thou no more value it? Must he go before to prepare so glorious a mansion for such a wretch, and art thou loth to go and possess it? Shall the Lord of Glory be desirous of thy company, and thou not desirous of his? Must earth become a very hell to thee, before thou art willing to be with God? Behold the most lovely creature, or the most desirable state, and tell me, where wouldst thou be, if not with God? Poverty is a burden; riches a snare; sickness unpleasing; health unsafe; the frowning world _bruises thy heel_; the smiling world _stings_ thee to the heart; so much as the world is loved and delighted in, it hurts and endangers the lover; and, if it may not be loved, why should it be desired? If thou art applauded, it proves the most contagious breath; if thou art vilified, or unkindly used, methinks this should not entice thy love. If thy successful labors, and thy godly friends, seem better to thee than a life with God, it is time for God to take them from thee. If thy studies have been sweet, have they not also been bitter? And at best, what are they to the everlasting views of the God of truth? Thy friends here have been thy delight; and have they not also been thy vexation and grief? They are gracious, and are they not also sinful? They are kind, and are they not soon displeased? They are humble, but, alas, how proud also? Their graces are sweet, and their gifts helpful; but are not their corruptions bitter, and their imperfections hurtful? And art thou so loth to go from them to thy God? § 24. "O my soul, look above this world of sorrows! Hast thou so long felt the smarting rod of affliction, and no better understood its meaning? Is not every stroke to drive thee hence? Is not its voice like that to Elijah, _what dost thou here_? Dost thou forget thy Lord's prediction. _In the world ye shall have tribulation, in me ye may have peace._ Ah! my dear Lord, I feel thy meaning; it is written in my flesh, engraved in my bones. My heart thou aimest at; thy rod drives, thy silken cord of love draws; and all to bring it to thyself. Lord, can such a heart be worth thy having? Make it worthy, and then it is thine; take it to thyself, and then take me. This clod hath life to stir, but not to rise. As the feeble child to the tender mother, it looketh up to thee, and stretcheth out the hands, and fain would have thee take it up. Though I cannot say, _my soul longeth after thee_; yet I can say, I long for such a longing heart. _The spirit is willing, the flesh is weak._ My spirit cries, _let thy kingdom come_, or let me come to thy kingdom; but the flesh is afraid thou shouldst hear my prayer, and take me at my word. O blessed be thy grace, which makes use of my corruptions to kill themselves; for I fear my fears, and sorrow for my sorrows, and long for greater longings; and thus the painful means of attaining my desires increase my weariness, and that makes me groan to be at rest.