We Ought As Much To Pray For

A Man May Be Carried On In A Constant Course Of Mortification All His Days; And Yet Perhaps Never Enjoy A Good Day Of Peace And Consolation.

The Love Of God Is Like Himself – Equal, Constant, Not Capable Of Augmentation Or Diminution; Our Love Is Like Ourselves – Unequal, Increasing, Waning, Growing, Declining. His, Like The Sun, Always The Same In Its Light, Though A Cloud May Sometimes Interpose; Ours, As The Moon, Has Its Enlargements And Straightenings.

We Need To Attend Diligently To The State Of Our Soul, And To Deal Fervently And Effectively With God About It.

He Who Finds Not Opposition From Sin, And Who Sets Not Himself In Every Particular To Its Mortification, Is At Peace With It, Not Dying To It.

He, Then, That Would Really, Thoroughly, And Acceptably Mortify Any Disquieting Lust, Let Him Take Care To Be Equally Diligent In All Parts Of Obedience, And Know That Every Lust, Every Omission Of Duty, Is Burdensome To God, Though But One Is So To Him.