And if we, out of the strength of our moral powers, shall be setting songs to ourselves in the night of our utmost disconsolation, woe is me, how miserably out of tune they are! How harsh, how mis-accented, how discordant even to the sense of our own souls! much more in the ears of thee the Almighty, in whom dwells nothing beneath an infinite-perfection!

But the songs that thou, O God, puttest into the mouths of thy servants in the night of their tribulation, are so exquisitely harmonious, as that thine angels rejoice to hear them, and disdain not to match them with their hallelujahs in heaven.

Could there be a more gloomy night, than that which thy servants Paul and Silas spent in the gaol of Thyatira? Prisons are, at the best, darksome; it being one part of the punishment of offenders, to be debarred of the benefit of the light. But this, to make it more sad, was the inner prison, the dungeon of that woeful gaol; where yet they are not allowed the liberty either to move or stand, but have their hands manacled, and their feet fast locked in the stocks. There lay thy two precious servants in little ease; their backs smarting with their late merciless stripes; their legs galled with their pinching restraint; when, in their midnight, thou gavest them songs of such sweetness and power, that the very earth and the stones of their prison did move, and as it were, dance at that melody: the doors fly open; the fetters fall off; the keeper trembles; the whole house is filled with affright and amazement. The fellow-prisoners, whose durance had been inured to nothing but sighs and moans, wondered to hear such music in their cold cells at midnight; but when they felt their irons shaken off, and the bolts burst, and the doors seeming to invite them to a sudden liberty, how were they astonished to think of the power of that heavenly charm which had wrought so miraculous a change.

Neither was it otherwise with the rest of those blessed messengers of the glad tidings of salvation. What other was it than the night of persecution with Peter and the other apostles, when they were scourged for preaching the gospel of peace? How pleasing songs didst thou give them in

this night of their pain! Neither were their backs more full of wales, than their mouths of laughter, for "they departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame" for the name of Jesus, Acts v. 44.

And as all these are animated by one and the same spirit, what other was the disposition and carriage of all those glorious martyrs and confessors of all times, which sealed the truth of the gospel with their blood? When the night was darkest, their songs were sweetest. Even when tyranny had wearied itself with their torments, their exultations were at the highest. Never have there been more heavenly ditties, than those which have been sung at the stake: neither hath any man gone with more joy to his wedding, than these holy souls have gone to meet their Saviour in those flames.

Neither may we think, that the melody of these nightly songs hath been only reserved for these evangelical worthies; but the same divine notes have been put into the mouths of all God's saints in all ages of his church. The distresses of all the darlings of God upon earth have still been thus alleviated with the divine strains of spiritual comfort.

Such were the songs of Noah, when, from the close prison of the ark, he descended to the altar, offering a cheerful sacrifice to his God in the praise of his gracious preservation. Such was Jacob's upon his hard night's lodging in Bethel. Such was Joseph's in Pharaoh's gaol. Such was Moses's, more than once in the desert. Such was Jonah's in "the belly of hell," as he styles the loathsome gorge of the dreadful sea-monster.

But, above all, the sweet singer of Israel must pass for the most glorious pattern, not only of the sacred music of the day, but of songs also in the night. Those heavenly composures of his represent him to us as never void either of troubles or gratulations; yea, of cheerful gratulations, in the midst of his troubles. Do I hear him passionately bewailing his heavy condition, "My soul is sore troubled; I am weary of my groaning: every night wash I my bed with my tears?" Ps. vi. 3, 6. Lo, whilst I am ready to pity his hopeless distress, and to say, "Alas, what will Div.-NO. XXXVIII.

I

become of this woeful soul?' comfort breaks forth from heaven; and the next breath triumphs over the insults of his enemies, and cheers him up with a confident assurance of mercy; "Away from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping." It was no small pang of discomfort, that made him say, "Thou didst turn away thy face from me, and I was troubled," Ps. xxx. 7. Lo, this was David's night, when the sun of heavenly consolation was withdrawn from him. Will you hear his song in this night? "Lord, thou hast turned my mourning into dancing; thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness." The case may seem to have been much worse with him, when he cried out, "Thy hand is heavy upon me day and night, and my moisture is like the drought of summer," Ps. xxxii. 4: but in the darkest night of his sorrow, his song is loud and cheerful; "Thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Be glad, ye righteous, and rejoice in the Lord; and be joyful, all ye that are true of heart." What was it other than night with him, when he complains of being neglected of the Highest? "How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord, for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?" Ps. xiii. 1; and what merrier note could there be, than that

which he instantly sings? "But my trust is in thy mercy, and my heart is joyful in thy salvation. I will sing of the Lord, because he hath dealt so bountifully with me!" Lastly, for nothing were more easy than to trace the footsteps of the holy psalmist through all his heavenly ditties, no night could be equally dark to that wherein he cries out, "The snares of death compassed me round about, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me," Ps. cxvi. 3: no song could be sweeter than "Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful. I was in misery, and he helped me. Turn again to thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee: for thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling."

But why do I instance in these singular patterns of a holy cheerfulness under affliction, when the chosen vessel ranks it amongst the gracious dispositions of the faithful

soul? "Not only so," saith he to his Roman converts, "but we glory in tribulation also," Rom. v. 3. And his fellow apostle no less sweetly seconds him; "My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations," James i. 2.

Lo, these divine oracles do not tell us of joy after our sorrows and afflictions: this were no news to God's children in this vale of tears: 66 Weeping may endure for a night," saith the psalmist, "joy cometh in the morning," Ps. xxx. 5: but they speak of joy in the very brunt of our sufferings; as if they laid before us Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego singing in the midst of their flames.

This is a temper of the soul, not more excellent, than hard to be attained. We all aspire towards it: not many reach up to it. To be patient under a heavy cross, is no small praise; to be contented, is more; but, to be cheerful, is the highest pitch of Christian fortitude. Not to send forth the juice of sorrow, such is our tears, when we are hard pressed, is manly; but to smile upon torture, and to sing when others shriek, is no less than heroical.

There is, I confess, no little advantage this way in the difference of constitutions; whereof some are more soft and melting, others more hardy and obdurate: some are naturally more malleable to afflictions, others more waxen to all impressions of grief. Wise Seneca observed some, in his time, who took a kind of pride and contentment in being slashed and mangled ; whereas others, but for a box on the ear, are ready to cry out "Murder." The valiant Goths held it a perpetual shame for one of their swordmen to wink in receiving a wound; whereas a delicate Sybarite complains, that the rose-leaves lie doubled under his back.

But as weak hearts do commonly break under heavy afflictions, so the strongest will find it difficult enough not to buckle under the weight of some crosses: but to go lightly and nimbly away with the most pressing load of this kind, is more than a merely human strength can perform. Neither would the Holy Ghost have appropriated to himself the title of "Comforter," and " the God of all comfort," if any mortal power could be able to do this great work without him; John xiv. 26; 2 Cor. i. 3; Isa. li. 12.

SECTION II.

THE Holy Spirit then, as being a most free agent, is sometimes pleased immediately to cast into the soul the comfortable gleams of heavenly consolations; but, ordinarily, he causeth this gracious cheerfulness in the heart of believers, by working them to strong resolutions, grounded upon powerful and irrefragable motives-such as are fetched from the author, the intention, the nature, the issue of our affliction.

SECTION III.

THE Temanite said well," Affliction cometh not forth of the dust; neither doth trouble spring out of the ground," Job v. 6. It is not of so base an original as earth, but derives itself from heaven, even from the Father of all mercies. That great and holy God, who is most justly jealous of his own honour, will not lose the glory of working and managing the far greater part of human occurrences: since the contentments that we can hope for, are not the tythe of those miseries which we must look to meet with in this our earthly pilgrimage. This right, therefore, the Almighty wholly challengeth to himself; " I make peace and create evil: I, the Lord, do all these things," Isa. xlv. 7. "Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it?" saith the prophet, Amos iii. 6.

Why then do I not thus argue with myself in my sufferings? Is it not the hand of my good God, that lies thus heavy upon me? Can I but acknowledge him to be a God of infinite wisdom and infinite mercy? If of infinite wisdom, how can he but know what is best for me? If of infinite mercy, how can he but do what he knows to be best? And if it be best for me to suffer, why should I not be cheerful in suffering? What do I looking to second hands? This man, that beast; this fever, that tempest; this fire, that inundation, are but his rods: the hand is his that wields them. Their malignity is their own: nothing but goodness proceeds from him, that useth them to my