chains, and reserved in the darkness of their own spiritual being, that we may both oppugn and subdue them unseen.

But oh the deplorable condition of reprobate souls! If but the imagined sight of one of these spirits of darkness can so daunt the heart of those which are free from their power, what a terror shall it be to live perpetually in the sight, yea, under the torture of thousands, of legions, of millions of devils! Oh the madness of wilful sinners, that will needs run them-. selves headily into so dreadful a damnation !

It was high time for our Saviour to speak: what with the tempest, what with the apparition, the disciples were almost lost with fear. How seasonable are his gracious addresses! Till they were thus affrighted, he would not speak; when they were thus affrighted, he would not hold his peace. If his presence were fearful, yet his word was comfortable; "Be of good cheer, it is I:" yea, it is his word only which must make his presence both known and comfortable. He was present before; they mistook him and feared there needs no other erection of their drooping hearts, but "It is I." It is cordial enough to us, in the worst of our afflictions, to be assured of Christ's presence with us. Say but "It is I," O Saviour, and let evils do their worst; thou needest not say any more. Thy voice was evidence enough; so well were thy disciples acquainted with the tongue of thee their Master, that "It is I," was as much as a hundred names. Thou art the good Shepherd; we are not of thy flock, if we know thee not by thy voice from a thousand. Even this one is a great word, yea an ample style, "It is I." The same tongue that said to Moses, "I Am hath sent thee," saith now to the disciples, "It is I;" I your Lord and Master, I the Commander of winds and waters, I the sovereign Lord of heaven and earth, I the God of spirits. Let heaven be but as one scroll, and let it be written all over with titles, they cannot express more than "It is I."

Oh sweet and seasonable word of a gracious Saviour, able to calm all tempests, able to revive all hearts! Say but so to my soul, and, in spite of hell, I am safe.

No sooner hath Jesus said "I," than Peter answers, "Master." He can instantly name him that did not name himself. Every little hint is enough to faith. The Church sees her beloved as well through the lattice, as through the open window. Which, of all the followers of Christ, gave so pregnant testimonies, upon all occasions, of his faith, of his love to his Master, as Peter? The rest were silent, while he both owned his Master, and craved access to him in that liquid way. Yet what a sensible mixture is here of faith and distrust! It was faith that said, Master; it was distrust, as some have construed it, that said, "If it be thou." It was faith that said, "Bid me come to thee" (implying that his word could as well enable as command); it was faith that durst step down upon that watery pavement; it was distrust that, upon the sight of a mighty wind, feared: it was faith that he walked; it was distrust that he sunk; it was faith that said, "Lord, save me." Oh the imperfect composition of the best saint upon earth; as far from pure faith, as from mere infidelity! If there be pure earth in the centre, all upward is mixed with the other elements: contrarily, pure grace is above in the glorified spirits; all below is mixed with infirmity, with corruption. Our best is but as the air, which never was, never can be, at once fully enlightened; neither is there in the same region one constant state of light. It shall once be noon with us, when we shall have nothing but bright beams of glory: now it is but the dawning, wherein it is hard to say whether there be more light than darkness. We are now fair as the moon, which hath some spots in her greatest beauty; we shall be pure as the sun, whose face is all bright and glorious. Ever since the time that Adam set his tooth in the apple, till our mouth be full of mould, it never was, it never can be, other

with us. Far be it from us to settle willingly upon the dregs of our infidelity; far be it from us to be disheartened with the sense of our defects and imperfections: "We believe, Lord, help our unbelief.”

While I find some disputing the lawfulness of Peter's suit, others quarrelling his "If it be thou," let me be taken up with wonder at the faith, the fervour, the heroical valour of this prime apostle, that durst say, "Bid me come to thee upon the waters." He might have suspected that the voice of his Master might have been as easily imitated by that imagined spirit as his person; he might have feared the blustering tempest, the threatening billows, the yielding nature of that devouring element: but, as despising all these thoughts of misdoubt, such is his desire to be near his Master, that he says, "Bid me come to thee upon the waters:" he says not, Come thou to me; this had been Christ's act, and not his. Neither doth he say, Let me come to thee: this had been his act, and not Christ's. Neither doth he say, Pray that I may come to thee, as if this act had been out of the power of either: but, "Bid me come to thee." I know thou canst command both the waves and me; me to be so light, that I shall not bruise the moist surface of the waves; the waves to be so solid, that they shall not yield to my weight. "All things obey thee: bid me come to thee upon the waters."

It was a bold spirit that could wish it, more bold that could act it. No sooner hath our Saviour said, "Come," than he sets his foot upon the unquiet sea, not fearing either the softness or the roughness of that uncouth passage. We are wont to wonder at the courage of that daring man who first committed himself to the sea in a frail bark, though he had the strength of an oaken plank to secure him: how valiant must we needs grant him to be, that durst set his foot upon the bare sea and shift his paces! Well did Peter know, that he, who bade him, could uphold him; and therefore he both sues to be bidden,

and ventures to be upholden. True faith tasks itself with difficulties, neither can be dismayed with the conceits of ordinary impossibilities. It is not the scattering of straws, or casting of mole-hills, whereby the virtue of it is descried, but removing of mountains: like some courageous leader, it desires the honour of a danger, and sues for the first onset; whereas the worldly heart freezes in a lazy or cowardly fear, and only casts for safety and ease.

Peter sues, Jesus bids. Rather will he work miracles, than disappoint the suit of a faithful man. How easily might our Saviour have turned over this strange request of his bold disciple, and have said, What my omnipotence can do is no rule for thy weakness! it is no less than presumption in a mere man, to hope to imitate the miraculous works of God and man. Stay thou in the ship, and wonder, contenting thyself in this, that thou hast a Master to whom the land and water is alike. Yet I hear not a check, but a call; "Come." The suit of ambition is suddenly quashed in the mother of the Zebedees. The suits of revenge prove no better in the mouth of the two fiery disciples. But a suit of faith, though high and seemingly unfit for us, he hath no power to deny. How much less, O Saviour, wilt thou stick at those things which lie in the very road of our Christianity! Never man said, Bid me come to thee in the way of thy commandments, whom thou didst not both bid and enable to come.

True faith rests not in great and good desires, but acts and executes accordingly. Peter doth not wish to go, and yet stand still; but his foot answers his tongue, and instantly chops down upon the waters. To sit still, and wish, is for sluggish and cowardly spirits.

Formal volitions, yea velleities of good, while we will not so much as step out of the ship of our nature to walk unto Christ, are but the faint motions of vain hypocrisy. It will be long enough ere the gale of

good wishes can carry us to our haven. "Ease slayeth the foolish." O Saviour, we have thy command to come to thee out of the ship of our natural corruption: let no sea affray us, let no tempest of temptation withhold us. No way can be but safe, when thou art

the end.

Lo, Peter is walking upon the waves! Two hands upheld him, the hand of Christ's power, the hand of his own faith; neither of them would do it alone. The hand of Christ's power laid hold on him, the hand of his faith laid hold on the power of Christ commanding. Had not Christ's hand been powerful, that faith had been in vain: had not that faith of his strongly fixed upon Christ, that power had not been effectual to his preservation. While we are here in the world, we walk upon the waters; still the same hands bear us up. If he let go his hold of us, we drown; if we let go our hold of him, we sink and shriek as Peter did here, who, when he saw the wind boisterous, was afraid, and "beginning to sink, cried, saying, Lord, save me."

When he wished to be bidden to walk unto Christ, he thought of the waters; 'Bid me to come to thee on the waters:" he thought not on the winds which raged on those waters; or if he thought of a stiff gale, yet that tempestuous and sudden gust was out of his account and expectation. Those evils, that we are prepared for, have not such power over us as those that surprise us. A good waterman sees a dangerous billow coming towards him, and cuts it, and mounts over it with ease; the unheedy is overwhelmed. O Saviour, let my haste to thee be zealous, but not improvident; ere I set my foot out of the ship, let me foresee the tempest; when I have cast the worst, I cannot either miscarry or complain.

So soon as he began to fear he began to sink: while he believed, the sea was brass; when once he began to distrust, those waves were water. He cannot sink, while he trusts the power of his Master; he cannot