A Meditation - On Taking Farewell by James Meikle (1730-1799) [James Meikle was a surgeon’s mate on a British Man-o’- War Ship. These are meditations that he wrote before and during that voyage.] Everything beneath the sun has vanity and vexation engraven on it; and it is fit it should be so, lest men, possessing what they aspire after, should forget themselves. So we see, we feel, that pleasure is interwoven with pain, sweet with sour, joy with sorrow, riches with anxiety and cares, greatness with torment, health with disease, and life with death. When I took farewell of my friends to see other nations, and rise into a more universal knowledge of the world and men (trifles that please an aspiring mind), yet how were all my fine prospects more than balanced to think, that I might never see my native land again, the land of liberty and light, the Hephzibah of God! What if I should drop into the unfathomed deeps of the ocean, and be a prey to the finny tribe? But, abstracting from these gloomy forethoughts, how was joy turned into a flow of friendly sorrow! Can I yet forget the affectionate grasp of hand, the melting tear, the parting kiss, and kindly look, as if it might have been the last, and all from friends so near and dear? Yet this must be; I must either forbear going abroad, or take farewell of all my friends; and who knows if ever I shall see them again, till in another world, where the nearest ties are loosed, and the dearest relation dissolved, unless a spiritual relation unite our souls to him, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, a family that shall never scatter or be dispersed through the ages of eternity! The highest wisdom of the traveller, then, is to get himself made a member of the heavenly family. Thus, when the frail family, of which he is a mortal member, must be divided, parted, and spread abroad, some in death, some in distant lands, he shall never be cast out of the celestial family, nor denied the high privileges thereof, but may cry to God, Abba, Father, and shall find Him not far off, even when roaring oceans interrupt the natural father’s passionate care, and bound the tender mother’s melting flow of affection. Without such a relation we are orphans, though we had the best of fathers, and the kindest of mothers; we are friendless, though we had the most sympathising sisters, and obliging brothers; destitute, amidst our numerous, rich, and munificent relations; and more desolate than the pelican of the wilderness, or the midnight owl, though crowded with visitants, and among a world of acquaintances. But, blessed with it, no tongue can tell our happiness. Our heavenly Father, who knows our need, is ever at our hand; His power and promptitude to do us good exceed the natural father, excel the kindly mother; His mercy outshines the sympathising sisters, and His bounty the obliging brother; His promises are better than all our relations, His providence than our richest friends; and His presence than a world of acquaintance, or the levee of kings. In such a situation, the deserts of Arabia shall please, like the places where we were born and brought up. May this, then, be my case, and I am happy in my peregrinations, and joyful in my journeys.  This article is taken from:  Meikle, James. The Traveller. Edinburgh: J. Pillians & Son, 1811.  A PDF file of this book can be downloaded, free of charge, at http://www.ClassicChristianLibrary.com