MEDITATION LVI.
MEDITATION LVI.
WAR.
Under sail, August 18, 1758.
How often have we cause to cry out of the cruelty of men! Mankind, allied to one another by blood—have more ingenuity to destroy each other, than all the beasts of the forest!
No sooner were these poor soldiers (who never met before, and only meet now that they may kill each other) within the reach of mutual destruction, but they fall to fighting, and deprive each other of their life, and send souls into the eternal unseen world. Cannons roar like the destructive thunders—and all the instruments of war are set a sounding terror and dismay.
PITY has no outlet from the human bosom, until the enemies are all killed, or yield as prisoners. How many souls, by the unsheathed and naked sword, are sent naked into the eternal unseen world! Unprepared for their last moments, they have not a quiet moment at last to prepare for death; but are hurried into their last, unalterable state at once, with a few melting groans.
What a piteous sight is the field of battle! The very ground is plowed with the irresistible cannon-balls. Or if the battle borders on a forest, the trees are scarred with continual firing, and the neighboring hills echo with the noise—the confused noise of war, while the shriekings and groanings of the deadly wounded add to the horrors of the day.
Such are the contests of rulers; such is the vile ambition of kings—who purchase elbow-room to their territories, at the expense of their subjects' lives!
But if the war of mortals is so terrible to one another, what must that day be when God shall rise up to the battle—to rid himself of his enemies, and ease himself of his adversaries? When his angry countenance shall kindle the heavens above, and set the earth on fire beneath? When the thunders of his right hand shall fill hell with universal trembling? When a fiery stream issues from his flaming throne; which shall affrighten the human race, being summoned to make their appearance before the final judgment?
No pity, no compassion then! No mercy, no forgiveness there! If men are cut off by the weapons of war, by the hand of frail mortals; how must they perish under the stroke of Omnipotence, which shall reach to the soul in all her powers? when his almighty hand takes hold of, and whets the glittering sword, and swears he lives forever—to punish his enemies forever?
O that men were wise, and would consider their latter end! O that men would throw down the weapons of their rebellion, and fight under the Captain of salvation! Then would they be happy in this world—and in the world to come!
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