piteous moan of one of old, _He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass_, _and he hath set darkness in my paths_; while I sensibly, at times, felt a backwardness to all that was good—no pleasure in the Bible—reluctantly going to a throne of grace—fit for no company—ordinances very dry to me—my love cold, hope low, faith weak, and every thing God did, my heart fretted against him for it, so that I was ready to cry out to all the people of God I was acquainted with— Ye that love the Lord, indeed, Tell me—is it so with you? Thus I generally remained till the application of a promise—one sweet word under a sermon—or a part of an hymn—or opening the mind to plead the promises at a throne of grace—or a sweet ray of light let in upon the mind, that led me to review the way I was led—this brought enlargement again—the above I have experienced many times. ’Tis this makes our life a warfare; while our inbred sins gaining the ascendancy, brings the mind into sad bondage—this even works for our good, leads us to hate self, see the malice of Satan, the need of divine keeping, and constrains us from necessity to pray, _Hold thou me up and I shall be safe_. This warfare must be accomplished, this combat must have an end, the sooner the better; our happy release must come, we must soon be put in possession of that glory which we are favored with the earnest of, even eternal light, life, and love. Feeling, knowing, and enjoying these things, we shall have the glorious fruition of them by and by; the way to it is painful, and much dreaded by the best of men, but God has always been better to them than their fears, they have been made willing to go; nature has shuddered, but faith has gained the victory; their fears and unbelief has often suggested, _Who shall roll away the stone from the door_?—but lo, the angel of the Lord descends in time, to roll it away; hence the Redeemer says, _I will come again and receive you to myself_, _that where I am ye may be also_. _Thou shalt come to thy grave in full age_, _like a shock of corn_, _fully ripe_, _that cometh in his season_—the wicked is driven away in his wickedness, but the other comes to his grave, or like a lily full blown; for, _My beloved_ (says the Church) _has gone down to his garden to gather lillies_—and as sure as we are gathered from the world, gathered into his Church by effectual calling, so surely shall we be gathered into his garner. O what an enlargement!—now safe arrives the heavenly mariner; the battering storm, the hurricane of life, all dies away in one eternal calm. With joy divine, and transport in his breast, He gains the port of everlasting rest.