The Entire Book: One Thing Is Needful – By John Bunyan
Acacia John Bunyan – Online Library
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One Thing Is Needful;
O R,
Serious Meditations Upon the Four Lasting Things:
Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.
By J O H N.B U N Y A N.
L O N D O N,
Printed for Nath. Ponder, at the
Peacock in the Poultry, 1688.[1]
Published in conjunction with Ebal and Gerizzim. These poems were published
about the year 1664, while the author was imprisoned, and printed on single sheets,
to be sold by his wife or children, to aid them financially.
Edited by George Offor.
ADVERTISEMENT BY THE EDITOR.
According to Charles Doe, in that curious sheet called The Struggler for the Preservation of Mr. John Bunyan’s Labours, these poems were published about the year 1664, while the author was suffering imprisonment for conscience sake, very probably in separate sheets or tracts, to be sold by his wife or children, to aid in their humble maintenance. They were afterwards united to form a neat little volume, 32 mo. The editor is the fortunate possessor of the third edition, being the last that was printed during the author’s lifetime, and with his latest corrections. From this the present edition has been accurately reprinted. The three tracts are distinct as to pages; a strong indication that they were originally separate little volumes. A copy of the fourth edition of this extremely rare book, without date, and somewhat larger in size, is in the British Museum, in which the pages are continued throughout the volume.
These poems are upon subjects the most solemn and affecting to all mankind, and, like all Bunyan’s other works, were evidently written, not for display, but to impress upon the heart those searching realities upon which depend our everlasting destiny. Die we must; yes, reader, you and I must follow our fathers to the unseen world. Heaven forbid that we should be such mad fools, as to make no provision for the journey; no inquiries about our prospects in that eternity into which we must so soon enter. True it is, that unless Heaven stops us in our mad career, we shall plunge into irretrievable ruin.
In the first of these poems, many of the minute circumstances attendant on death are pressed upon the memory. Very soon, as Bunyan awfully expresses the though, we must look death in the face, and ‘drink with him.’ Soon some kind friend or relative will close our eyelids, and shut up our glassy eyes for ever; tie up the fallen jaw, and prepare the corrupting body for its long, but not final resting-place. Our hour-glass is fast ebbing out; time stands ready with his scythe to cut us down; the grave yawns to receive us. ‘Man dieth and wasteth away; yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he’ (Job 14:10). The answer is ready, sure, certain