S. R.
Aberdeen.
[CXXV.—To the Lady Forret.]
[Lady Forret was, we suppose, a "saint in Cæsar's household;" for Lord Forret (originally Mr. David Balfour) was one of Lauderdale's friends, appointed to watch the outed ministers in Fife. See "Blair's Life," by Row.]
(SICKNESS A KINDNESS—CHRIST'S GLOOMS BETTER THAN THE WORLD'S JOYS.)
W ORTHY MISTRESS,—Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.—I long to hear from you. I hear Christ hath been that kind as to visit you with sickness, and to bring you to the door of the grave: but ye found the door shut (blessed be His glorious name!) whill ye be riper for eternity. He will have more service of you; and, therefore, He seeketh of you that henceforth ye be honest to your new husband, the Son of God. We have idol-love, and are whorishly inclined to love other things beside our Lord; and, therefore, our Lord hunteth for our love more ways than one or two. O that Christ had His own of us! I know He will not want you, and that is a sweet wilfulness in His love: and ye have as good cause, on the other part, to be headstrong and peremptory in your love to Christ, and not to part, nor divide your love betwixt Him and the world. If it were more, it is little enough, yea, too little for Christ.
I am now, every way, in good terms with Christ. He hath set a banished prisoner as a seal on His heart, and as a bracelet on His arm. That crabbed and black tree of the cross laugheth upon me now; the alarming noise of the cross is worse than itself. I love Christ's glooms better than the world's worm-eaten joys. Oh, if all the kingdom were as I am, except these bonds! My loss is gain; my sadness joyful; my bonds, liberty; my tears comfortable. This world is not worth a drink of cold water. Oh, but Christ's love casteth a great heat! Hell, and all the salt sea, and the rivers of the earth, cannot quench it.
I remember you to God; ye have the prayers of a prisoner of Christ. Grace, grace, be with you.