My dear friend,
I MOURN for you, and may you mourn too from your very inmost soul, till God himself gives you the true comfort. Oh thou dear backslider, what shall I say? How shall I find words strong enough to make a lasting impression on a heart so inconstant, so slothful, and careless? Oh that the Spirit of God would assist my weak endeavours, and point my otherwise unavailing words! You own you do not strive earnestly: alas I too plainly see you do not. But the blessed Comforter strives with you, and still you resist and grieve him. How irksome is it to me always to write the same thing? My dear soul, for God’s sake be more in earnest. How can you talk of sloth and carelessness, when you are standing on the brink of a precipice? Can you promise yourself another day? And are you fit to die in the state you are now in? Nay, are you not afraid to die? Oh if the Lord should say of you, as of the barren fig-tree, “Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground,” how would you be overwhelmed with dread and confusion? For you who know so well what are the glorious promises of the gospel, to suffer your thoughts to run upon worldly things is inexcusable. It seems strange, that you should think you love Christ more than you did, when you was in a better state; however above all things hold fast, and strive to increase this love, but then at the same time take care that you hate sin in the same proportion, and that you strive against it with the utmost earnestness: for to talk of loving Christ, and at the same time to give way to sloth, carelessness, and worldly-mindedness, is an abominable mockery. If you are encompassed with ten thousand temptations never fear, so your own heart consent not to them. Your blessed Master will surely help you, if you can but trust him: and never give way, to that seeming impossibility of praying. Though perhaps you cannot pray with comfort, or with any kind of connection, yet if you be ever so distracted you may surely cry, Lord, have mercy upon me—Jesus, pity me. Or even supposing you could not do this from your heart, ask yourself whether you do not desire to pray; and if you do, thank God for that desire, and the next thought will be prayer. Could you not make the increase of your family profitable, by joining at stated times of the day in some act of devotion? If it were but for one quarter of an hour at a time, there would doubtless be a blessing attending it. Suppose you were to sing an hymn together, or by turns pray, either from some form of prayer, or what would be better, extempore. You ought rather to be silent, and be thought a mope, than to join in trifling discourse. Consider, my love, you are to set an example to your young friends; and fear not but God will deliver you from this bondage into the glorious liberty of his children. The feeble trust you now have is the work of his blessed Spirit, and he will increase it into an holy confidence. Let not therefore your comfort sicken, but trust in that Jesus, who died that you might live; to whose all-merciful bosom I commit you,
And am your affectionate Friend, &c.
My dear Friend,
I HOPE your present circumstances do not prevent your constant watching over your own heart, and pressing forward in the way of holiness. In the midst of all these prospects death may come! And are you fit to die? We cannot too often ask ourselves this question. We cannot be too serious. There is only a moment between us and eternity. May the Lord Jesus so prepare us, that at whatever hour he calls we may be ready, our lamps trimmed, and we ourselves as those who wait for the bridegroom. Adieu, my dear. May the Almighty preserve you from all evil.
OF what service, my dear love, can any thing I say be of to you? I have tried all means in my power to keep your mind more steady but in vain. If God has at any time so blessed my letters, that they have made any impression on you it has gone off in two or three days: and when you have had those great benefits indeed of conversing with living Christians, though for a time you have been raised and lively, yet you have soon sunk into your former sloth and carelessness. There must certainly be some hidden corruption in your heart, which causes this inconstancy. I often study you as I would a book, but you are in truth one of the most puzzling books I ever met with. I often rejoice to see in you (as I think) an increase of grace, and a decrease of that pride and selfishness, which under an appearance of humility you once had to a great degree. The last time you was with me, I thought you greatly advanced; and now you are fallen again into pride and selfishness. The Lord Jesus raise you up. Indeed, my dear soul, you grieve and wound me. You bring sorrow in my heart, and tears in my eyes: nay and sometimes your letters tempt me to impatience; but then I immediately recollect my own continual backslidings, and the long-suffering of God towards me, and can I be impatient with my friend? If your want of retirement is not owing to yourself, never lay your coldness upon that: for was your heart sincere, God would strengthen you at all times to look up to him. But if as you say, you trifled away your time, and indulged an unwillingness to prayer, no wonder God with-held that portion of his grace he would otherwise have given you. Depend upon it, whenever you find an unwillingness to pray, that of all times is the most proper for you to pray in; therefore never say on such an occasion, “I will go read some good book, or do some good work, which may perhaps bring my mind into a better frame for prayer.” No, do not so foolishly; but go, and prostrate yourself before God with all your unwillingness; and he will soon give you both the will and the power to praise him. Amen.