The sweete thoughts of death, and eternity. Written by Sieur de la Serre

The pleasure which is found in Liuing wel, for to Dye content. CHAP. XIX.

IT is impossible to expresse, the pleasures of a holy Soule, its contentments are not to be so called, its sweetnesse hath ano∣ther name, its extasyes & raui∣shments cannot be comprehended, but by the selfe same hart which feeles them. For not to lye, it hath ioyes wholy of Heauene it tasts the delights most deuine, and with a like grace, it carries its terrestriall Paradise with it. If its thoughts seeme to touch vpon earth, it is but only for its contempt, for anon they take their flight to heauen-wards,

as the onely obiect, which they do ayme at at all tymes. In fine, as they are immortall, they neuer regard but the Eternity. The paynes it endures, haue no bitternes with them, but only in name, the miseries do euen change their quality in its presence, as if they awed its courage. If misfortune chance to light vpon it, with some sad accident or o∣ther, it receiues it as a present from Heauen, rather thē as any disgrace of fortune. If death seeme to snatch away from it, what most it Ioues, it payes nature the teares it owes it, and at the same very tyme, satisfyes reason through generous actions with its constan∣cy. If it loose all the goods which it had for portion on earth, it complaynes not awhit, but of it selfe, while its offences seeme to deserue a great chastizement.

On the other side, as it placeth not its affe∣ction on the riches of the world, fortune can take away nothing from it, but what it is willing to loose; because it hath no∣thing proper, but the hope of possessing one ••ay the richest treasures, in a Land which is wholy scituated out of the Empie of Time, and inconstancy thereof. Let it thunder, let the sea mount vp to the Heauens, vpon the backe of its waues; let the warres dispeople townes, and all the disasters of the world

make al together an Army to set vpon it, yet remaynes it firme, and stable as a rocke in the midst of this Sea▪ & if it feare any thing, it is but the feare of offending God. O sweet feare! more noble then all the courages of the world! Thus liues it content amids the broyles, whereof the world is so full. Thus liues it most happily amids the sad accidents which land euery houre on the shore of the world. Thus enioyes it a sweet repose amids the troubles, and continuall tribulations of Mortals. It loues not health, but to employ its lyfe in the seruice of him, who hath be∣stowed it vpon it. If it laugh, it is for the ioy it hath, that it neuer had any such be∣neath, since the Redeemer had neuer beene gathering but thornes: and if it weep, it is for the griefe of its proper miseryes, rather then for those of its body, being very soli∣citous to conserue entiere, and without ble∣mish the image and semblance of its Crea∣tour, whose impression it had receyued on the first day of its being.

In fine, it is capable, neyther of pleasure nor yet of sadnes, but for the onely interests of its saluation, whose thoughts are euer pre∣sent with it. And is not this a sweet lyfe? So as if Time strike the houre of its retrayt from its first disposition to death, it deduceth a

last, for to yield vp it selfe into the hands of him that created it. In vaine doth euill seeke to afflict its senses, the light of its constancy would be alwayes appearing through the shadowes of its sad countenance. To what condition soeuer had it beene raysed vnto▪ it takes no care to quit the greatnesses, be∣cause it had neuer tyed its affections there∣unto. The Sun may well arise, and sett a∣gayne; yet she beholds it alwayes with the selfe same eye. Its East and West are equall to it, though they be different, attending without anxiety, the West of the torch of its lyfe. The labour which it hath, to pre∣pare it selfe for death, is not very great, since still it hath lyued in this preparation. Not∣withstanding as we cannot employ all our tyme in so important a busines, it deliciou∣sly spends the remaynder of its lyfe therein: It smyles to behold all the world to weep about its bed, and being not able to speake any more to cōplaine of their plaints, it sighs to heare them sigh. For it suffers, not but what it sees others to suffer. All the griefe is in the body, and if it seeme a litle, to reflect vpon it, it is but a griefe of loue, with sighing in expectation of its last sigh, for to behold the onely obiect of its good.

Let the wyfe cry, the children pull their

hayre, and the neerest of its kyn be carying on their visage the sadnes, which they haue in their hart; let the best friends be partners of this condolement, and euery one in his fashion complayn of the disaster so befalne him; yet she alone stands praysing the hea∣uens for it, and blesseth the day, and houre now ready to produce this last moment, where the eternity of its glory should begin Well may death seeme to make its visage pale, but not the hart, for loe it appeares in these last extremes more refulgent then e∣uer, lyke a cādle which is ready to go forth; it hath the voyce of a dying Swan, which is able to charme all the dolours that enui∣rone it round. The Diuells are astonished to behold it so deuoyd of astonishment; the force of its inuincible courage▪ doth so wea∣ken their power, as they are constrayned to pretend nothing, to triumph at. In such sort, as with the armes of Vertue, it caryes away the crowne vnto the end of the race, euen dying with the desire it hath to dye, rather then of sorrow, for not lyuing long inough. Thus through force of the sighes of loue, it sends forth at last, through a last push of loue, the last sigh from the bowels, and so flyes away vpon its wings, vnto the fel∣lowship of the Angels into Heauen, where

its holy thoughtes had now along tyme e∣stablished their dwelling. O sweet dwel∣ling! O happy death, which conducts vs thither! O welcome dwelling, and most de∣licious, the moment which affoards the E∣ternity thereof.