diu vixit, qui virtutis perfectæ perfecto functus est munere. And as now in the grave it shall not be inquired concerning her, how long she lived, but how well; so to us who live after her, to suffer a longer calamity, it may be some ease to our sorrows, and some guide to our lives, and some security to our conditions, to consider that God hath brought the piety of a young lady to the early rewards of a never-ceasing and never-dying eternity of glory and we also, if we live as she did, shall partake of the same glories; not only having the honour of a good name, and a dear and honoured memory, but the glories of these glories, the end of all excellent labours, and all prudent counsels, and all holy religion, even the salvation of our souls, in that day when all the saints, and among them this excellent woman, shall be shown to all the world to have done more, and more excellent things, than we know of or can describe. Mors illos consecrat, quorum exitum, et qui timent, laudant: Death consecrates and makes sacred that person whose excellency was such, that they that are not displeased at the death, cannot dispraise the life; but they that mourn sadly, think they can never commend sufficiently.

295

A FUNERAL SERMON.

[BISHOP STILLINGFLEET.]

MATT. xxvi. 39.

O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.

Ir is not long since we met together in this place to lament the loss of one hopeful branch of that family, whereof there are now two more cut off in the vigour of their years, in the midst of their relations, by a sad and unexpected stroke of Divine Providence. When crosses come single, they are hard enough for us to encounter withal; but when one breach makes way for another, when grief follows upon grief, when their number and their weight increase together, an exercised patience may be ready to faint, and a soul not unacquainted with sorrows may sink under the weight of so heavy a burthen. When afflictions come gradually, and keep a good distance from each other, the notice they give us of their approach, and the breathing space between them, make us more fit to bear them; but when they come upon us by surprise, and one close upon the neck of another, they not only baffle reason,

but grace itself gives way to the first impression, and recovers its power only by gaining time to employ it. But so just and equal is the mixture of these things here below, that those only who have the greatest comforts can have the greatest losses; they only who have many friends to enjoy, have many to lose, and therefore many to lament; and the higher esteem and value they have for them, while they enjoy them, the greater their sorrow and affliction must be when they are deprived of them; so that those very things which, by their presence, make our lives most comfortable, do, by their uncertainty, make them most miserable; and those very passions whereby we most express our joy and satisfaction, do lay the foundation for those which cause our greatest disquiet, to wit, our fears and our griefs; for the more we love, the more we fear to lose: and when we have lost, the more sadness seizes upon our minds by it; so that, upon the principles of nature and reason, we live upon these terms in the world: either we must not expect more and greater blessings than others, or we must expect to go through more and greater crosses and afflictions than others; and therefore all those who value the contentment of their lives, must so proportion their joys as to make account of the sorrows which are consequent upon them; if they would have their troubles lessened, their comforts must be so too; if they would have greater ease in their sufferings, they must have less delight in their enjoyments; if we have our days of prosperity, wherein we rejoice more than others, we must look for our days of adversity, wherein to consider more than others, for "God hath set these one

against the other" (Eccles. vii. 14.), to the end that those who have the largest share of the one must expect it in the other also.

Yea, so great and universal a connection there is between joys and sufferings, that one seems to make way for the other, the latter being so necessary a preparation for the former, that the Son of God, when he was to be made partaker of that infinite "joy that was set before him," found the way to it to be by the greatest sufferings; he must "despise the shame and endure the cross," before he could attain it; he who was to be the "author of eternal salvation to all that obey him," did "learn obedience by the things which he suffered," and "in the days of his flesh offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears, unto him that was able to save him from death b ; among all

which we have none more remarkable than that we read of here in the text, where it is said that he fell upon his knees, and said, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt;" which words were chosen by that truly virtuous and religious lady, at whose funeral we are now met, to be the subject of our present discourse; which are very considerable, whether we consider the occasion of them, or the matter contained in them.

I. The occasion of them: he was now apprehensive that the hour of his enemies was come, "and the power of darkness." c He had hitherto been

down doing good, but now the time was

going up and

come for his

Luke, xxii. 53.

acting the more sad and tragical part of his life; and that he might the better prepare himself for it, he withdrew from the city, and he and his disciples pass over the brook Cedron, and go to a place at the foot of the Mount of Olives, called Gethsemane (ver. 36.), that is, a place where many olive presses were. Here was the garden our Saviour usually retired into, as appears, Luke, xxii. 39. ; and when he came thither, as Abraham left his servants behind him, when he was to sacrifice his son on Mount Moriah (Gen. xxii. 5.), so did our Saviour leave his disciples at some distance from him, when he was preparing himself for that great sacrifice, whereby he offered up himself to God. And now begins the time of his agony, and that vehement conflict which was between the inclinations of his nature and the purpose of his will, from the sense of which he cries out to his disciples (ver. 38.), "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;" than which there can be no expression higher, either respecting the extension of it, that his sorrow would continue unto death, or the intention of it, that it was a deadly sorrow, so great and heavy, that none can be imagined greater; hence it is said (Mark, xiv. 33.), that he did begin aμßeîolaι kaì adŋμovεîv, to be sore amazed, and very heavy. Αδημονεῖν is λίαν λυπεῖσθαι, saith Suidas, to be exceeding sorrowful, and ảywviậv, saith Hesychius, to be in an agony (see Luke, xxii. 44.); which appears by the circumstance of it, that he sweat as it were drops of blood; which seems not to be a mere comparison, or an hyperbolical expression, but to be that which the physicians call Standnow; when the serous blood is grown so thin