may be blotted out, and that, washed in the blood of the Lamb, I may with joy and fruit refresh my soul with his most pure flesh; implore for me that the love of Jesus may light up my lukewarm heart, and inflame it wholly with his love. Amen.
“ Come to me, all you that labour, and are burdened, and I will refresh you.” — Matt. xi. 28.
THESE are thy words, O Christ the Eternal Truth, and they are words of so great tenderness, and so full of sweetness and love, that they encourage me, but my sins terrify me, and my unclean conscience keeps me back from approaching to so great mysteries. The sweetness of thy words invites me, but the multitude of my offences weigh me down. Thou commandest me to approach thee with confidence, if I would have part with thee; and to receive the food of immortality, if I desire to receive life and glory everlasting. "Come,” sayst thou, "to me, all you that labour, and are burdened, and I will refresh you." (Matt. xi. 28.) O sweet and amiable word in the ear of a sinner, that thou, O Lord, my God, shouldst invite the poor and needy to the communion of thy most sacred Body! But who am I, Lord, that I should presume to come to thee? Behold, the heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; and thou sayst, come you all to me.
What means this most loving condescension, and so friendly an invitation? How shall I dare to approach, who am conscious to myself of no good in which I can presume? How shall I introduce thee into my house, who have so oftentimes provoked thy indignation? The angels and archangels stand with a reverential awe; the saints and the just are afraid; and thou sayst, come you all to me. Unless thou,
