AS I love you in the bowels of Jesus Christ, and look upon you as an aged friend of the blessed Bridegroom, and my friend for his great name’s sake, I cannot help dropping you a few lines. They are lines of gratitude; lines of thanks for all favours conferred upon me when in Scotland. They leave me pleasantly sojourning in my Winter quarters, and longing for the Spring that I may enter upon a fresh campaign. Now and then I make little excursions, and can inform you, that there is a sweet work begun and carrying on at Canterbury and Chatham. I long to hear that your son John has put his hand to the gospel plough, and am not without hopes that his lot will be to itinerate, at least for a while. He seems to be qualified for such an employ. I shall be glad to see him on the other side of the water. Had I the management of a thousand youths, if circumstances would allow, they should travel for one year at least, before they took upon them a settled charge. Methinks I hear you say, “What! will you take my Benjamin away?” This was old Jacob’s infirmity. You love Christ too well to refuse giving up the young lad, if it should appear in providence that the Lord hath need of him either at home or abroad. I pray God to direct and bless you both, and to establish his covenant with you and your seed for ever. You are now on the decline of life. I have been just reading about the year of jubilee. How joyful were the prisoners when they heard of the approach of that wish’d-for day! How much more joyful may those be, who having an interest in Jesus Christ, are waiting for the last trump, to proclaim our eternal jubilee in heaven! This, my dear friend, is your happy lot. Rejoice, and again I say, rejoice. The day of our complete redemption draweth nigh. Let us then lift up our heads, and let us lift up our hearts to praise him, from whom alone cometh our salvation. I could enlarge, but am called away. My hearty love to all enquiring friends. I think to write to your son soon. We had a happy day yesterday among the Great Ones. I am, my very dear Sir,
Yours most affectionately in our dear Lord,
G. W.
LETTER DCCCLXXII.
To Doctor W——.
London, Dec. 17, 1750.
My dear Doctor,
I Received your kind letter, and would have answered it much sooner, had I not been prevented by sickness. For near a fortnight past, I have been confined to my room; but through the divine blessing, am now enabled to preached again. Praise the Lord, O my soul. My disorder was a violent fever: Jesus hath rebuked it. I am raised up once more. O may it be that I may minister unto him! For me to live is Christ. But alas! how little do I live to his glory! Yesterday I entered upon my seven-and-thirtieth year. I am ashamed to think I have lived so long, and done so little, and yet every year, day, and hour of my life hath been crowned with the divine goodness. O my dear friend, let this be our motto, Vivimus ut viviamus. It is enough when we come to our last moments, to have nothing to do, but to die. Blessed be God, that you have courage given you to speak to the dying. A word spoken in such a season how good is it? May the great physician take you under his peculiar care, forgive you all your sins, and heal all your diseases! I purpose writing to my friend J—— T——, and others, as I get strength. At present, I must content myself with sending general, but cordial salutations, and begging the continual interest of your prayers in behalf of, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c.