ed under the hidings of God's face. The best are not always in the same frame. Holy Job knew what this was by experience, when he said, "O that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his seat; I would order my cause before him, I would fill my mouth with arguments." David complains of this desertion, and prays that "God may lift up the light of his countenance upon him." This is indeed a sore trial. To have the joys of God's salvation suspended, to walk in darkness and have no light, to find little or no comfort in the exercises of duty, to feel a kind of deadness and stupor of mind, to lose those pleasant impressions we had at first, to derive little or no benefit from public ordinances, and to find but little satisfaction even from the word and promises of God; this of all situations is the most painful to a serious mind. Then it is that we lose our evidence of the divine favour, and begin to think we have neither part nor lot in the matter. Then the enemy takes the advantage, and we are ready to ask, "If I am a christian, how can it be that I am thus so dark and life. less? why such a barren frame, such cold desires, such unbelief, such strange thoughts, such luke. warm affections? Alas! where is my former zeal and activity, my delight in God's house and people, and those pleasant and transporting exercises of mind I so lately felt? O that it were as in days past, when the candle of the Lord shone upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness!"* These, perhaps, may be your feel

* Job xxix. 2, 3.

ings, although you may not have been many months in the good way. The bright sunshine with which you were first favoured may be changed for clouds and darkness, and you may feel a painful surprise, that your joys have so suddenly departed from you. Now while you carefully endeavour to trace the cause, do not imagine that God is changed in his purpose toward you. Sometimes these depressions arise from the state of the body, from something unpleasant in temporal circumstances, or from distracting cares which much affect the mind. But supposing, as is probably the case, that guilt is contracted; or that your conscience, which is now awakened, has charged you with something that you did not before take cognizance of; then even this, instead of driving you to despair, should be rather considered as a token for good. What an infinite mercy it is that now you cannot rest when God's Spirit is grieved; that now a sense of one single defection from duty actually gives you more uneasiness than the whole of your rebellious conduct ever gave you while in a natural state! While you look up to God, therefore, for his pardoning mercy, and implore his gracious help, to enable you to lay aside every weight, and the sin that easily besets you, O be thankful that your conscience is not seared; that you are not given up to judicial hardness of heart; that if God hath hid his face from you, it is to humble you in the dust; to wean you from self and the world; to place your confidence more in him; to make you less dependent on your own frames and feelings; to quicken you in the paths of righteousness, and excite in you greater desires

for the heavenly world. Sorrow not, therefore, as if you had lost your God because you have lost your comfort. "He will turn again, he will have compassion."* It is his voice that says, "Is Ephraim my dear son? is he a pleasant child? Since I spake against him I do earnestly remember him still; therefore my bowels are troubled for him. I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the Lord."t

Lastly, the fear of death may sometimes operate greatly to your discouragement. But how unreasonable is it to suppose that he who has done such great things for you; has brought you to see yourself as a condemned sinner, to taste his love, to find happiness in him as the chief good, and most ardently to desire to be his forever; I say, how unreasonable, and does it not reflect upon God's kindness and mercy, to suppose that he will leave you when you most stand in need of his help? You, perhaps, with a busy imagination, attach to death a thousand unpleasant circumstances: the gloomy thoughts of leaving friends, mingling with the dust, relinquishing your choicest comforts here, and all the apparatus of a solemn funeral, so occupy the mind, as to prevent you from considering the glory that awaits you beyond the grave. But what have you to do with such melancholy thoughts? These are things, which as you will not be sensible of when they take place, so they should never affect your mind now while you live. Epicurus could say, "Death, which is accounted the most dreadful of

all evils, is nothing to us, because, while we are in being, death is not yet present; and when death is present, we are not in being: so that it neither concerns us living or dead. Shall heathens (as Mr. Howe observes) comfort themselves upon so wretched a ground, with a little sophistry and the hope of extinguishing all desire of immortality; and shall not we derive comfort by cherishing this blessed hope of enjoying shortly an immortal glory?"

Think too, my dear reader, how God in general supports his people in that trying moment. What numberless instances might be quoted of faith, triumphing in a dying hour! Let us here only select a few for the encouragement of your hope, and as an antidote to your fear. Mr. Edward Deering, a little before his death, said to his friends, "As for my death, I bless God I feel and find so much inward joy and comfort to my soul, that if I were put to my choice, whether I would live or die, I would a thousand times rather choose death than life, if it may stand with the holy will of God." The famous Mr. Durham, being visited by a minister in his last sickness, which was long and lingering, who said to him, "Sir, I hope you have so set all in order, that you have nothing to do but to die ;" "I bless God," said he, "I have not had that to do neither these many years." But what say you to the dying experience of some young christians? When one who departed this life about eleven years of age* was asked by his father, "How can you

* Jonathan Cope, of Ashted.

bear to leave your diversions, and all the pretty things you have had in the world?" he said, with his hands and eyes lifted up, "Thousands, thousands of worlds, are not like going to Jesus:" and when told that probably he would die that week, he added, "That's right; I wish I may. I want to go to Jesus and my dear brother." Another not so old, whose sufferings were uncommonly severe for many months, was never heard to complain: among a number of questions proposed, to which he gave the most satisfactory answers, he was asked, If he was afraid of dying? he said, "No." "Why?" "Because Jesus is with "Why do you think Jesus will be with you when you die ?" "Because he has said he ?” will." And when the trying moment came, he said, with considerable emphasis, "He is with

me.' 99

me."

Learn, then, to trust a faithful God; live to him while he gives you health and strength; and when it is his will you should draw near the gates of death, confide in his goodness: for what he hath said, that will he perform. Read his word; treasure up in your memory the kind declarations of his love; and remember that the Saviour himself died to take away the sting. You may therefore look into the grave, and exclaim, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."+

J. Steven, of Camberwell, who died at the age of 8 years and 8 months. 1st Cor. xv. 55, 57.