Page images
PDF
EPUB

is certain that we must die, it is necessary to allot some portion of our life to consider the end of it and it is highly convenient to fix some stated times to meditate upon the final period of our existence here. The principle of self-love, as we are men, will make us inquire, what is like to become of us after our dissolution; and our conscience, as we are Christians, will inform us, that according to the good or evil of our actions here, we shall be translated to the mansions of eternal bliss or misery. When this is seriously weighed, we must think it madness to be unprepared against the black moment: but when we reflect that perhaps that black moment may be to-night, how watchful ought we to be!

I was wonderfully affected with a discourse I had lately with a clergyman of my acquaintance upon this head, which was to this effect: "The consideration," said the good man, "that my being is precarious, moved me many years ago to make a resolution, which I have diligently kept, and to which I owe the greatest satisfaction that a mortal man can enjoy. Every night before I address myself in private to my Creator, I lay my hand upon my heart, and ask myself, whether if God should require my soul of me this night, I could hope for mercy from him? The bitter agonies I underwent in this my first acquaintance with myself were so far from throwing me into despair of that mercy which is over all God's works, that they rather proved motives to greater circumspection in my future conduct. The oftener I exercised myself in meditations of this kind, the less was my anxiety; and by making the thoughts of death familiar, what was at first so terrible and shocking is become the sweetest of my enjoyments. These contemplations have indeed made me serious, but not sullen; nay, they are so far from having soured my temper, that as I have a mind perfectly composed, and a secret spring of joy in my heart, so my conversation is pleasant, and my Countenance serene. I taste all the innocent satisfactions of life pure and sincere; I have no share in pleasures that leave a sting behind them, nor am I cheated with that kind of mirth, in the midst of which there is heaviness."

Of all the professions of men, a soldier's chiefly should put him upon this religious vigilance. His duty exposes him to such hazards, that the evil which to men in other

[blocks in formation]

stations may seem far distant, to him is instant and ever before his eyes. The consideration, that what men in a martial life purchase is gained with danger and labour, and must perhaps be parted with very speedily, is the cause of much licence and riot. As moreover it is necessary to keep up the spirits of those who are to encounter the most terrible dangers, offences of this nature meet with great indulgence. But there is a courage better founded than this animal fury. The secret assurance that all is right within, that if he falls in battle, he will the more speedily be crowned with true glory, will add strength to a warrior's arm, and intrepidity to his heart.

One of the most successful stratagems whereby Mahomet became formidable, was the assurance that impostor gave his votaries, that whoever was slain in battle should be immediately conveyed to that luxurious paradise his wanton fancy had invented. The ancient Druids taught a doctrine which had the same effect, though with this difference from Mahomet's, that the souls of the slain should transmigrate into other bodies, and in them be rewarded according to the degrees of their merit. This is told by Lucan with his usual spirit :

"You teach that souls, from fleshy chains unbound,
Seek not pale shades and Erebus profound,

But fleeting hence to other regions stray,

Once more to mix with animated clay;

Hence death's a gap (if men may trust the lore)
'Twixt lives behind and ages yet before.

A blest mistake! which fate's dread power disarms;
And spurs its vot'ries on to war's alarms;
Lavish of life, they rush with fierce delight
Amidst the legions, and provoke the fight;
O'er-matching death, and freely cast away
That loan of life the gods are bound to pay.

Our gallant countryman, Sir Philip Sidney, was a noble example of courage and devotion. I am particularly pleased to find that he hath translated the whole book of Psalms into English verse. A friend of mine informs me, that he hath the manuscript by him, which is said in the title to have been done "By the most noble and virtuous Gent. Sir Philip Sidney, Knight." They having been never printed, I shall present the public with one of them, which my correspondent assures me he hath faithfully tran

scribed, and wherein I have taken the liberty only to alter

[merged small][ocr errors]

PSALM CXXXVII.*

Nigh seated where the river flows,

That watereth Babel's thankful plain,
Which then our tears, in pearled rows,
Did help to water with the rain:
The thought of Sion bred such woes,
That though our harps we did retain,
Yet useless and untouched there,
On willows only hang'd they were.
II.

Now while our harps were hanged so,
The men whose captives then we lay
Did on our griefs insulting go,

And more to grieve us thus did say;
You that of music make such show,
Come sing us now a Sion's lay:

Oh no! we have nor voice nor hand
For such a song in such a land.
III.

Though far I be, sweet Sion hill,
In foreign soil exil'd from thee,
Yet let my hand forget his skill
If ever thou forgotten be;
And let my tongue fast glued still
Unto my roof, lie mute in me;

If thy neglect within me spring,
Or aught I do, but Salem sing.
IV.

But thou, O Lord, shalt not forget
To quit the plains of Edom's race,
Who causelessly, yet hotly set
Thy holy city to deface,

Did thus the bloody victors whet,

What time they enter'd first the place,

[ocr errors]

Down, down with it at any hand.
Make all a waste, let nothing stand.”
V.

And Babylon, that didst us waste,
Thyself shall one day wasted be:
And happy he, who what thou hast
Unto us done, shall do to thee;
Like bitterness shall make thee taste,
Like woful objects make thee see:

Yea, happy who thy little ones

Shall take and dash against the stones.

* Dr. Donne's Poems, &c. Ps. 137, p. 284, edit. 1719, 24mo.

IT

N° 19. THURSDAY, APRIL 2, 1713.

Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido;
Ne pavor, et rerum mediocriter utilium spes.

HOR. 1 Ep. xviii. 98.

Lest avarice, still poor, disturb thine ease;
Or fear should shake, or cares thy mind abuse,

Or ardent hope for things of little use.-CREECH.

[T was prettily observed by somebody concerning the great vices, that there are three which give pleasure, as covetousness, gluttony, and lust; one, which tastes of nothing but pain, as envy; the rest have a mixture of pleasure and pain, as anger and pride. But when a man considers the state of his own mind, about which every member of the Christian world is supposed at this time to be employed, he will find that the best defence against vice is preserving the worthiest part of his own spirit pure from any great offence against it. There is a magnanimity which makes us look upon ourselves with disdain, after we have been betrayed by sudden desire, opportunity of gain, the absence of a person who excels us, the fault of a servant, or the ill fortune of an adversary, into the gratification of lust, covetousness, envy, rage, or pride; when the more sublime part of our souls is kept alive, and we have not repeated infirmities until they become vicious habits.

The vice of covetousness is what enters deepest into the soul of any other; and you may have seen men, otherwise the most agreeable creatures in the world, so seized with the desire of being richer, that they shall startle at indifferent things, and live in a continual guard and watch over themselves from a remote fear of expense. No pious man can be so circumspect in the care of his conscience, as the covetous man is in that of his pocket.

If a man would preserve his own spirit, and his natural approbation of higher and more worthy pursuits, he could never fall into this littleness, but his mind would be still open to honour and virtue, in spite of infirmities and relapses. But what extremely discourages me in my precautions as a Guardian, is, that there is a universal defection from the admiration of virtue. Riches and outward splendour have taken up the place of it; and no man thinks he is mean, if he is not poor. But alas this despi

cable spirit debases our very being, and makes our passions take a new turn from their natural bent.

A

It was a cause of great sorrow and melancholy to me some nights ago at a play, to see a crowd in the habits of the gentry of England stupid to the noblest sentiments we have. The circumstance happened in the scene of distress betwixt Percy and Anne Bullen. One of the sentinels who stood on the stage, to prevent the disorders which the most unmannerly race of young men that ever were seen in any age frequently raise in public assemblies, upen Percy's beseeching to be heard, burst into tears; upon which the greater part of the audience fell into a loud and ignorant laughter; which others, who were touched with the liberal compassion of the poor fellow, could hardly sup press by their clapping. But the man, without the leas confusion or shame in his countenance for what had happened, wiped away the tears and was still intent upon the play. The distress still rising, the soldier was so much moved, that he was obliged to turn his face from the audience, to their no small merriment. Percy had the gallantry to take notice of his honest heart: and, as I am told, gave him a crown to help him in his affliction. It is certain this poor fellow, in his humble condition, had such a lively compassion as a soul unwedded to the world; were it otherwise, gay lights and dresses, with appearances of people of fashion and wealth, to which his fortune could not be familiar, would have taken up all his attention and admiration.

It is every thing that is praiseworthy, as well as pure religion (according to a book too sacred for me to quote), "to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." Every step that a man makes beyond moderate and reasonable provision, is taking so much from the worthiness of his own spirit; and he that is entirely set upon making a fortune, is all that while undoing the man. He must grow deaf to the wretched, estrange himself from the agreeable, learn hardness of heart, disrelish every thing that is noble, and terminate all in his despicable self. Indulgence in any one immoderate desire or appetite engrosses the whole creature, and his life is sacrificed to that one desire or appetite; but how much otherwise is it with those that pre

« PreviousContinue »