“If other sins have slain their thousands of professing Christians, worldly-mindedness has slain its ten thousands.”
“How can any say, ‘Lead us not into temptation,’ in the morning, when they are resolved to run into it at night?”
“How many are kept from seeing Christ in glory, by reason of the press!” (That is, he explained, that people are ashamed of being singularly good (Note 3), unless their acquaintances are on the same side.)
“Christ will thank you for coming to His feast.”
When Mr Whitefield came near the end of his sermon, I thought I could see why people said he made them cry so much. His voice sank into a soft, pleading, tender accent, as if he yearned over the souls before him. His hands were held out as if he were just holding out Jesus Christ to us, and we must take Him or turn away and be lost. And he begged us all so pitifully not to turn away. I saw tears running down the cheeks of many hard-looking men and women. Flora cried, and so did I. But Angus did not. He did not look as though he felt at all inclined to do it.
This is one of the last sermons, we hear, that Mr Whitefield will preach on this side the sea. He sails for the American colonies next month. He is said to be very fond of his American friends, and very much liked by them. (Note 5).
As we were coming away, we came upon our friends from Monksburn, whom we had not seen before.
“This is preaching!” said Annas, as she clasped our hands.
“Eh, puir laddie, he’ll just wear himself out,” said the Laird. “I hope he has a gude wife, for sic men are rare, and they should be well taken care of while they are here.”
“He has a wife, Sir,” observed Angus, “and the men of his own kidney think he would be rather better off if he had none.”