much disturbed. Strong sollicitations I have had
from several hands, to accept very honourable preferment;
but I have not found the invitations to suit with the inclinations of my
own heart, as I was confident they would not with thine. I have sent
away my friends satisfied with the reasons of my refusal, and now
can say, Soul, return unto thy rest. But alas, that such things should
disturb me! I would live above this lower region, that no passages
whatsoever might put me out of frame, or unsettle me from my
desired rest. I would have my heart fixed upon God, so as no
occurrences might disturb my tranquility, but I might be still in the
same quiet and even frame. Well, though I am apt to be unsettled,
yet I am like a bird out of the nest, I am never at quiet till I am in my
old way of communion with God; like the needle in the compass, that
is restless, till it be turned towards the pole.
I can say through grace, with my soul have I desired thee in the
night, and with my spirit within me have I sought thee early; my heart
is early and late with God, ’tis the business and delight of my life to
seek him. But alas, how long shall I spend my days in wishing, when
my glorified brethren spend theirs in enjoying? As the poor
imprisoned captive sighs under his irons, and can only look through
the grate, and long for the liberty which others enjoy: such is my
condition. I can only look through the grate of this prison, my flesh; I
see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, sitting down in the kingdom of
God. But alas, I myself must stand without, longing, praying, waiting,
for what they are enjoying. Happy souls! When shall these fetters of
mine be knocked off? When shall I be set at liberty from this prison
of my body? You are cloathed with glory, when I am cloathed with
dust. I dwell in flesh, in a house of clay, when you dwell with God in a
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
I must be continually clogged with this cumbersome body, when
you have put on incorruption and immortality. What continual
molestation am I subject to by reason of this flesh? What pains doth
it cost me to keep this earthen vessel from breaking! It must be
exercised; and which is worst of all, cherished with time-devouring
sleep; so that I live but little of the short time I have allotted me here.
But oh blessed souls, you are swallowed up of immortality and life,
your race is run, and you have received your crown. How cautious
must I be to keep me from dangers! How apt am I to be troubled with
the cares and fears of this life, when your souls are taken up with
God and Christ, and ’tis your work to be still contemplating, and
admiring that love that redeemed you from all this. What pains must I
be at to repair the ruinous building of this earthly tabernacle, which
when I have done, I am sure will shortly fall about my ears; when you
are got far above mortality, and are made equal with the angels. Oh!
I groan earnestly to be cloathed upon with my house which is from
heaven, being willing rather to be absent from the body and present
with the Lord! Oh, when shall I come and appear before him? When
shall I receive the purchase of my Saviour, the fruit of my prayers,
the harvest of my labours, the end of my faith, the salvation of my
soul? Alas, what do I here? This is not my resting place, my treasure
is in heaven. Oh when shall I be where my heart is? Wo is me that
dwell in the tents of Kedar! Oh that I had wings like a dove, that I
might fly away and be at rest! Then would I hasten my escape from
the storm and tempest, and be out of the reach of fears,
disturbances, and distractions. How long shall I live at such a
distance from my God, at such a distance from my country? Alas,
how can I sing the Lord’s song in a strange land? No, I will hang my
harp upon the willows, and sit down and weep when I remember
Sion. But yet my flesh shall rest in hope, and I will daily bathe my
soul in the sweet thoughts of my blessed home. I will rejoice in
hopes of what I do not yet enjoy, and content myself with the taste of
what I shall shortly have my fill of.
The Lord grant the request I daily pour out before him, and make
us furtherances to each other’s soul, that we may quicken and
promote and forward one another in his ways! Help me by thy
prayers, as thou dost always. The God of all peace and comfort be
with thee my sweet love! Farewell!
JOS. ALLEINE.
L E T T E R XXVI.
[God is a satisfying Portion.]
H AD not my right hand long since forgot her cunning, and the
Almighty shook the pen out of my hand, I should long e’er this
have written to thee; but it is a wonder of divine power and goodness
that my soul had not before this time dwelt in silence, and that death
had not put the long period to all my writing and converse.
Long is the song of love that I have to tell thee. I rejoice in the
constancy of thy love, that the waters of so long a silence, and so
great a distance have not yet quenched it. But thy desires are
towards me, and thy heart is with me, though providence hath
hindered me from thy much-desired company. I will assure thee it
hath been a pleasure to my heart a good part of this summer, to
hope that I should come one half of the way to give thee a meeting.
But such is my weakness hitherto, that I am forced to put off those
hopes till the spring, when, if God gives me strength to ride, I intend
to see thee before mine own home. I thank thee for all the dear
expressions of thy fervent love: my expences have been vast; but
surely goodness and mercy hath followed me, and do follow me in
every place, and in every change of my condition; so that as to
temporals, I have lack of nothing, and as for spirituals I abound and
superabound, and the streams of my comforts have been full and
running over. The joy of the Lord hath been my strength at the
weakest, and in the multitude of my thoughts within me, his comforts
have refreshed my soul. I have found God a satisfying portion to me,
and have sat under his shadow with full delights, and his fruit is most
sweet to my taste: he is my strength ♦and my song, for I will talk of
him, and write of him with perpetual pleasure. Through grace I can
say, methinks I am now in my element, since I have begun to make
mention of him, I am rich in him and happy in him, and my soul saith
unto him with David, Thou hast made me most blessed for ever
more. Happy is the hour that ever I was born, to be made partaker of
so blissful a treasure, so endless a felicity, such angelical a
prerogative, as I have in him: O how sweet are his converses, how
delightful it is to triumph in his love.
F R I E N D.
L E T T E R XXVII.
Dear Cousin,
These things do, and you shall be sure of a friend in heaven; and,
if I may be any comfort to you, you shall not fail, while I live, to have
one friend on earth to care for you. You are gone far from me, even
to the uttermost parts of the earth: but I have sent these letters to call
after you; yea, not only to call, but to cry in your ears. O what is like
to become of your soul! Where is that immortal soul of yours like to
be lodged for ever? Amongst devils or angels? Upon a bed of
flames, or in the joys of paradise?
Go aside; retire from the noise of the world, and say to yourself,
Oh my soul! Whither art thou going? Do not I know, that I must be
converted or condemned? That I must be sanctified, or I can never
be saved? Oh my soul! What seekest thou? What is my chief care?
Is it for this world, or the world to come? Do I first seek the kingdom
of heaven, and the righteousness thereof? Do I think heaven will
drop into my mouth? That glory and immortality will be got with a wet
finger, with cold prayers, and heartless wishes, while the world has
my heart? Do I think to be crowned, and yet never fight? To gain the
race and never run? To enter at the strait gate, and never strive? To
overcome principalities and powers, and never wrestle? No, no; Oh
my soul, either lay by the hopes of heaven for ever, or rouse up
thyself, put forth thy strength after God and glory. Either lay by thy
worldly hopes, or thy hopes of immortality; away with thy sins, or let
Christ go for ever. Think not to have Christ and the world too, to
serve God and mammon: if thou follow the world, thou must die: the
Lord hath spoken it, and all the world can never reverse it. Thus
reason the case with your own soul, and give not rest to thyself night
nor day, till you are gotten off from the world, broken off from every
known sin, and got safe into Christ.
Dear cousin, I charge you by the Lord, to observe these things.
Pray over them, weep over them, read them again and again; do not
pass them over as slight and ordinary things. Your soul is at stake; it
is your salvation which is concerned in them; think not that I am in
jest with you. I travel in birth with you, till Christ be formed in you.
Why should you die? Oh repent and live, lay hold on eternal life, win
Christ, and you win all. Oh be thankful to the Lord, that now you are
fatherless and friendless, yet you have one remembrancer to warn
you to flee from the wrath to come. God forbid that I should find you
at last in the place of torments, for your not embracing these
counsels. To conclude, I charge you as a minister, as a father, take
heed of these three things:
1. Lest the gain of the world prove the loss of your soul:
JOS. ALLEINE.
L E T T E R XXVIII.
Dear friend,
You see how free I am with you: but I know your candour. I
rejoice in your happy yoke-fellow: salute her from your old friend,
and accept of the unfeigned respects of him who is, Sir,
Worthy Sir,
I can tell you little good of myself: but this I can tell you, that the
promises of God were never so sweet to me, as since my
imprisoned state. It shames me that I have let such a treasure lie by
so long, and have made so little use of it. Never did my soul know
the heaven of a believer’s life, till I learnt to live a life of praise, and
to set home the unspeakable riches of the divine promises, to which,
through grace, I am made an heir. I verily perceive that all our work
were done, if we could but prevail with ourselves and others to live
like believers; to tell all the world by our carriage, that there is such
pleasantness in Christ’s ways, such beauty in holiness, such reward
to obedience, as we profess to believe!
It is but a little while that prisons shall hold us, or that we shall
dwell in dirty flesh. Porphyry tells us of Plotinus, that he was
ashamed to see himself in the body; to see a divine and immortal
soul in a prison of flesh (for so they held the body to be;) but the
worst shackles are those of sin. Well, they must shortly fall off; our
Lord doth not long intend us for this lower region: surely he is gone
to prepare a place for us: yea, and he will come again, and receive
us to himself, that where he is, we may be also. And what have we
to do, but to believe, and wait, and love, and long, and look out for
his coming, in which is all our hope? ’Twill be time enough for us to
be preferred then. We know before hand who shall then be
uppermost. Our Lord hath shewed us where our places shall be,
even at his own right hand; and what he will say to us, Come ye
blessed. Surely we shall stand in his judgment: he hath promised to
stand our friend: let us look for the joyful day: and sure as there is a
God, this day will come, and then it shall go well with us. What if
bonds and banishment abide us for a season? This is nothing but
what our Lord hath told us, The world shall rejoice, but ye shall
lament: ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into
joy. Oh how reviving are his words! I will see you again, and your
heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.
Let your true yoke-fellow, and my Christian friends with you, have
my hearty commendation: and these counsels I pray you give them
from me.
1. To habituate themselves, both as to their thoughts and
discourses, more throughly than ever to holiness. Brethren, I would
teach you the lesson that I resolve to learn, that your minds and
tongues may as naturally run upon the things of heaven, as others
on the things of this world. Why should it not be thus? I am sure God
and heaven as well deserve to be thought on, and talked of as froth
and vanity. There are many that have in a great measure learnt this
lesson, and why should not we? What if it be hard at first? Every
thing is so to a beginner. And is not ours a religion of self-denial? If
we do but force ourselves awhile to holy thoughts, and heavenly
discourse, it will grow habitual to us, and then it will be most natural,
familiar, and sweet. O what gainers will you be, if you learn this
lesson?
’Tis the shame of religion, that Christians are so unlike
themselves, unless upon their knees. Our lives and language should
tell the world what we are, and whither we are going. Christians, let
little things content you in the world, but aspire after great things in
the grace of God. Many little think what high degrees of holiness
they may grow up to even in this life with pains and diligence. Sirs,
be you men of great designs: think it not enough if you have
wherewith to bear your charges to heaven; but aspire to be great in
the court of heaven, favourites of the Most High, of tall growth,
singular communion, that you may burn and shine in your place, that
you may savour of heaven wherever you come, and that there may
be an even-spun thread of holiness running through your whole
course. ’Tis our disgrace, that there is so little difference to be seen
in the ordinary conversation of believers and other men. Is it not a
shame, that when we are in company with others, this should be all
the difference that is to be seen, that we will not curse and swear? If
you will honour the gospel, bring forth your religion out of your
closets into your shops, trades, visits, and exemplify the rules of
religion in the management of all your relations, and in your ordinary
converse. Let there be no place or company that you come into, in
which you do not drop something of God; this will be the glory of
religion, and we shall never convince the world ’till we come to this.
May you come, my brethren, out of your prisons with your faces
shining, having your minds seasoned, and your tongues tipt with
holiness! May your mouths be as a well of life, from whence may
flow the holy streams of edifying discourse! May you ever remember,
as you are sitting in your houses, going by the way, lying down,
rising up, what the Lord doth then require of you.
2. To improve their present retirements from the world, for the
settling their spiritual estates. ’Tis a common complaint amongst
Christians, that they want assurance. Oh, if any of you that wanted
assurance when you came to prison, may carry that blessing out,
what happy gainers would you be? Now you are called more than
ever to self-searching. Now bring your graces to the touchstone. Be
much in self observation. Rest not in probable hopes. Think not that
it is enough that you can say, you hope ’tis well. Be restless till you
can say, that you know ’tis well; that you know you are passed from
death to life.
*Think not that this is a privilege that only a few may expect.
Observe but these three things:
JOS. ALLEINE.
M Y heart’s desire and prayer for you is, that you may be saved.
This is that which I have been praying and studying, and
preaching for these many years: and this is the end of my suffering,
and writing at this present time. I seek not other gifts, give me your
hearts, let me but part between your sins and you: suffer me but to
save you; give me leave to carry you over to Jesus Christ, and I will
not ask you any more. I will serve you gladly, I will suffer for you
thankfully, so I may but save you. Do not wonder why I follow you so
pressingly, why I call upon you so frequently; let not my importunity
be grievous to you, all this is but to save you. Christ did not think his
blood, and shall I think my breath too dear in order to your salvation;
what pity is it, that any of you should miscarry at last, under the
power of ignorance, or by a profane negligence, or a formal and
lifeless profession of strict godliness?
Beloved, I am afraid of you, lest (as to many of you) I have run in
vain. I cannot but thankfully acknowledge, that there are not a few of
you who are the joy of your ministers, and the glory of Christ. But it
cannot be dissembled, that far the greater number give little ground
to hope, they are in the state of salvation. And must not this be a
pinching thought to a compassionate teacher, that he cannot
persuade men, but that the most of them will wilfully throw away
themselves? Is it not a woeful sight, to behold the devils driving a
great part of our miserable flocks, (as they did once the herd of
swine) violently down the hill, till they be choaked in the water,
drowned in the gulph of endless perdition? Ah miserable spectacle!
What through the wilful blindness of some, the looseness and
sensuality of others, the halving, and cold, and customary religion of
others, how great a number of our poor flocks, is Satan like to carry
utterly away from us, after all that hath been done to save him?