The only wise God be with you, and God, even your own God, bless you.
Yours, at all observance, in God,
S. R.
St. Andrews, June 1657.
[CCCXLVIII.—To my Lady Kenmure.]
(GOD'S DEALINGS WITH THE LAND.)
M ADAM,—I should not forget you; but my deadness under a threatening stroke, both of a falling church (a broken covenant, a despised remnant) and a craziness of body, that I cannot get a piece sickly clay carried about from one house or town to another, lieth most heavy on me. The Lord hath removed Scotland's crown, for we owned not His crown. We fretted at His catholic government of the world, and fretted that He would not be ruled and led by us, in breaking our adversaries: and He maketh us to suffer and pine away in our iniquities, under the broken government of His house. It is like, that it would be our snare to be tried with the honour of a peaceable Reformation: we might mar the carved work of His house, worse than those against whom we cry out. It is like, that He hath bidden us lie on our left side three hundred and ninety days; and yet so astonishing is our stupidity, that we moan not our sore side. Our gold is become dim, the visage of our Nazarites is become black, the sun is gone down on our seers; the crown is fallen from our heads; we roar like bears. Lord save us from that, "He that made them will not have mercy on them" (Isa. xxvii. 11). The heart of the scribe meditateth terror. Oh, Madam, if the Lord would help us to more self-judging, and to make sure an interest in Christ! Ah, we forget eternity, and it approaches quickly. Grace be with you.