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MEDITATION LIX.

BREVITY OF LIFE.

Plymouth, Dec. 28, 1758.

WHAT is all this struggle in the world for?—

What mean I by so many attempts to be something in the sphere of nothing? This is as if foam and bubbles should contend for station on the rapid stream, which in a moment are no more. Now we are engaged and entangled in a war, and this is the time for the patriot, the politician, and the hero to appear; but how many press forward to make their appearance for the sake of being seen! as if honour could bring happiness. This I see and condemn in others, yet am guilty of it myself, forgetting that I am but of yesterday, and to-morrow am no more. It is a shame to think so much about a few days, and so little of endless ages. Let me look to the generations past; then were patriots, politicians, and heroes, and some of them the favourites of fame; now that generation is gone, this is going; that has preceded this by one step, and this by another step shall follow that. How few of our deceased acquaintance are so much as remembered! and how soon, like them, shall we also be forgotten! Many prime servants of the crown are this day sleeping in perpetual silence, and their names possess almost the same repose in some antiquated registers, that are cleared away to make room for the present, as the present in a little shall be to make room for the future. Perhaps the names of a few, signalized by an uncommon fame, may yet tingle in our ears; but what is this to them

who are fixed in their final state? Could it mitigate their misery, who have begun their everlasting howlings, that the whole world were ringing with their praises; or, could it add to their joy, who have begun their endless hallelujahs, that every tongue were employed in panegyrics to their memory; well might we be pardoned in our pursuit of fame.

How frail is our life! a pile of grass, a withered leaf, dry stubble, a flower, a breath, brittle clay, fading flesh How swift! a weaver's shuttle, an eagle, a ship, a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again: How short! a moment, a breathing.While I bewail a departed friend, death, suddenly seizing me, translates the lamentation to another tongue that is most nearly concerned in me, who also in a little time must follow me into the silent grave, and leave the protracted elegy to be continued by their nearest relations. Thus mourning is continu.ed, though the mourners are burried away in a moment. Surely I need not be so anxious about a life so short, a state so uncertain, and a world so vain; where I am only a stranger, a pilgrim, a sojourner, and posting away from every thing below. Let the world, then, go with me as it will, this shall not trouble me, who am daily going through the world, and shall in a little go entirely out of the world, to return no more. How, then, shall I spend this short life, my few winged moments, which are all numbered to me? Surely, in nothing better, than in looking out, and laying up for eternity.

MEDITATION LX.

ON THE LAST DAY OF A YEAR.

Plymouth, Dec. 31, 1758.

TIME IME is measured, and is alike at both ends; it began with a day, and will end with a day; hence thè evening and the morning were said to be the first day, as the general judgment is called the last day. Eternity is the fountain from which it sprang, and the flood into which it shall fall. The most lasting duration of time is but short, and its greatest prolongations come to a period. A given moment is scarce known till it is no more, a few of which make a minute, which we but begin to enjoy when it is also gone; thus an hour flies away, a day hastes to its end, and a year (as this has done) comes to its last day. As, therefore, at the end of the year, trading people cast up their accounts, and regulate their books, let me ask myself, What have my talents gained these twelve months? for, whatever I may think, time itself is none of the least of talents, and another year is added to my account.

Thousands who come into the world after me, are called into eternity before me; and is not this a loud call to me to improve every moment of my time? Time is only little thought of by those who think still less of eternity; but if I look into a future world, I will see of how great moment every moment of my time is, who therein must prepare for this everlasting fixed state. O precious, mispent time, which I never can recall! Now this year is gone, and never shall return; what, then, have I

done for the glory of God therein? Ah! it is passed away from me as a void, though on this side it sparkles thick with mercies, like the starry firmament. Ah! did I say a void? nay, worse; for while his love and goodness shone around me like the noon-day beam, my sins rose numerous, like the atoms of the sun!

This is the last day of this year; and how would I value every moment of it, did I think it the last day of my life? Yet nothing but presumption flatters me with another thought. I should count every day my last, since some have found their last on days they as little dreaded as I do this; and at most, some day soon will be my last, when perhaps this same pernicious expectation will not be dispelled my breast. Then it is wisdom to be beforehand with death; rather to wonder that he stays away so long, than be surprised he should come so soon; rather triumphingly to expect him, than be terrified at his approach. Thus I should look on every day as my last, that when my last day comes, it may not come unlooked for, nor overtake me unprepared.

But, alas! this year has afforded me more mournful spectacles of sin than all my life beside. I have heard the divine name blasphemed; seen sin in high place; the holy Sabbath, like Job's birth-day, disjoined from the days of the year, and shut out from the number of the months; and all manner of wickedness committed thereon, drinking, sporting, singing, buying, selling every kind of merchandise thereon. O for what trifling gain will men cast away their precious souls! and how can I, unconcerned, look on sin in all its ugly shapes, and the dreadful havock it makes among immortal souls!

But may the divine providence bring me from these chilling objects, and may I through grace never forget what I have heard and seen! Here also pa tience, worthy of God, is conspicuous; for, when we think how much wickedness is committed all over the Christian, as well as the heathen world-in Protestant as well as Roman-Catholic countries-in public and private-by great and small-on land and sea; and again, that this rebellion against heaven was not begun yesterday, but carried on since Adam's fall, for more than five thousand years; it is a wonder the world has not long ago been devoted to the flames. But that patience, which for continuance is amazing, shall at last give place to justice, which in the execution will be terrible. Might my life end, like this year, on a Sabbath, I could be content; but this may comfort me, that upon whatever day I may depart this life, I shall enter into heaven on an high Sabbath-day, for Sabbath is eternal there.

year.

But while I am meditating on my fleeting time, the midnight-hour strikes, and I am already in another Then adieu for ever, 1758. Yet let me remember, that by this adieu I look on my life as drawing to its latter end, and that I am advanced another stage nearer eternity, ignorant if a day, or a month, or a year, or two, or more, shall be bestowed on me.

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