MEDITATION XXXVI.
MEDITATION XXXVI.
THE MASTS.
At sea, June 25, 1753.
How do the stately masts thrust their head into the sky, and see the breaking billows far beneath them! Even so sovereigns and princes are exalted far above their subjects. But, for as high as the mast is raised above the hull, yet its safety is only by being sunk into the very body of the ship; so is the king's honor, and the prince's safety—are in the multitude of their subjects.
Of what service could a ship without masts, or masts without a ship be? So in the body, political, spiritual, and natural—Infinite Wisdom has made every member subservient to another, that there may be no schism.
Without masts and expanded sails, a ship could move no where—but would lie like a wreck on the waters; so without rulers, and subordination, must a people perish in tumult and confusion.
If the masts are exalted in the view of all, they are exposed to tempests from every quarter; so fares it with men of station and power—they are hated by one, and envied by another, reproached by a third, and undermined by a fourth.
In a storm, or tempest, it is sometimes necessary, in order to save the ship, to cut the masts; so, sometimes to save a state, or nation, it is necessary to dethrone a cruel, an obstinate oppressor, and chase away a tyrant.
If the hull is rotten, and leaky, though the masts be never so strong and fresh, yet the vessel may perish in the deep waters; so, if the people be impious, and licentious, the prudent conduct and uprightness of the best kings cannot prevent their rushing into ruin.
It is only when a ship goes to sea, with her masts and top-masts in order, and all her sails unfurled, and filled by the gentle breeze, that she makes so grand an appearance to the peopled shores; for, stretching into the boundless ocean, she lessons gradually until she can be seen no more. Even so, the men who now are famed over half the globe, shall in a little while be lost to human eye, on the ocean of eternity, and have no more concern with time.
When the ship is grown old, and accounted no more fit for service, she is brought ashore, and broken up, and then the stately masts lie equally humble on the ground with the common planks. Even so, in death, shall all flesh return to dust, and the distinctions of a few days shall no more avail them, shall take place no more. May a belief of this influence me while I live below.
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