Yours, &c. &c. in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MCCCLXX.
To Mr. W——y.
Huthersfield, October 6, 1767.
My dear Mr. W——y,
HOW is death scattering his arrows all around us! even into our houses. Perhaps, ere now, your dear yoke-fellow, as well as dear Mr. Langworthy, and Mr. Wright’s mother, are laid in the silent grave. Surely, the call to us is loud, yea very loud. Its language is quite articulate. “Watch and pray, for ye know not at what day or hour the Son of man cometh.” What is this world? nothing, less than nothing. What is the other world? An eternity; an eternity of endless misery or endless bliss. Lord Jesus, quicken our, at least my tardy pace! I see more and more, that we have no time to trifle, to be light, foolish, or worldly minded. A fever, a burning fever may come with a commission to burn up our bodies. It spares neither Duke nor Prince. Happy they, whom it finds burned up with the fever of divine love. That living and dying, this may be your happy lot and frame, is the hearty prayer of, dear Mr. W——y,
Your real friend and servant in the glorious Jesus,
G. W.