Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/64

 troubles, and  eternal  changes;  the  becoming  masters  of  our  own hearts, and  being  dependent  on  none  but  ourselves:  our  having none but  God  to  account  with;  our  no  longer  fatiguing  ourselves in vain,  by  running  after  phantoms,  which  continually  elude  our grasp; — alas! the lot  of  a  just  soul  would  always  be  worthy  of envy;  whatever  might  be  the  bitter  circumstances  accompanying virtue, they  would  still  be  a  thousand  times  more  supportable  than the pleasures  of  the  world;  and  to  mourn  with  the  people  of  God, would be  infinitely  preferable  to  participating  in  the  insipid  and childish pleasures  of  the  children  of  the  age.

Secondly. If virtue  does  not  protect  us  from  the  afflictions  and disgraces inevitable  upon  this  earth,  it  at  least  softens  their asperity: it  makes  our  heart  submissive  to  God;  it  makes  us  kiss the hand  which  is  raised  up  against  us;  it  discovers,  in  the  blows with which  the  Lord  afflicts  us,  either  a  cure  for  our  passions, or the  just  punishment  of  our  crimes. And were  virtue  to  have only the  privilege  of  diminishing  our  griefs,  by  diminishing  our attachments; of  rendering  us  less  feeling  to  our  losses,  by  gradually detaching us  from  all  the  objects  which  we  may  one  day  lose; of preparing  our  souls  for  affliction,  by  keeping  it  continually submissive to  God;  were  virtue  to  possess  this  consolation  alone, alas! ought we  to  lament  and  complain  of  any  bitterness  which attends it? What more  can  be  desired  in  this  miserable  life,  where almost all  our  days  are  distinguished,  by  new  afflictions  and  adversities;  where  every  thing  escapes  our  grasp;  where  our  relations, friends, and  protectors  are  every  moment  snatched  from  us,  and continually falling  around  us;  where  our  fortune  has  no  settlement, but changes  its  appearance  every  day;  alas! what more  can  be desired  than  a  situation  which  consoles  us  on  these  events;  supports us  in  these  storms;  calms  us  in  these  agitations;  and  which, in the  eternal  changes  which  take  place  here  below,  leaves  us  at least  always  the  same?

Thirdly. Those reluctances  and  disgusts  which  revolt  us  so strongly  against  virtue,  in  reality  consist  only  in  repressing  the passions which  render  us  unhappy,  and  are  the  source  of  all  our pains. They are  remedies  a  little  grievous  to  be  sure,  but  they serve to  cure  evils  which  are  infinitely  more  so. It is  a  constraint which fatigues  us,  but  which,  in  fatiguing,  delivers  us  from  a  slavery which weighed  us  down;  it  is  a  bitterness  which  mortifies  the  passions, but  which,  in  mortifying,  weakens  and  calms  them;  it  is  a sword  which  pierces  the  heart  to  the  quick,  but  which  makes  the corrupted and  defiled  matter  to  flow  from  it;  insomuch,  that,  in the  very  moment  of  the  wound's  greatest  agony,  we  experience  the comfort and  certainty  of  a  cure. These are  maxims  which  revolt our nature  and  inclinations;  but  which,  in  revolting,  recall  them to order  and  rule. Thus, the  bitterness  and  the  thorns  of  virtue have always  at  least  a  present  utility,  which  recompenses  their harshness: in  disgusting,  they  purify  us;  in  probing,  they  cure us; in  paining,  they  calm  us. These are  not  like  the  disgusts  of the  world,  of  which  nothing  remains  to  us  but  the  bitterness  of