She had indeed been advised by some of her relations to secure before marriage some part at least of what she had, to be at her own disposal; which, though perhaps not wholly free from some tincture of self-interest in the proposer, was not in itself the worst of counsel. But the worthiness of her mind, and the sense of the ground on which she received me, would not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me; and this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of gratitude as well as of justice, to regard and secure her; which I did.
I had not been long married before I was solicited by my dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and her daughter Guli, to take a journey into Kent and Sussex to account with their tenants and overlook their estates in those counties, which before I was married I had had the care of; and accordingly the journey I undertook, though in the depth of winter.
My travels into those parts were the more irksome to me from the solitariness I underwent, and want of suitable society. For my business lying among the tenants, who were a rustic sort of people of various persuasions and humours, but not Friends, I had little opportunity of conversing with Friends, though I contrived to be with them as much as I could, especially on the first day of the week.
But that which made my present journey more heavy to me was a sorrowful exercise which was newly fallen upon me from my father.
He had, upon my first acquainting him with my inclination to marry, and to whom, not only very much approved the match, and voluntarily offered, without my either asking or expecting, to give me a handsome portion at present, with assurance of an addition to it hereafter. And he not only made this offer to me in private, but came down from London into the country on purpose, to be better acquainted with my friend, and did there make the same proposal to her; offering also to give security to any friend or relation of hers for the performance. Which offer she most generously declined, leaving him as free as she found him. But after we were married, notwithstanding such his promise, he wholly declined the performance of it, under pretence of our not being married by the priest and liturgy. This usage and evil treatment of us thereupon was a great trouble to me; and when I endeavoured to soften him in the matter, he forbade my speaking to him of it any more, and removed his lodging that I might not find him.
The grief I conceived on this occasion was not for any disappointment to myself or to my wife, for neither she nor I had any strict or necessary dependence upon that promise; but my grief was for the cause assigned by him as the ground of it, which was that our marriage was not by priest or liturgy.
And surely hard would it have been for my spirit to have borne up under the weight of this exercise, had not the Lord been exceeding gracious to me, and supported me with the inflowings of his love and life, wherewith he visited my soul in my travail. The sense whereof raised in my heart a thankful remembrance of his manifold kindnesses in his former dealings with me; and in the evening, when I came to my inn, while supper was getting ready, I took my pen and put into words what had in the day revolved in my thoughts. And thus it was
A SONG OF PRAISE.
Thy love, dear Father, and thy tender care,
Have in my heart begot a strong desire
To celebrate Thy Name with praises rare,
That others too Thy goodness may admire,
And learn to yield to what Thou dost require.
Many have been the trials of my mind,
My exercises great, great my distress;
Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed,
My sorrows then my pen cannot express,
Nor could the best of men afford redress.
When thus beset to Thee I lift mine eye,
And with a mournful heart my moan did make;
How oft with eyes o’erflowing did I cry,
“My God, my God, oh do me not forsake!
Regard my tears! Some pity on me take!”
And to the glory of Thy holy name,
Eternal God, whom I both love and fear,
I hereby do declare I never came
Before Thy throne, and found Thee loth to hear,
But always ready, with an open ear.
And though sometimes Thou seem’st Thy face to hide,
As one that had withdrawn Thy love from me,
’Tis that my faith may to the full be tried,
And that I thereby may the better see
How weak I am when not upheld by Thee.
For underneath Thy holy arm I feel,
Encompassing with strength as with a wall,
That, if the enemy trip up my heel,
Thou ready art to save me from a fall:
To Thee belong thanksgivings over all.
And for Thy tender love, my God, my King,
My heart shall magnify Thee all my days,
My tongue of Thy renown shall daily sing,
My pen shall also grateful trophies raise,
As monuments to Thy eternal praise.
T. E.