[CCLV.—To the Lady Carleton. [Letter XV.]
(SUBMISSION TO GOD'S WILL—WONDERS IN THE LOVE OF CHRIST—NO DEBT TO THE WORLD.)
M ISTRESS,—Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.—My soul longeth once again to be amongst you, and to behold that beauty of the Lord, that I would see in His house; but I know not if He, in whose hands are all our ways, seeth it expedient for His glory. I owe my Lord, I know, submission of the spirit, suppose He would turn me into a stone, or pillar of salt. Oh that I were he in whom my Lord could be glorified! suppose my little heaven were forfeited, to buy glory to Him before men and angels; suppose my want of His presence, and separation from Christ, were a pillar as high as ten heavens for Christ's glory to stand upon, above all the world. What am I to Him? How little am I (though my feathers stood out as broad as the morning light) to such a high, to such a lofty, to such a never-enough-admired and glorious Lord! My trials are heavy, because of my sad Sabbaths; but I know that they are less than my high provocations. I seek no more than that Christ may be the gainer, and I the loser; that He may be raised and heightened, and I cried down, and my worth made dust before His glory. Oh that Scotland, all with one shout, would cry up Christ, and that His name were high in the land! I find the very utmost borders of Christ's high excellency and deep sweetness, heaven and earth's wonder. Oh, what is He? If I could but win in to see His inner side! Oh, I am run dry of loving, and wondering, and adoring of that greatest and most admirable One! Wo, wo is me, I have not half love for Him! Alas, what can my drop do to His great sea! What gain is it to Christ, that I have casten my little sparkle into His great fire! What can I give to Him? Oh that I had love to fill a thousand worlds, that I might empty my soul of it all upon Christ! I think I have just reason to quit my part of any hope or love that I have to this scum (and the refuse of the dross of God's workmanship), this vain earth. I owe to this stormy world (whose kindness and heart to me have been made of iron, or a piece of wild sea-island that never a creature of God lodged in) not a look: I owe it no love, no hope; and, therefore, oh, if my love were dead to it, and my soul dead to it! What am I obliged to this house of my pilgrimage? A straw for all that God hath made, to my soul's liking, except God, and that lovely One, Jesus Christ! Seeing I am not this world's debtor, I desire that I may be stripped of all confidence in anything but my Lord, that He may be for me, and I for my only, only, only Lord! that He may be the morning and evening tide, the top and the root of my joys, and the heart and flower and yolk of all my soul's delights! Oh, let me never lodge any creature in my heart and confidence! Let the house be for Him. I rejoice, that sad days cut off a piece of the lease of my short life; and that my shadow, even while I suffer, weareth long, and my evening hasteneth on. I have cause to love home with all my heart, and to take the opportunity of the day to hasten to the end of my journey, before the night come on, wherein a man cannot see to walk or work; that once, after my falls, I may at night fall in, weary and tired as I am, into Christ's bosom, and betwixt His breasts. Our prison cannot be our best country. This world looketh not like heaven and the happiness that our tired souls would be at; and, therefore, it were good to seek about for the wind, and hoist up our sails towards our New Jerusalem, for that is our Christ. Remember a prisoner to Christ. Grace, grace be with you.
Yours, in his only Lord and Master,
S. R.
Aberdeen, 1637.