Holiness will render you most beautiful and amiable. As
holiness is the beauty of God, and the beauty of angels
—so it is the beauty and glory of a Christian also.
Holiness casts such a beauty upon man, as makes him
very amiable and desirable.
The redness of the rose, the whiteness of the lily, and all
the beauties of the natural universe—are but deformities,
compared to that beauty which holiness puts upon us. If
all natural beauty were contracted into one beauty—yet
it would be but an obscure and an unlovely beauty,
compared to that beauty which holiness puts upon us!
Holiness is lovely, yes—loveliness itself. Purity is a Christian's
splendor and glory. There is no beauty compared to that of
sanctity; nothing beautifies and bespangles a man like holiness.
Holiness is so attractive and so lovely a thing—that it draws all
eyes and hearts to an admiration of it. Holiness is so great a
beauty—that it puts a beauty upon all other excellencies in a
man. That holiness is a very beautiful thing, and that it makes
all those beautiful who have it—is a truth that no devil can deny!
"Demetrius," says Plutarch, "was so lovely of face, that no
painter was able to draw him." Just so, holiness puts so rare
a beauty upon man—that no painter under heaven is able to
draw him! Scipio Africanus was so lovely a person, that the
Spaniards stood amazed at his loveliness. Holiness puts such
a loveliness, and such an amiableness upon a person—that
many admire it, and stand amazed at it.
O sirs, as ever you would be amiable and desirable—be holy!
As ever you would be attractive and lovely—be holy!
As ever you would outshine the sun in splendor and
glory—labor to be holy!
Many have ventured their names, their estates, their liberties,
their lives, yes, their very souls—to enjoy a lovely Bathsheba,
an attractive Helena, a beautiful Diana, a lovely Cleopatra, etc.,
whose beauties have been but clay, well-colored. Oh, how
much more, then, should you be provoked to labor and venture
your all for holiness—which will imprint upon you that most
excellent and most exquisite beauty—which will go to the grave
and to glory with you; yes, which will render you not only amiable
and excellent in the eyes of men—but also lovely in the eyes of God!
Unholy souls are . . .
foul souls,
ugly souls,
deformed souls,
withered souls,
wrinkled souls,
altogether unlovely souls.
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Thomas Brooks (1608 - 1680)
Much of what is known about Thomas Brooks has been ascertained from his writings. Born, likely to well-to-do parents, in 1608, Brooks entered Emmanuel College, Cambridge in 1625, where he was preceded by such men as Thomas Hooker, John Cotton, and Thomas Shepard. He was licensed as a preacher of the Gospel by 1640. Before that date, he appears to have spent a number of years at sea, probably as a chaplain with the fleet.After the conclusion of the First English Civil War, Thomas Brooks became minister at Thomas Apostle's, London, and was sufficiently renowned to be chosen as preacher before the House of Commons on December 26, 1648. His sermon was afterwards published under the title, 'God's Delight in the Progress of the Upright', the text being Psalm 44:18: 'Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from Thy way'. Three or four years afterwards, he transferred to St. Margaret's, Fish-street Hill, London. In 1662, he fell victim to the notorious Act of Uniformity, but he appears to have remained in his parish and to have preached as opportunity arose. Treatises continued to flow from his pen.[3]
Thomas Brooks was a nonconformist preacher. Born into a Puritan family, he was sent to Emmanuel College, Cambridge. He soon became an advocate of the Congregational way and served as a chaplain in the Civil War. In 1648 he accepted the rectory of St. Margaret's, New Fish Street, London, but only after making his Congregational principles clear to the vestry.
On several occasions he preached before Parliament. He was ejected in 1660 and remained in London as a Nonconformist preacher. Government spies reported that he preached at Tower Wharf and in Moorfields. During the Great Plague and Great Fire he worked in London, and in 1672 was granted a license to preach in Lime Street. He wrote over a dozen books, most of which are devotional in character. He was buried in Bunhill Fields.