A
WORD OF ADVICE
A WORD of advice to my own heart and thine: Thou art a profeſſor, and partakeſt of all the ordinances, thou doſt well, they are glorious privileges; but if thou haſt not the blood of Chriſt at the root of thy profeſſion, it will wither, and prove but painted pageanty to go to hell in.
Try and examine every day, on what bottom thy profeſſion and hope of glory are built, and whether is was laid by the hand of Chriſt, if not, it will never endure the ſtorm that muſt come againſt it. Satan will throw it down and great will be the fall thereof.
Glorious profeſſor! thou ſhalt be winnowed; every vein of thy profeſſion will be tried to purpoſe: 'tis terrible to have it all come down, and to find nothing to build upon.
Soaring profeſſor! ſee thy waxen wings betimes; they will melt with the heat of temptations. What a miſery is it to trade much, and break at length; and to have no ſtock, no foundation laid for eternity.
Gifted profeſſor! look there be not a worm at the root, that will ſpoil all thy fine gourd, and make it die about thee in a day of ſcorching; look over thy ſoul daily, and aſk, Where is the blood of Chriſt to be ſeen upon it? What righteouſneſs is it that I ſtand upon to be ſaved; have I got off all my ſelf-righteouſneſs? Many eminent profeſſors have come at length to cry out, undone, undone, to all eternity.
