Vanity and vexation

Blueridge Believer · #1 (**permalink**) 07-15-2008, 10:01 AM

ON TAKING FAREWELL.

1757.

Everything beneath the sun has vanity and vexation engraved on it. And it is fit it should be so, lest men, possessing what they aspire after, should forget that this world is fleeting. So we see, we feel—that pleasure is interwoven with pain, sweet with sour, joy with sorrow, riches with anxiety and cares, greatness with torment, health with disease, and life with death.

When I took farewell of my friends to see other nations, and rise into a more universal knowledge of the world and men (trifles that please an aspiring mind) yet how were all my fine prospects more than balanced to think, that I might never see my native land again, the land of liberty and light. What if I should drop into the unfathomed depths of the ocean, and be a prey to the finny tribe? But, abstracting from these gloomy forethoughts, how was joy turned into a flow of friendly sorrow! Can I yet forget the affectionate grasp of hand, the melting tear, the parting kiss, and kindly look—as if it might have been the last,* and all from friends so near and dear? Yet this must be: I must either refrain from going abroad, or take farewell of all my friends. And who knows if ever I shall see them again, until in another world, where the nearest ties are loosed, and the dearest relations dissolved—unless a spiritual relation unites our souls to him, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, a family that shall never scatter or be dispersed through the ages of eternity! *(The author never saw some friends, alluded to above, again in life, particularly his mother.)

The highest wisdom of the traveler, then, is to be made a member of the heavenly family. Thus, when the frail family, of which he is a mortal member, must be divided, parted, and spread abroad—some in death, some in distant lands—he shall never be cast out of the celestial family, nor denied the high privileges thereof—but may cry to God, 'Abba, Father,' and shall find him not far off, when roaring oceans interrupt the father's passionate care, and bound the tender mother's melting flow of affection. Without such a celestial relationship—we are orphans, though we had the best of fathers, and the kindest of mothers. Without such a celestial relationship—we are friendless, though we had the most sympathizing sisters, and obliging brothers. Without such a celestial relationship—we are destitute, amidst our numerous, rich, and munificent family; and more desolate—though among a world of friends.

But, blessed with being a member of this heavenly family—no tongue can tell our happiness. Our heavenly Father, who knows our need, is ever at our hand. His power and promptitude to do us good exceed the gracious father, and excel the kindly mother. His mercy outshines the sympathizing sisters, and his bounty the obliging brother. His promises are better than all our earthly relations. His providence is better than our richest friends. His presence is better than a world of acquaintances, or the friendship of kings. May this, then, be my case—and I am happy in my travelings, and joyful in my journeys.

JAMES MEIKLE