Like a splinter in his eye

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When a man is converted, he is forever at enmity with sin; 
yes, with all sin—but most of all with his own sins—and 
especially with his bosom sin. Sin is now the object of his 
indignation. His sin swells his sorrows. It is sin which pierces 
him and wounds him; he feels it like a thorn in his side, like 
a splinter in his eye. He groans and struggles under it, 
and not formally—but feelingly cries out, 'O wretched man!'
He is not impatient of any burden—so much as of his sin. 
If God should give him his choice, he would choose any 
affliction so he might be rid of sin; he feels it like the 
cutting gravel in his shoes, pricking and paining him 
as he goes.

Before conversion he had light thoughts of sin. He cherished 
it in his bosom, as Uriah his lamb; he nourished it up, and it 
grew up together with him; it did eat, as it were, of his own 
plate, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and
was to him as a sweet daughter. But when God opens his 
eyes by conversion, he throws it away with abhorrence, as
a man would a loathsome toad, which in the dark he had 
hugged fast in his bosom—and thought it had been some 
pretty and harmless pet. 

When a man is savingly changed, he is deeply convinced 
not only of the danger but the defilement of sin; and O, 
how earnest is he with God to be purified! He loathes 
himself for his sins. He runs to Christ, and casts himself 
into the fountain set open for him and for uncleanness. 
If he falls into sin, what a stir is there to get all clean 
again! He has no rest until he flees to the Word, and 
washes and rubs and rinses in the infinite fountain, 
laboring to cleanse himself from all filthiness both of 
flesh and spirit.

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