The Whole Duty of Divine Meditation, Part 2 · Meditation 11
MED. XI. Of a Wounded Spirit.
Prov. xviii. 14.
But a wounded spirit who can bear?
NONE, on this side Eternity! not the vastest Heap, the Universe it self, that Theatre of Humane Frailty, cannot; for it groans and travels in Pains it self, to be delivered. Celestial Mansions was no longer a Residence for those ambitious, rebellious Spirits, who forfeited their Glory for those infernal Flames: which Torment is not equivolent to that infinite Despair which for ever secludes and interdicts them from it. It is no surprizing wonder, that many imagine there is no Infernal Place like this; for its Torments are not to be parallell'd.
II. FIERY Furnaces, Stakes, Gridirons, or Phalarus's Bull, are but Trifles, to this greedy Vulture. Tortures of the modernest Invention, are delightful Penalties, compar'd to this Crulty: Those inhumane dying Miseries, do but inrage and stupifie Sense; whil'st this vital Death, this destroying Life, exercises its Malice on a more Celestial Object; and contending to demolish and ruine an Immortal Part, makes Death it self a Principal, and gentle Murtherer to it.
III. CROAKS of Ravens, Shrieks of Owls, and Houls of Wolfs, that adds Obscurity to the dismal Night; Groans of departing Souls that invade the Ear, and fill the Apartment with trembling Epitaphs, transcribed in Characters mournful as the Grave and Silence; are well-tuned Harmonies, to the dying Elegiacks of a wounded Spirit, that vents nothing but bloody Satyrs against it self. Behold how, with the disconsolate Psalmist, it goes mourning all the Day and Night, inviron'd with Sorrows, and surrounded with dismal and fatal Idea's, and inverts his Bed into a Bath, which those weeping Fountains of Tears, his Eyes, have distilled! and instead of splendid and gentle Airs, evaporates nothing but dark and trembling Accents! which busie Satan labours to retort in doleful and despairing Eccho's.
IV. HOW contritely doth it expostulate with Heaven; My dearest Redeemer, is that amiable Attribute of thy Mercy lost? Is the Fountain of it dried up from a poor and wretched Sinner? And wilt thou be a Jesus of Mercy to the whole Universe, and become none to me? Oh, let me descend from the loftiest Precipice, and for ever dwell in noisom Dungeons, inhabited by none but loathsom Toads, Snakes and Serpents, beyond the reach and sight of all the World, so I may but enjoy the Light of thy Countenance! Let me live more poor and despicable than patient Iob upon his Dunghill, perplex'd with Boils, and and in a naked and dejected Deformity, so I may but conceal my Leopard's Spots, and place a Beauty in my Soul, which may invite that Allseeing Eye, whose radient Beams can comfort all Mankind!
V. TAKE heed, thou Sensualist, that now revellest and riottest in the World's Theatre, and counter-charms Damnation: Wer't thou but sensible of the terrible Agonies of Guilt, the Horrours of a murdering Sin, and the cursed Stings thy Pleasures leave behind them, how speedily would'st thou list thy self in nobler Services, and employ thy Time in better Thoughts? Wer't thou now to expire thy Breath, how would the Guilt of an evil Life appale thee, when every Sin would represent it self a Messenger of Horrour, and the deluding World prove but an infernal Comforter.
VI. SHEW me in a Glass that Champion Conscience, that will not undertake, at length, to conquer that frozen Soul, whose Flashes will not liquefie and blast again, that Atlas-Sinner, whom gentle Burdens will not, at last, numerously depress. The VVorld is unquainted with a Misery equivolent; the Terrours of the unwelcom Grave are inconsiderate to it: which, could it but relieve the guilty Soul, and its tenebrous and silent Regions promise an Immunity from future Miseries, how readily would it purchase its Peace with Death, and implore its keenest Dart for a swifter Passage? Loss of Friends, Fortune, or Reputation, nay, Crosses which penetrate the Bone, are but slight Scratches, to these gaping VVounds. Procure me a Schedule of the deepest Afflictions; and there is none, I imagine, except this, which is not tolerable to be dispensed with: But a wounded Spirit, who can bear?
VII. O LORD, how Ponderous is the Load of a VVounded Spirit! How Formidable are the Stings of a Guilty Conscience! and the Apprehensions of Thy Fiery VVrath! And how Deplorable is he that involves himself in Sin, and becomes insensible of his Guilt, till the Memento of his heinous Crimes display it: And when Mortality remembers him of a Future-State, nothing is his Concomitant but his erroneous Life. Oh, Omnipotency! Thou hast fixed an impartial Register in our Breasts which no fawning Practice can bribe, nor Fountain of vulgar Tears silence from recollecting us of Thy Justice; and yet what numbers are there whose Consciences, like the great Leviathan, snap in sunder the Silver Cords of thy Divine Law, like Threads of Flax? and are so backward from Confessing their Crimes, that they are become obdurate in their Impenitence? But, Lord, do Thou teach me, as I commit Sin, so inspire me with Thy Grace daily, that whenever I shall approach Thy Presence, I may have no other Sins to testifie against me, than those which I possess; which if not throughly crucified, yet, at least, sincerely repented of with hearty Contrition.