The parable of the pilgrim written to a friend by Symon Patrick ...

CAP. XXVI.

Of sundry troubles which hapned to the Pilgrim in his Travels. And how he was delivered out of them.

A Fine Sunshine-morning it was when he first went out of his doors; The Air was perfumed with the sweet Odors which the Sun exhaled from the flowers, the birds whistled and sung their Hymns to him that made that glorious Light; and there was no hedge that he passed by, but it welcomed him with some new Songs and pleasures, nor any Traveller he met, but wished him, Good speed. He was so much pleased in every thing that he saw and heard, in all the Works of God, in his Word which he bare in his Mind, in the smoothness of the Way, in the remembrance of the Father he left, in the assurance he had of his Prayers and such like things, that he never thought himself at home, till now that he had no home at all, but was seeking one. He could do nothing but compose Praises to God; nothing but laud the Name of Jesus that had brought him into so happy a condition; and by his good will he would have made this the business of all the day to sing a certain Ditty, the beginning and the end of which (I remember) was nothing but this, Bless the Lord O my Soul. Whether it was the novelty of those Objects that presented themselves, or the Great∣ness and Beauty of them, or the good Society he met withall, or an immediate touch from that Spirit which the Good man pray'd might be his Companion, or all these, or any other thing, that made him so merry, I had not leisure to examine; but he was never known in all

his life to have expressed so much contentment in any condition, as in this Pilgrimage wherein he was in∣gaged to Jerusalem.

Yet he had not passed many weeks in these raptu∣rous joys (for they were little less) before he found them so much abated that he thought himself less hap∣py then he imagined. The wayes were grown a little more rugged, the Heaven began to be overcast, and the Country through which he went was more barren and yielded not those Fruits which he had before tasted; which together with other things cast him in∣to a damp, and procured to his soul more sadness then he used to be acquainted withall. At the first indeed he was only moved to some wonderment to find such an alteration, and thought that in half a dayes travel or such a space, he should recover more pleasant paths. But when he found contrary to his expectation that they still continued uneasie, and likewise chanced to see some of his old Companions who called to him at some distance and perswaded him to go back again; he was much affrighted, and began to feel wild imagi∣nations roving about his Soul, and strange desires of quitting a course which was like to prove so ungrate∣ful to that part of him which was most concerned in the things of this World. For it was represented to his thoughts that the ensuing part of the rode was very dangerous, beset with Theeves and many Difficulties, tedious and of a strange length; and, besides that he might be in a wrong way, it was very doubtful whe∣ther there was such a place or no as he fancied, seeing no body had been there. From all which and many other considerations they told him it was most advise∣able if he consulted his own peace to return with

them to his former habitation and his ancient neigh∣bours: who were all very sorry to hear that he had quit his present possessions, in they knew not what hopes of getting better at a place which neither he nor any of his friends had seen.

But though this Push by the unexpectedness of it made him reel and stagger a little, yet he soon recol∣lected himself: and calling to mind what he had been taught, and repeating that charm (as I may call it) which he alwayes had about him, I am nought, I have nought, &c. he found himself as firm in his resolution as if he had not been at all assaulted. Shall I forsake my Lord (said he to himself) so soon as ever I have begun his service? Is it handsome for me to recoil, meerly from the noise and report of dangers? What a Coward shall I for ever hold my self, if I run away be∣fore my enemies be in view, upon a rumour of their strength and power? I will march up towards them, and at least look them in the face. I will not trust this Fame which all the world hath branded for a Lyar: Since common observation also tells us, that the Lyon is not so terrible as he is painted. Much more he spake to this effect, which moved him to a kind of indignati∣on against himself that he should so much as shrink back thus early, before sufficient tryal, and upon such sleight information.

And yet it was not at all to his disadvantage that he had felt this shock, but it rather had many happy ef∣fects upon him: like a fit or two of an Ague, which is thought rather wholesome, then to deserve the name of a Disease. For as it gave him more understanding in the nature of his way (of the smoothness of which

notwithstanding all that had been said, he too much presumed) and made him watchful because he saw he could not pass without some enemies: So it gave him some degree of courage, because he perceived they might be overcome, and confirm'd his belief of the Wisdom of his Director who foretold these troubles; and gave a proof withall of the efficacy of that Reme∣dy which he had prescribed, and above all revived that Joy and gladness in his heart which he thought began to languish and faint away. Full of joy he was even to an excess, and he suffered by it a kind of transportati∣on; partly from the brightness of the Truths he had received, which yet were fresh in his mind; partly from the increase of his understanding by the expe∣riment which he had made; but chiefly I think from the Victory which he had obtained over those enemies that attacqued his Soul. For in truth, there is no greater Triumph then that which the Soul feels when it comes off a Conquerour; and applauds it self for the Valour and Courage which it hath expressed in its conflicts. There was another thing indeed which ad∣ded something though not much to his joy, viz. that ded something though not much to his joy, viz. that his enemies he hoped had received such a foil, that he had sent them away discouraged if not disabled, from making any further attempts upon him.

But so mutable is our condition here, and so many are our enemies, that he had not travelled many dayes after this Triumph, before he was arrested with a new trouble to exercise his Wisdom and Patience. His soul which just now was ready to leap out of his body, he felt to sink so low, that it was as if he had no soul at all. His spirits not only began to flagg and hang down their heads; but were grown quite faint and

weary, as if they meant to swoon away. Which was partly occasioned by his going too fast, and taking over-long Journeys; and partly by a very hot day, when the Sun beat very strongly upon his head; and partly by the very violence of his joyes which stirred his spirits so much, that in the agitation they flew away; and partly by letting slip two or three of those Instru∣ctions which had been left with him which should have been a Cordial to him, but were as impossible he found to be by any means recalled, as it was to bring back his tyred spirits which were flown from him. Ve∣ry melancholly and sad he now began to be, and the more because he had been so joyful. O how desolate (said he within himself) is this place into which I am faln! I am forsaken sure of God, or else I that was so high yesterday, should never have sunk into this pit, which is next door to the dwelling of damned spi∣rits. Was ever any man in such a deplorable estate? Was there ever any bereaved thus of all his comforts which should sweeten his way when he hath no other company? Oh Who, will restore unto me the dayes that are past? Who can call back but the joyes of yesterday into my bosome? What are those sins that have cast me into the displeasure of my Lord? Or, What shall I do to regain his favour, which I would purchase at any rate, though I dyed the next moment? Thus he lay many dayes, sometimes bewailing his for∣mer affrightment, which he suspected might deserve this desertion (as he was apt to call it) sometimes com∣plaining that he could not find the cause, and so could not be cured; sometimes reflecting on the times of joy which were gone; and sometimes taking a view of his misery, which made him but the more deeply mise∣rable. And, which was worst of all, he kept his bed

all this time, and stirred not a foot in his Journey; be∣ing indeed so ill, that he despaired of life.

But see how the Providence of God watches for an opportune season to do us a kindness. When he was in the greatest torture that he had felt all the time of this Agony, there came an unexpected Letter to his hands from his beloved Father, which was to this ef∣fect.

My friend (for so I cannot but call you, since you express such love to me) These are to let you know, that though I am absent from you, yet I follow you with my thoughts and good wishes, which attend you in all your motions. I am so far from being forgetful of my promise, that I am much better, I assure you, than my word. You desired me to pray for you, and so I do. But I cannot content my self with that, unless you, as well as God, know that I have a remembrance of you. That is the very reason of my send∣ing this Paper after you; that it may be a token how re∣gardful I am of your concerns, and sollicitous about your welfare. So sollicitous, that having enjoyed some good thoughts this morning, I could not but impart them unto you, because I fancied they would prove upon some occasion or other very useful to you. They are a Meditation upon one of the Fsalms of David, where he bids his Soul not to be disquieted, but to hope in God as the health of his counte∣nance and his God: and they are infolded in a distinct Paper within the bosome of this Letter, because they were too long to be inserted in the body of it.

Farewell.

Upon the very first receipt of this Letter, before he had broke it up, his pale cheeks began to be streaked

with a little blood, as a prognostick of his recovery to health again. But when he opened it, and read the kind expressions of the Love of his Friend, one might see how the spirits crept up as he went along, out of the Center whither they were retired: In so much that the light danced in his eyes, yea leaped out as if it meant to kiss those lines which now saluted them. But then, as soon as he arrived at the Meditati∣on it self, and had carefully perused all the parts of it; his face shined like an Angel, and one would have thought he had not been the man that was so lately de∣jected. For it was so pat to his present condition, and so exactly suted to the necessities under which he la∣boured, that it seemed as if it had been indicted by God, and not by his Friend. There he found a discourse of the Nature of Joy, of the causes of its decay, of the Interess that our Animal Spirits have in it, of the way to recover it, and the means to be content without it, and above all, of the Resignation of our selves to the Will of God, to serve him chearfully without those sen∣sible pleasures, as well as in their company. And not to name other things which were more fully debated between them afterward; these now rehearsed were so fully opened, that he was partly amazed, and part∣ly elevated to the height of his Joyes again, when he thought that God had put it into the heart of the Fa∣ther to send at this time a Letter of such comfortable import unto him. I see, said the Pilgrim, that not my Friend only, but Jesus also is mindful of me. I see both that He prayes for me, and that Heaven likewise hears those Prayers. It would be an unsufferable wrong to my Blessed Saviour, should I hereafter think my soul forsaken of him. Nay, it will be an ill requital of the favour he hath now done me; should I not resume my

ancient joyfulness again. And therefore be no longer disquieted O my Soul, be not cast down within me. It is not in vain to hope in God, but in that very hope thou mayest be joyful: and therefore in the fruition of thy expectations, O how greatly oughtest thou to rejoyce.* 1.1 Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart.* 1.2 They that know thy Name will put their trust in thee, for thou Lord hast not forsaken them that seek thee. And therefore I cannot but say, Wait on the Lord,* 1.3 be of courage, and he shall strengthen thy heart: Wait,* 1.4 I say, on the Lord. I will sing unto the Lord, be∣cause he hath dealt bountifully with me. Yea I will hope continually,* 1.5 and will yet praise him more and more.

Many other the like effusions of his heart, one might then have heard, and they lasted so many dayes, that they became instrumental to the redeeming much of that time which had been lost in fruitless complaints upon his bed. He did not go so fast as he was wont, but he went much further than before in the same number of hours. His Joyes were not so violent, but they became more sweet, and they grew more equal. He could not recover yet the Memory of some things he had received; but this he better understood, that he must desire nought but Jesus. He was not so full of heat, but his light was more resplendent. He did not expect now to be alwayes in the same temper, yet he was confident he should never more suspect the Love of his Saviour. He perceived that he could not ever retain the same Joyes, yet he learnt withall, that the way to have them sooner restored, was not to fret for want of them.

But though in this condition he made a great progress

his way towards the Holy City of God; yet the light which was in his mind, did not cast such a splendour about his soul, but that one day he suffered some ob∣scurity. The occasion of it was a cloudy thought which came over his understanding, suggesting to him; That he did not serve God purely enough, because his eye was too much upon Jerusalem. For it had been common∣ly received for a Truth among some persons whom he had formerly conversed withall, That we must obey God out of meer Love to him, without any hope of rewards at all. This, you will say, was a strange con∣ceit, and it had as strange a cure. For it pleased God, that he opening a Book which he carried along with him, the next morning after these thoughts troubled him; the first thing that he cast his eye upon was this passage in a certain Chapter of it, That Moses had re∣spect to the recompence of reward.* 1.6 You cannot think how much it surprised him, that he should light upon these words rather than any other, without his choice or so much as a design to receive satisfaction in this particular. And yet that which I am next to relate was more wonderful in his eyes, and made him stand in a greater astonishment at the goodness of God to∣wards him. For it being suggested to him from the memory of some fragments of certain Sermons which he once heard, That Moses and those under the Law who were but Bondmen, might have respect to Rewards, but that it did not become those who had the Spirit of Adop∣tion, to be so Mercenary; and he being a little perplexed with this trifling Objection; It happened, that looking down upon the same page of his Book again, his eye fell directly upon the second Verse of the next Chap∣ter, which told him, That Jesus endured the Cross for the Joy that was set before him. The first glance which he

had of this place, was like a Beam of the Sun in his eye, which immediately dispelled all his darkness, and made his soul flash out in such expressions as these. Who are these men that are wiser than Jesus? What mean these dreamers to fancy themselves above that, which was not below our Saviour? Or how came they to be so proud as to despise the Promises of God, and think they stand in no need at all of them? On, my soul, go on, and be not stopt a minute longer by this scruple. Fix thine eyes upon Jerusalem, and let thine heart be ravished with it; for the Mediatour of the second Co∣venant, as well as of the first had a respect unto it.

After he had hit so luckily on these two passages which lay so near together, a great many more of the same kind presented themselves instantly to his mind: not much unlike the Beams of the Sun, which having once torn a cloud in sunder, break forth more and more, till the whole body of that great light appear to us. And this likewise raised his spirits unto some fur∣ther degree of chearfulness, when he thought how our Lord still provided for his relief, and took the pains to pull the smallest Thorn that troubled him out of his feet. And yet this could not hinder but that they were too much dejected a little after by a company of other petty thoughts, which, like so many importune Flyes, were alwayes buzzing this new fancy in his ears; That he did not directly intend the glory and honour of Jesus in all his Actions. He considered indeed with himself, that he endeavoured to do well, and that he he loved to do so, and that he lookt upon it as the ve∣ry Life of God; but yet he thought he did not so actually respect him in every particular motion as his

duty required. Now here it fell out very happily, and not without a Divine Providence, as he thought, that one night being in a dream, he imagined he saw one coming to him, and whisper this sentence in his ear, which of a long time he had not read,* 1.7 They repented not, to give him Glory. Whereupon starting suddenly out of his sleep, as if some good Genius had awakened him, and given him a new mind, he presently began to tell himself, that when he first repented, and under∣took this New Life, he gave Glory to God: and that by every step he took in this course of Repentance (i. e. amending of himself) he did actually honour him, and more materially than any other way glorisie his name: For this is a constant acknowledgement of him, a mi∣nutely confession that we are fools, and he is wise; that our will is nought, and his is good; that he is our Lord, and we his Subjects; and that after all our search we find our Happiness to lye in him alone, and in se∣paration from him, the best condition in the world will leave us miserable. And he had not long pon∣dered upon these things with much satisfaction, be∣fore those words of the Psalmist came into his mind, He that offereth praise, glorifieth me,* 1.8 and to him that ordereth his conversation aright, will I shew the Salva∣tion of God. Which made him fall into the praises of God, and to resolve that he would do so every day, and early design all the imployments of it to his service: concluding, that whilst he held this course, and order∣ed his wayes aright, he exalted God in the world; by lifting up his Will into a preheminence and command over his own, & subjecting himself unto it both as most supreme, and also wise and good. And after a great many thoughts of this nature, at last he made a short reflection upon the person who had made him this

visit in the night. And when he remembred that he fancied it was his Friend who came to his Bed-side, he had a new pleasure to think of the benefits of Sleep. The praises of which he could not upon this occasion forbear, though at certain times he wished his thoughts might never be intermitted by it. What an heavenly power (said he) is this, for so I am ready to call it? how much am I beholden to it for its silent refreshments? That which useth to part the dearest friends, hath now brought them together. That which separateth those who touch each other, hath made those near who are far asunder. O Divine Gift! O beloved Rest which God bestows upon us! How great are these charms which lock our doors to all the World and now have opened them to my friend? How much better are these dreams then many of my waking thoughts? How much rather had I be in the arms of the brother of death, then in the feeble injoyments of many parts of my life? I am content just now to be restored to his embraces, if my Friend will but meet me there again in this manner. At least I hope I may conclude that when we are Dead indeed, he will not fail to meet me; whose Image finds me out when I am in the Images of death.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Psa. 97.11
• * 1.2

  Psa. 9.10
• * 1.3

  Psa. 27.14
• * 1.4

  Psa. 13.6
• * 1.5

  Psa. 71.14
• * 1.6

  Heb. 11.29
• * 1.7

  Rev. 19.9
• * 1.8

  Psal. 50.21