is the only mother of true, sober alacrity and tranquillity of mind, will, on considering things, be manifest.

There is no other thing here in this world that can yield any solid or stable content to our mind. For all present enjoyments are transient and evanid; and of any future thing, in this kingdom of change and contingency, there can be no assurance. There is nothing below large enough to fill our vast capacities, or to satiate our boundless desires, or to appease our squeamish delicacy. There is nothing whose sweetness we do not presently exhaust and suck dry: whereof thence we do not soon grow weary, quite loathing, or faintly liking it. There is not any thing which is not slippery and fleeting; so that we can for a long time hope to possess it, or for any time can enjoy it, without restless care in keeping it, and anxious fear of losing it. Nothing there is, in the pursuance, the custody, the defence and maintenance whereof we are not liable to disappointments and crosses. Nothing consequently there is productive of any sound content to the fastidious, impatient, greedy, and restless heart of man. The greatest confluence of present, corporeal, secular things, (of all the health, the riches, the dignity, the power, the friendships and dependencies, the wit, the learning and wisdom, the reputation and renown in this world) will not afford much of it; which yet is but an imaginary supposition; for in effect hardly do all such accommodations of life concur in any state. There is ever some dead fly' in our box, which marreth our ' ointment;' some adherent inconvenience, which soureth the gust of our enjoyments: there is always some good thing absent which we do want or long for; some ill thing present or in prospect which we abhor, would avoid, do fear may come. If therefore we would find content, we must not seek it here; we must want it, or have it from another world: it must come hither from heaven, and thence only piety can fetch it down. This, instead of these unsatisfying, uncertain, and unstable things, supplieth us with goods adequate to our most outstretched wishes, infallibly sure, incessantly durable; an indefectible treasure, an incorruptible inheritance, an unshakable kingdom,** a perfect and endless joy, capable to replenish the vastest

*

.

Θησαυρὸν ἀνέκλειπτον, κληρονομίαν ἄφθαρτον, βασιλείαν ἀσάλευτον.

heart which he that hath a good title to or a confident hope of, how can he be otherwise than extremely pleased, than fully content? It assureth the favor and friendship of God, of him that is absolute Lord and disposer of all things: the which he that hath and confideth in, what can he want or wish more? what can he fear? what can annoy or dismay him? what can hap to him worthy to be deemed evil or sad? What is poverty to him for whom God is concerned to provide? What is disgrace to him that hath the regard and approbation of God? What is danger to him whom God continually protecteth? What can any distress work on him whom God doth comfort and will relieve? What is any thing to him who is sensible that all things are purposely disposed to him by that Wisdom which perfectly knoweth what is best; by that Goodness which intirely loveth him? In fine, he that is conscious to himself of being well-affected in mind, and acting the best way, who is satisfied in the state of his soul, secure from God's displeasure, and hopeful of his favor, what can make any grievous impression on him? What other affections than such as are most grateful and pleasant can lodge in his soul? Joy and peace have natural seeds in such a mind, and necessarily must spring up there; in proportion, I mean, and according to the degrees of piety resident therein.

The Epicureans did conceit and boast, that having, by their atheistical explications of natural effects, and common events here, discarded the belief and dread of religion, they had laid a strong foundation for tranquillity of mind, had driven away all the causes of grief and fear, so that nothing then remained troublesome or terrible unto us; and consequently, what, said they, could forbid, but that we should be intirely contented, glad, and happy?-Nos exæquat victoria cœlo; no god then surely could be more happy than we. But their attempt in many respects was vain and lame. They presumed of a victory which it is impossible to obtain: and supposing they had got it, their triumph would not have been so glorious, their success would not have been so great, as they pretended. For seeing no Epicurean discourse can baffle the potent arguments which persuade religion; (those arguments, which the visible constitution of nature, the current tradition of all ages, the

general consent of men, the pregnant attestations of history and experience concerning supernatural and miraculous events, do afford ;) since the being and providence of God have proofs so clear and valid, that no subtlety of man can so far evade them as not to be shaken with them, as wholly to be freed from doubt and suspicion of their truth; since there can be no means of evincing the negative part in those questions to be true or probable; it is impossible that any considering man, in this cause against religion, should suppose himself to have acquired an absolute and secure victory, or that he should reap substantial fruit of comfort thence. It cannot be, that any man should enjoy any perfect quiet, without acting so as to get some good hope of avoiding those dreadful mischiefs, which religion threateneth to the transgressors of its precepts. Were there indeed but reason enough to stir, if not to stagger, an infidel; were it somewhat dubious whether, yea, were it great odds that there are not reserved any punishments for impiety, as indeed there is, if not the perfectest assurance imaginable, yet vast advantage on the contrary side; were there but any small reason for a judgment to come, as there are apparently very many and great ones; had most men conspired in denying providence, as ever generally they have consented in avowing it; were there a pretence of miracles for establishing the mortality and impunity of souls, as there have been numberless strongly testified by good witnesses and great events, to confirm the opposite doctrines; did most wise and sober men judge in favor of irreligion, as commonly they ever did and still do otherwise; yet wisdom would require that men should choose to be pious, since otherwise no man can be throughly secure. It is a wildness, not to dread the least possibility of incurring such horrible mischiefs: any hazard of such importance cannot but startle a man in his wits. To be in the least obnoxious to eternal torments, if men would think on it as men, (that is, as rational and provident creatures,) could not but disturb them. And indeed so it is in experience; for whatever they say, or seem, all atheists and profane men are inwardly suspicious and fearful; they care not to die, and would gladly escape the trial of what shall follow death. But let us grant or imagine the Epicurean successful as he could wish in this en

terprise of subduing religion: yet except therewith he can also trample down reason, new mould human nature, subjugate all natural appetites and passions, alter the state of things here, and transform the world, he will yet in the greatest part fail of his conceited advantages; very short he will fall of triumphing in a contented and quiet mind. That which accrueth thence will at most be no more than some negative content, or a partial indolency, arising from his being rescued from some particular cares and fears; which exceedeth not the tranquillity of a beast, or the stupidity of one that is out of his senses: that is all he can claim, which yet is more than he can ever compass. For he cannot be as a beast, or a mere sot, if he would: reason, reflecting on present evils, and boding others future, will afflict him; his own unsatiable desires, unavoidable fears, and untameable passions, will disquiet him. Were the other world quite out of his faith, or his thought, yet this world would yield trouble sufficient to render him void of any steady rest or solid joy. All men ever have, and ever will complain that the burdens, crosses, satieties of this life, do much surpass the conveniences and comforts of it. So that, were no other to be expected or feared, this of itself would become grievous and nauseous;* we should soon have enough or too much of it, without a support and supply from otherwhere. In the largest affluence of things, in the deepest calm of our state, we are apt to nauseate, and are weary even of our prosperity itself; the which indeed commonly hath ingredients not only somewhat unsavory, but very bitter and loathsome. We may add, that had those profane attempters quite banished religion, they with it must have driven away all the benefits and comforts of it: which, even supposing them but imaginary, are yet the greatest which common life doth need, or can desire: with it they would send packing justice, fidelity, charity, sobriety, and all solid virtue, things which cannot firmly subsist without conscience: which being gone, human life would be the most disorderly, most unsafe, most wretched and contemptible thing that can be; nothing but insipid and flashy sensualities would be left behind to comfort a man with; and those hardly any

* Non tempestate vexor, sed nausea.-Senec. de Tranq. An. 1.

man (by reason of competitions and contentions for them, nowise restrainable) could enjoy quietly or safely. It is therefore piety alone, which, by raising hopes of blessings and joys incomparably superior to any here, that cannot be taken from us, can lay any ground of true content, of substantial and positive content; such as consisteth not only in removing the objects and causes of vexatious passions, but in employing the most pleasant affections (love, hope, joy,) with a delightful complacence on their proper and most noble objects. The kingdom of God' (and that only, no other kingdom hath that privilege) consisteth in righteousness' (first, then in) 'peace and spiritual joy.' No philosopher, with truth and reason, can make that overture to us which our Lord doth; 'Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and ye shall find rest to your souls.' Out of religion there can be no aphorism pretended like to that of the prophet, Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee.'

If indeed we distinctly survey all the grounds and sources of content, it will appear that religion only can afford it.

Doth it result from a well governing and ordering our passions? Then it is plain that only a pious man is capable thereof; for piety only can effect that it alone, with the powerful aid of divine grace, doth guide our passions by exact rules, doth set them on worthy objects, doth temper and tune them in just harmony, doth seasonably curb and check them, doth rightly correct and reform them.*

This no bare reason (which naturally is so dim and so feeble in man) can achieve: much less can unreasonableness do it, which is ever prevalent in irreligious persons. Their passions do ever run wildly and at random, in no good pace, within no good compass toward the meanest and basest objects; whence they can have no rest or quiet in their minds. As they are constantly offending, so will they ever be punishing themselves, with intestine broils and conflicts, with dissatisfactions and regrets. Hence, there is no peace to the wicked.' 'He

* Mala mens-cum insidiatur, spe, curis, labore distringitur; et jam cum sceleris compos fuerit, solicitudine, pœnitentia, pœnarum omnium exspectatione torquetur.-Quint. xii. 1.