Reflection V. _Lastly_, That future state of glory must be blessed indeed, where we shall be ever near to God, even to his seat, and have no sorrows to tell him of. If it be so delightful a thing to come near the seat of God here upon earth, to mourn before him, and to tell him all our circumstances, and all our sorrows; how pleasurable a blessedness must that of heaven be, where we shall be ever rejoicing before him; as Christ Jesus was before the world was made, _rejoicing daily before him_; and our _delight_ shall be with that God who created _the sons of men_: Where we shall be for ever telling him our joys, and our pleasures, with humble adoration of his grace, and everlasting gratitude. It will be a sweet redoubling of all the delights and enjoyments of heaven, to tell him, in the language of that world, what infinite satisfaction we feel in his society; what enjoyments and delights we derive from his immediate influences; how full our hearts are of love to him, and how full they are of the sense of his love: There his love communicated to us, shall be, as it were, reflected back again from our souls to God; and in the perpetual communications and reflections of knowledge, joy, and love shall our heaven consist. O that I could raise your souls, and mine, to blessed breathings after this felicity, by such representations. But how infinitely short must the brightest description fall of this state and place: May you and I, who speak and hear this, may every soul of us be made thus happy one day, and learn the extent and glory of this blessedness, by sweet and everlasting experience. _Amen._ HYMN FOR SERMON VI. _Sins and Sorrows spread before God._ O that I knew the secret place, Where I might find my God! I’d spread my wants before his face, And pour my woes abroad. I’d tell him how my sins arise, What sorrows I sustain; How grace decays, and comfort dies, And leaves my heart in pain. I’d say, “How flesh and sense rebel! What inward foes combine With the vain world, and powers of hell, To vex this soul of mine!” He knows what arguments I’d take, To wrestle with my God; I’d plead for his own mercy’s sake, And for my Saviour’s blood. My God will pity my complaints, And heal my broken bones: He takes the meaning of his saints, The language of their groans. Arise, my soul, from deep distress, And banish every fear; He calls thee to his throne of grace, To spread thy sorrows there.