Thoughts are vain against the Lord,
All subserves his standing word;
Wheels encircling wheels must run,
Each in course to bring it on.
You need not remind me of praying for the noble pair: surely they are not to be prisoners another Winter. The kingdom of God suffereth violence, and really if we would take it by force, we must do violence to our softest passions, and be content to be esteemed unkind by those whose idols we once were. This is hard work; but, Abba, Father, all things are possible with thee! Blessed be God for putting it into your heart to ask the pulpit for a week-day sermon. Are we not commanded to be instant in season and out of season? If dear Mrs. M—— will take my word for it, I will be answerable for your health. The joy resulting from doing good, will be a continual feast. God knows how long our time of working may last. This order undoes us. As affairs now stand, we must be disorderly or useless. O for more labourers. I am told thousands went away last Sunday evening from Tottenham-Court, for want of room. Every day produces fresh accounts of good being done, and at this end of the town the word runs and is glorified more and more. Last Friday we had a most solemn fast: I preached thrice; thousands attended, and I humbly hope our prayers entered the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth. More bad news from America about our fleet: God humble and reform us, for his infinite mercy’s sake! Go on, my dear Sir, and tell a sinful nation, that sin and unbelief is the accursed thing which prevents success. Thus at least we shall deliver our own souls, and be free from the blood of all men. But I forget: I suppose you are preparing for the pulpit: I dare not detain you. My best respects await Mrs. M——: your mother is well. That you may return to London in all the fulness of the blessings of the gospel of Christ, is and shall be the prayer of, dear Sir,
Yours, &c.
G. W.
LETTER MCLXXXII.
To Mr. O——.