flocks must not feed long in one place; such is a man's life on this earth, quickly gone. It is a web he is incessantly working; he is not idle so much as one moment; in a short time it is wrought, and then it is cut off. Every breathing is a thread in this web; and when the last breath is drawn, the web is woven out, he expires; and then it is cut off, he breathes no more. Man is like grass, and like a flower, Isa. xl. 6. All flesh, even the strongest and most healthy flesh,is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field. The grass is flourishing in the morning, but in the evening, being cut down by the mowers, it is withered; so man sometimes is walking up and down at ease in the morning; and, in the evening, is lying a corpse, being knocked down by a sudden stroke, with one or other of death's weapons. The flower, at best, is but a weak and tender thing, of short continuance, wherever it grows; but observe, man is not compared to the flower of the garden, but to the flower of the field, which the foot of every beast may tread down at any time. Thus is our life liable to a thousand accidents, every day; any of which may cut us off. But though we should escape all these, yet, at length, this grass withereth, this flower fadeth of itself. It is carried off, as the cloud is consumed, and vanisheth away, Job vii. 9. It looks big, as the morning cloud, which promiseth great things, and raiseth the expectations of the husbandman; but the sun riseth, and the cloud is scattered; death comes, and man evanisheth. The apostle James proposeth the question, What is your life? Hear his own answer: It is even a vapour; that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away, chap. iv. 14. It is frail, uncertain, and lasteth not. It is as smoke, which goes out of the chimney, as if it would darken the face of the heavens; but quickly is scattered, and appears no more: Thus goeth man's life, and where is he? It is a wind, Job vii. 7. O remember that my life is wind. It is but a passing blast, a short puff, a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again, Psal. Ixxviii. 39. Our breath is in our nostrils, as it were, always upon the wing to depart, ever passing and repassing, like a traveller, until it go away for good and all, not to return till the heavens be no more.

Lastly, Man's life is a swift thing; not only a passing, but a flying vanity. Have you not observed how swiftly

a shadow hath run along the ground, in a cloudy and windy day, suddenly darkening the place, beautified before, with the beams of the sun, but as suddenly disappearing? Such is the life of man on the earth, for he fleeth as a shadow, and continueth not, Job xiv. 2. A weaver's shuttle is very swift in its motion; in a moment it is thrown from one side of the web to the other; yet our days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, chap. vii. 6. How quickly is man tossed through time into eternity! See how Job describes the swiftness of his time of life: "Now my days are swifter than a post; they flee away, they see no good. They are hasted away as the swift ships; as the eagle that hasteth to the prey," chap. ix. 25, 26. He compares his days with a post, a foot-post, a runner who runs speedily to carry tidings, and will make no stay. But though the post were like Ahimaaz, who over-ran Cushi, our days would be swifter than he, for they flee away, like a man fleeing for his life, before the pursuing enemy; he runs with his utmost vigour, yet our days run as fast as he. Howbeit that is not all. Even he who is fleeing for life cannot run always; he must needs sometimes stand still, lie down, or run in somewhere, as Sisera did into Jael's tent, to refresh himself; but our time never halts. Therefore, it is compared to ships, which can sail night and day without intermis sion, till they be at their port; and swift ships, ships of desire, in which men quickly arrive at the desired haven; or, ships of pleasure, that sail more swiftly than ships of burden. Yet the wind failing, the ship's course is marred; but our time always runs with a rapid course. Therefore, it is compared to the eagle flying; not with his ordinary flight, for that is not sufficient to represent the swiftness of our days; but when he flies upon his prey, which is with an extraordinary swiftness. And thus, even thus, our days fly away.

Having thus discoursed of death, let us improve it in discerning the vanity of the world; in bearing up, with Christian contentment, and patience, under all troubles and difficulties in it; in mortifying our lusts; in cleaving unto the Lord with purpose of heart, on all hazards; and in preparing for death's approach.

And, first, Let us hence, as in a Looking-glass, þe«

hold the vanity of the world, and of all those things in it, which men so much value and esteem, and, therefore, set their hearts upon. The rich and poor are equally intent upon this world; they bow the knee to it, yet it is but a clay-god; they court the bulky vanity, and run keenly to catch the shadow; the rich man is hugged to death in its embraces, and the poor man wearies himself in the fruitless pursuit. What wonder if the world's smiles overcome us, when we pursue it so eagerly, even while it frowns upon us? But look into the grave, O man, consider and be wise; listen to the doctrine of death, and learn, (1.) That hold as fast as thou canst, thou shalt be forced to let go thy hold of the world at length. Though thou load thyself with the fruits of this earth, yet all shall fall off when thou comest to creep into thy hole, the house under ground, appointed for all living. When death comes, thou must bid an eternal farewel to thy enjoyments in this world; thou must leave thy goods to another; and whose shall those things be which thou hast provided? Luke xii. 20. (2.) Thy portion of these things shall be very little ere long. If thou lie down on the grass, and stretch thyself at full length, and observe the print of thy body when thou risest, thou mayest see how much of this earth will fall to thy share at last. It may be thou shalt get a coffin, and a winding sheet; but thou art not sure of that: Many who have had abundance of wealth, yet have not had so much when they took up their new house in the land of silence. But however that be, more ye cannot expect. It was a mortifying lesson, Saladine, when dying, gave to his soldiers: He called for his standard-bearer, and ordered him to take his winding sheet upon his pike, and go out to the camp with it, and tell them, That of all his conquests, victories, and triumphs, he had nothing now left him, but that piece of linen, to wrap his body in for burial. Lastly, This world is a false friend, who leaves a man in time of greatest need, and flees from him when he has most ado. When thou art lying on a death-bed, all thy friends and relations cannot rescue thee; all thy substance cannot ransom thee; nor procure thee a reprieve for one day, nay, not for one hour. Yea, the more thou possessest of this world's goods, thy sorrow at death is like to be the greater; for though

one may live more commodiously in a palace than in a cottage, yet he may die more easily in the cottage, where he has very little to make him fond of life.

Secondly, It may serve as a Storehouse for Christian contentment and patience underworldly losses and crosses. A close application of the doctrine of death is an excellent remedy against fretting; and gives some ease to a rankled heart. When Job had sustained very great losses, he sat down contented, with this meditation, Job i. 21. "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: The Lord gave, aud the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." When providence brings a mortality or murrain among your cattle, how ready are you to fret and complain! But the serious consideration of your own death (to which you have a notable help from such providential occurrences) may be of use to silence your complaints, and quiet your rankled spirits. Look to the house appointed for all living, and learn, (1.) That ye must abide a sorer thrust than the loss of worldly goods. Do not cry out for a thrust in the leg or arm, for ere long there will be a home-thrust at the heart. You may lose your dearest relations; the wife may lose her husband, and the husband his wife; the parents may lose their dear children, and the children their parents. But if any of these trials happen to you, remember you must lose your own life at last; and wherefore doth a living man complain? Lam. iii. 39. It is always profitable to consider, under affliction, how our case might have been worse than it is. Whatever be consumed or taken from us, it is of the Lord's mercies that we ourselves are not consumed, ver. 22. (2.) It is but for a short space of time we are to be in this world. It is but little our necessities require in this short space of time; when death comes, we will stand in need of none of these things. Why should men rack their heads with cares, how to provide for to-morrow; while they know not if they shall need any thing to-morrow? Though a man's provision for his journey be near spent, he is not disquieted, if he think he is near home; are you working with candle light, and is there little of your candle left? It may be there is as little sand in your glass; and, if so, ye have little use for it. (3.) Ye have matters of

greater weight that challenge your care. Death is at the door; beware you lose not your souls. If blood break out at one part of the body, they use to open a vein of another part of it, to turn the stream of blood, and so to stop it. Thus the Spirit of God sometimes cures men of sorrow for earthly things, by opening the heart-vein to bleed for sin. Did we pursue heavenly things the more vigorously that our affairs in this life prosper not, we should thereby gain a double advantage; our worldly sorrow would be diverted, and our best treasure increased. (4.) Crosses of this nature will not last long. The world's smiles and frowns will be quickly buried together, in everlasting forgetfulness. Its smiles go away as the foam on the water, and its frowns are as a passing stitch in a man's side. Time flies away with swift wings, and carries our earthly comforts, and crosses too, along with it ; neither of them will accompany us into the house appointed for all living: "There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary are at rest. There the prisoners rest together, they hear not the voice of the oppressor. The small and great are there, and the servant is free from his master," Job iii. 17, 18, 19. Cast your eyes on eternity, and ye will see affliction here is but for a moment. The truth is, our time is so very short, that it will not allow either our joys or griefs to come to perfection. Wherefore let them that weep, be as though they weeped not; and they that rejoice, as though they rejoiced not, &c. 1 Cor. vii. 29, 30, 31. (5.) Death will put all men on a level. The king and the beggar must dwell in one house when they come to their journey's end; though their entertainment by the way be very different. The small and the great are there, Job iii. 19. We are in this world as on a stage; it is no great matter whether a man act the part of a prince or a peasant; for when they have acted their parts, they must both get behind the curtain, and appear no more. Lastly, If thou be not in Christ, whatever thy afflictions now be, troubles a thousand times worse are abiding thee in another world.、

Death will turn thy crosses into pure, unmixed curses; and then how gladly wouldst thou return to thy former afflicted state, and purchase it at any rate, were there any possibility of such a return! If thou be in Christ, thou Bb