1. I HAVE hitherto considered wherein true religion consists, and how desirable a thing it is; but when one sees how infinitely distant he is from it, he may perhaps be ready to despond; he may sit down in sadness, and bemoan himself, and say, in the ♦anguish of his spirit, “They are happy indeed whose souls enjoy the divine life, who are thus renewed in the spirit of their minds; but alas! I am quite of another constitution. If outward observances could have done, I might have hoped to acquit myself: but since nothing but a new nature can serve, what am I able to do? I could give all my goods to the poor, but cannot command that love, without which this would profit me nothing. This gift of God cannot be purchased with money¹. If a man should give all the substance of his house for love, it would be utterly contemned². I could pine my body; but I cannot starve my corruptions, nor wean my affections from earthly things. I am many times convinced of my own vileness; but this rather begets discontent in me, than true humility; and though I should come to think meanly of myself, yet I cannot endure that others should think so too. In a word, when I reflect on my most specious attainments, I have reason to suspect that they are all but the effects of nature; and sin is so powerful and so deeply rooted in me, that I can never hope to be delivered from it. I may toss and turn as a door on the hinges, but can never get clear off; so that all the advantage I can draw from the discovery of religion, is but to see, at a huge distance, that felicity which I am not able to reach; like a man in a shipwreck, who discerns the land, and envies the happiness of those there, but cannot himself get ashore.” ♦ “auguish” replaced with “anguish” ¹ Acts viii. 20. ² Canticles viii. 7. _The unreasonableness of these fears._