Has poverty nothing worse in it than this, that it _makes men liable to be laughed at_? ’Tis a sign this idle poet talked by rote of the things which he knew not. Is not want of food something worse than this? God pronounced it as a curse upon man, that he should earn it by _the sweat of his brow_. But how many are there in this Christian country, that toil and labour, and sweat, and have it not at last, but struggle with weariness and hunger together? Is it not worse, for one after an hard day’s labour, to come back to a poor, cold, dirty, uncomfortable lodging, and to find there not even the food which is needful to repair his wasted strength? You that live at ease in the earth, that want nothing but eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to understand how well God has dealt with you: is it not worse to seek bread, day by day, and find none? Perhaps to find the comfort also of five or six children, crying for what he has not to give. Were it not, that he is restrained by an unseen hand, would he not soon _curse_ God _and die_? O want of bread! Want of bread! Who can tell what this means, unless he hath felt it himself? I am astonished, it occasions no more than heaviness even in them that believe! 4. *Perhaps next to this we may place the death of those who were near and dear unto us: of a tender parent, and one not much declined into the vale of years: of a beloved child just rising into life, and clasping about our heart: of a friend, that was as our own soul: next the grace of God, the last, best gift of heaven. And a thousand circumstances may inhance the distress; perhaps the child, the friend, died in our embrace! Perhaps, was snatched away, when we looked not for it! Flourishing, cut down like a flower! In all these cases, we not only may, but ought to be affected: it is the design of God, that we should. He would not have us stocks and stones: he would have our affections regulated, not extinguished. Therefore “Nature unreprov’d may drop a tear:” There may be sorrow without sin. 5. *A still deeper sorrow we may feel, for those who are dead while they live, on account of the unkindness, ingratitude, apostacy of those, who were united to us in the closest ties. Who can express what a lover of souls may feel, for a friend, a brother dead to God? For an husband, a wife, a parent, a child, rushing into sin as an horse into the battle, and in spite of all arguments and persuasions, hasting to work out his own damnation? And this anguish of spirit may be heightened to an inconceivable degree, by the consideration, that he who is now posting to destruction, once ran well in the way of life. Whatever he was in time past, serves now to no other purpose, than to make our reflections on what he is, more piercing and afflictive.