unfeignedly thankful" is mindful of its store blessings, and gratitude which is cultivated as a duty, becomes the source of pure and perpetual satisfaction. As King David says in the 147th Psalm, "Yea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thankful." The Table Talker. IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS!" The cross and adversity taketh from us the love of the world, and driveth away all manner of dangerous and delicious lusts and pleasures of this transitory life. We would fain be rich, but God sendeth us poverty. We desire health of body, but God giveth us sickness, and so nurtureth and nurseth us in misery and with affliction, that we can no more tell what a delicious and tender pleasant life in this world meaneth: and thus begin we to contemn and loathe all transitory things, and to desire another more better, precious, and an eternal life, where all manner of misery shall have an end. He that taketh a journey in hand, and goeth into a strange country, when he cometh into a pleasant town, where he meeteth merry company and good companions, peradven ture he spendeth away the time and tarrieth too long among them, and so forgetteth his household and things at home. But if one hard mischance after another happen unto him, then he maketh the more haste home again to his wife and children, where he hath more rest and quietness. Even so, when these transitory things such as riches, health, beauty, much profit honour, and dignity, happen unto us, if we will once gaze upon them and delight so much in them, that we do the less regard and esteem the heavenly life, then will God make the way rough and crabbed unto us here in this life, that we should not take and esteem this transitory life in this world for our right natural country, towards the which we take our journey. Furthermore, they that be poor, and in distress and heaviness, are always readier to forsake this world, and are more desirous to depart hence to God, than those that have riches, health, and felicity at pleasure. And therefore St Austin writeth thus: behold how God hath replenished and fitted the world with so many afflictions, and with so much troublesome adversity. It is bitter, and yet it is loved. It is ruinous and ready to fall, and yet it is inhabited. O thou, my dear darling world, what should we do, if thou wert sweet, stable, and permanent, seeing we do thus now? O thou foul and unclean world, if thou art bitter, and yet deceivest and beguilest us, whom wouldst thou not deceive and beguile, if thou wert sweet? Coverdale. REJOICE! "Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice." Rejoicing is a pleasing exercise, but it is not always an easy one. In a vale of tears, in an enemy's country, without fightings, within fears, pressed down with a sense of unworthiness, burdened with infirmities, wearied with a body of sin and death, what wonder if we often hang our harp on the willows! or at least that we cannot always sing the Lord's song. Yet we are enjoined to "rejoice always." But how? In what? In whom? In the world? In creatures? In ourselves? Then would it indeed be impracticable. No, but "in the Lord,” and in him there is enough at all times, and in every condition, to encourage and delight us. We are empty, but in him all fulness dwells. In him is all the wisdom, pardon, righteousness, strength, and hope we need. His grace is sufficient, for he is an infinite resource. DUTY OF THANKSGIVING EVER RECURRENT. Wherever we direct our eyes, whether we reflect them inward upon ourselves, we behold His goodness to occupy and penetrate the very root and centre of our beings; or extend them abroad toward the things about us, we may perceive ourselves enclosed wholly, and surrounded with his benefits. At home we find a comely body framed by his curious artifice, various organs fitly proportioned, situated and tempered for strength, ornament, and motion, actuated by a gentle heat, and invigorated with lively spirits, disposed to health, and qualified for a long endurance; subservient to a soul endued with divers senses, faculties, and powers, apt to inquire after, pursue, and perceive various delights and contents. Or, when we contemplate the wonderful works of nature, and walking about at our leisure, gaze upon this ample theatre of the world, considering the stately beauty, constant order, and sumptuous furniture thereof; the glorious splendour and uniform motion of the heavens, the pleasant fertility of the earth; the curious figure and fragrant sweetness of plants, the exquisite frame of animals, and all other amazing miracles of nature, wherein the glorious attributes of God (especially his transcendent goodness) are most conspicuously displayed (so that by them not only large acknowledgments, but even congratulatory hymns, as it were of praise, have been extorted from the mouths of Aristotle, Pliny, Galen, and such like men, never suspected of an excessive devotion); then should our hearts be affected with thankful sense, and our lips break forth into his praise. Barrow. THANKS FOR HOME! In a course of travelling, though the road be ever so pleasant, and the company ever so good, one cannot help sometimes feeling that one is not at home, and looking forward to the journey's end. How thankful ought one to be, that there is at last a home where all who do not wilfully take a wrong path will be sure to find that repose and security of enjoyment, which in the most prosperous journey can never be found on the road. Carter and Talbot's Letters. 1 A THANKSGIVING FOR MY HOUSE. Lord, thou hast given me a cell, A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof; Under the span of which I lie, Both soft and dry. Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep The while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by the poor, Who hither come, and freely get Good words or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen small; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead. Some little sticks of thorn or brier Make me a fire; Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, |