DO you enquire where I am? I answer, in London, longing to come to Leeds, and yet withheld hitherto by His providence who ordereth all things well. Let us have a little more patience, and then in a few weeks I hope to have a blessed range in the North. God’s time I have always found to be the best time in the end. Ere now, I suppose, Mr. L—— hath received my letter from Norwich. The word ran and was glorified there. Preaching so frequently, and riding hard, almost killed me; but what is my body in comparison of precious and immortal souls? O that this Spring may prove a Spring-time every day! Indeed I want to begin to begin to do something for Jesus. At present I am engaged in a very ungrateful work; I mean, in writing against the leading Moravian brethren. When you see it, you will know whether there was not a cause: a second edition of the pamphlet is just come out. I fear the third part of the Journals cannot be procured: perhaps it is not much matter. I am sick of all I do, and stand astonished that the Redeemer still continues to make use of and bless me. Surely I am more foolish than any man; no one receives so much, and does so little. If you was here, we would weep together: friends know what it is to exchange hearts. May the common friend of sinners keep both our hearts near himself, and then all will be well. I cannot think of Leeds without weeping. I love that people, and pray that they may increase with all the increase of God. “Brethren, pray for us,” is still the earnest request of my poor heart. I am weaker than the weakest, less than the least of all. Write to me; I do not like your sending such round-about ways: friends letters always pay postage. O let us send often by post to heaven; I mean, on the wings of faith and love: from thence we shall assuredly receive good answers, though not always in our own way or time. For the present, farewel. My hearty love to all the true followers of the Lamb. I hope to write to all in time. In great haste, but much greater love, I subscribe myself,
Yours, &c.
G. W.
LETTER DCCCCLXXV.
To Mr. S——.
Haverford-west, May 27, 1753.
My dear Man,
THOUGH my wife hath not sent me the letter, yet she writes me, “That you have sent me a threatening one.” I thank you for it, though unseen, and say unto thee, if thou art thus minded, “What thou doest, do quickly.” Blessed be God, I am ready to receive the most traiterous blow, and to confess before God and man, all my weaknesses and failings, whether in public or private life. I laid my account of such treatment, before I published my expostulatory letter.—And your writing in such a manner, convinces me more and more, that Moravianism leads us to break through the most sacred ties of nature, friendship, and disinterested love. But my wife says you write, “That I am drunk with power and approbation.” Wast thou with me so long, my dear man, and hast thou known me no better? What power didst thou know me ever to grasp at? Or what power am I now invested with? None, that I know of, except that of being a poor pilgrim. And as for approbation, God knows, I have had little else besides the cross to glory in, since my first setting out.—May that be my glory still! But my wife says you write, “That I promised not to print.” I remember no such thing. I know you advised me not to do so, but I know of no promise made. If I remember, I had not then read Rimius; but after that, I both heard and saw so many things, that I could not, with a safe conscience, be silent. My wife says likewise, that you write, “The bulk of my letter is not truth.” So says Mr. Peter B——; nay, he says, “that all is a lie:” and I hear he declares so in the pulpit. So that whether I will or not, he obliges me to clear myself in print; and if he goes on in this manner, will not only constrain me to print a third edition, but also to publish the dreadful heap that lies behind. My answers to him, the Count, and my old friend H——, are almost ready. I cannot send them this post, but may have time ere long. O my dear man, let me tell thee, that the God of truth and love hates lies: and that cause can never be good, which needs equivocations and falshoods to support it. God willing, you shall have none from me. I have naked truth. I write out of pure love: and the Lord Jesus only knows, what unspeakable grief and pain I feel, when I think how many of my dear friends have so involved themselves. If any thing stops my pen, it will be concern for them, not myself. I value neither name, nor life itself, when the cause of God calls me to venture both. Thanks be to his great name, I can truly say, that for these many years last past, no sin hath had dominion over me; neither have I slept with the guilt of any known, unrepented sin lying upon my heart: if you will tell me of any, I will be obliged to you. In the mean while, I wish thee well in body and soul, and subscribe myself, my dear John,
Your very affectionate, though injured, friend for Christ’s sake,