The strength of this desire is such that it is ready, so far forth as it can, to dissolve that sweet knot of union that is betwixt body and soul--a knot more dear to a reasonable creature than that can be which is betwixt wife and husband, parent and child, or a man and his estate; for even all that a man hath will he give for his life, and to keep body and soul firmly knit together. But now, when this desire comes, this silver cord is loosed, is loosed by consent. This desire delightfully grants to him that comes to dissolve this union, leave to do it. "We are confident and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." The strength of this desire shows itself in this, that it is willing to grapple with the king of terrors, rather than to be detained from that sweet communion which the soul looks for when it comes into the place where its Lord is. Death is not to be desired for itself; the apostle chose rather to be clothed upon with his house which is from heaven, that mortality might be swallowed up of life. But yet rather than he would be absent from the Lord, he was willing to be absent from the body. Death, in the very thought of it, is grievous to flesh and blood; and nothing can so master it in our apprehensions as that by which we attain to these desires. These desires do deal with death, as Jacob's love to Rachel dealt with the seven long years which he was to serve for her. It made them seem few, or but a little time; so do these desires deal with death itself. They make it seem little, nay, a servant, nay, a privilege, because by that a man may come to enjoy the presence of his beloved Lord. I have a desire to depart, to go from the world and relations, to go from my body, that great piece of myself--I have a desire to venture the tugs and pains, and the harsh handling of the king of terrors, so I may be with Jesus Christ. These are the desires of the righteous. Are not these therefore strong desires? Is there not life and mettle in them? Have they not in them power to loose the bands of nature, and to harden the soul against sorrow? Flow they not, think you, from faith of the finest sort, and are they not bred in the bosom of a truly mortified soul? Are these the effect of a purblind spirit? Are they not rather the fruits of an eagle-eyed confidence? Oh, these desires! they are peculiar to the righteous. Christ in glory is worth the being with. If the man out of whom the Lord Jesus cast a legion, prayed that he might be with him notwithstanding all the trials that attended him in this life, how can it be but that a righteous man must desire to be with him, now he is in glory?