Nay, saith God, you have been a provocation to
me these three years. How many times have you disappointed me! How
many seasons have you spent in vain! How many sermons and other
mercies did I of my patience afiord you; but to no purpose at all.
Take him, death. O good Lord, saith the sinner, spare me but this
once; raise me but this once.
Indeed I have been a barren professor, and have stood to no purpose
at all in thy vineyard; hut spare, O spare me this one time, I
beseech thee, and I will he better. Away, away, you will not; I have
tried you these three years already; you are naught: if I should
recover you again, you would he as bad as you were before. (And all
this talk is while death stands by.) The sinner cries again, Good
Lord, try me this once; let me get up again this once, and see if I
do not rnend. But will you promise me to mend? Yes indeed, Lord, and
vow it too. I will never be so bad again, I will he better. Well,
saith God, Death, let this professor alone for this time: I will try
him a little longer; he hath promised, he hath vowed, that he will
amend his ways. It may be he will mind to keep his promises. Vows
are solemn things; it may he he may fear to break his vows. Arise
from off thy bed. And now God lays down his axe.
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