There is contained in this rest a cessation from motion or action.  When we have obtained the haven we have done with sailing; when we are at our journey’s end we have done with the way.  There shall be no more prayer because no more necessity, but the full enjoyment of what we prayed for.  Neither shall we need to fast and weep and watch any more, being out of the reach of sin and temptations.  Nor will there be use for instructions and exhortations; preaching is done; the ministry of man ceaseth; sacraments useless; the labourer called in because the harvest is gathered, the tares burned, the work done.

This rest containeth a perfect freedom from all the evils that accompany us through our course, and which necessarily follow our absence from the chief good.  Doubtless there is not such a thing as grief and sorrow known there; nor is there such a thing as a pale face, a languid body, feeble joints, unable infancy, decrepit age, peccant humours, dolorous sickness, griping fears, consuming care, nor whatsoever deserveth the name of evil.  Indeed, a gale of groans and sighs, a stream of tears accompanied us to the very gates, and there bid us farewell for ever.

This rest containeth the highest degree of the saints’ personal perfection, both of soul and body.  This necessarily qualifies them to enjoy the glory and thoroughly to partake the sweetness of it.  This is one thing that makes the saints’ joy there so great.  Here eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived what God hath laid up for them that wait for Him; but there the eye and ear and heart are made capable, else how do they enjoy it?  The more perfect the appetite the sweeter the food; the more musical the ear the more pleasant the melody; the more perfect the soul the more joyous those joys, and the more glorious to us is that glory.

This rest containeth, as the principal part, our nearest fruition of God, the chiefest good.  And here, wonder not if I be at a loss.  When I know so little of God, I cannot know how much it is to enjoy Him.  When it is so little I know of mine own soul—­either its quiddity or quality, while it is here in this tabernacle—­how little must I needs know of the infinite majesty, or the state of this soul when it is advanced to that enjoyment.  Nay, if I never saw that creature which contains not something unsearchable, nor the worm so small which afforded not matter for questions to puzzle the greatest philosopher that ever I met with, no wonder if mine eye fail when I look at God, my tongue fail me in speaking of Him, and my heart in conceiving.  What strange conceivings hath a man born blind of the sun of its light; or a man born deaf of the nature of music; so do we want that sense by which God must be clearly known.  But this we know, the chief good is for us to be near to God.

II.—­HOW THE SAINTS WILL BE EMPLOYED