517 / 674
NO
PAIN
AMONG
THE BLESSED:
497
to stretch
the measures
of
time to a
tedious length: We
cry
out as
Moses expresses
it
;
Deut.
xtviii. fil.
"
In
the
morning
we say,
would
to God it
were
evening
;
and
at
the
return
of
the
evening
we say
again, would
to
God
it
were
morning."
Long are
those hours indeed,
whether
of
day-light
or
darkness, wherein there
is
no
relief or
intermission
öf
.
acute
pain.
How tiresome
a thing
is
it
to count:
the
clock
at
midnight
in
long
successions,
and
to
wait every
hour
for
the distant
approach
of
morning,
while
our
eyes
are
unable
to close
themselves
in
slumber, and
our an-
guish
admits not
the common refuge
of
sleep.
There
are-
multitudes among
the race
of
mortals
who
have
known these truths
by
sore
experience.
Blessed be
God
that
we
do'not
always
feel them.
But
when
we
turn
our
thoughts
to the heavenly world,
where there
is
no pain,
there
we
shall
find no
wearisome
hours,
no
tedious
days,
though
eternity
with all its
immeasurable lengths
of
dura-
tion
lies
before
us.
What
a
dismal
thought
is
eternal
pain? The
very
mention
of
it
makes
nature shudder and
stand
aghast;
but futurity
with
all its
endless years,
in
a
land
of
peace and pleasure
gives
the soul the most
de-
lightful prospect,
for
there
is
no
shadow
of
uneasiness in
that
state to
render our
abode there tiresome, or
to
think
the
ages
of it
long.
5.
Another
evil
that
belongs to pain
is,
that
"
it has
an
unhappy tendency
to
ruffle
the-
passions,
and
to
render
us
fretful and peevish within ourselves,
as
well as
towards
those who are
round about
us;"
Even the kindest
and
the
tenderest
hand
that
ministers
to
our
relief,
can
hardly
secure
itself
from the peevish
quarrels
of
a
man
in
ex-
treme pain.
Not that
we
are
to
suppose
that
this peevish
hu-
tnour
,
this fretfulness
of
spirit are thereby made inno-
cent and perfectly
excused
:
No,
by
no
means
but
it
must
be acknowledged still
that
continuance
in pain
is
too ready
to
work
up
the
spirit
into
frequent
disquietude
and
eagerness
:
We are tempted
to
fret at
every thing,
We
quarrel
With
every thing,
we
grow
impatient
under
every delay,
angry
with
our
best
friends,
sharp and sud-
den
in
our resentments,
with wrathful speeches
breaking
out of our
lips.
This
peevish
humour
in
a
day
of
pain
is
so common
a,
VOL.
1I.
carK