Part 17

*What a task have you laid upon me? I watch over you! I your guide! This quite overcomes me. I cannot bear it. Oh, my love, there is no one so much wants a guide and a director as I do. Sure this letter of your’s was particularly designed by providence to humble me; but unworthy as I am, I will by the grace of God strive to do every thing you desire of me: but then you must return the same to me, and take me into the number of those you watch over. Let us go hand in hand in these paths which lead to everlasting life. What shall I say to quicken your steps? It was said to me since I saw you, by Mr. **** “I hope still to have a great deal more pleasure from you, by seeing you _press forward_.” Think these words were addressed to you by the same person. Oh what a blessing of God accompanies the words of one who is uniformly a Christian, of one who spends and is spent for the service of his master, of one who has no view but the glory of God and the salvation of souls! Who would not strive earnestly to follow so bright an example? The very sight of such a person animates the soul in its warfare. O what soul, which is the least alive to God, would not even _agonize_ to be perfectly renewed after the image of Christ? Is your heart, is my heart so dead, that this will not affect it?――Alas, I grieve for mine own――may God give me to rejoice for your’s.

I have time for no more. May the blessing and influence of the ever-adorable Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be continually with your soul.

_I am your ever-affectionate_, &c.

* * * * *

_My dear Friend_,

I THINK you are now through divine grace, strong enough to bear what I am going to say to you, that I have long seen a mixture of pride and vanity even in the best of your performances. But I could hardly allow myself to believe it. What! have I often said, shall I judge so of her, whom every body admires for her surprising modesty and humility? Is it not because she is more excellent than myself, and therefore I am seeking to find some fault in her? Then I have often prayed to God, not to suffer my soul to be deceived by any sinister views, and to perfect in you what was wanting. And this I trust he will do for us both, if we keep the longing eye of our souls steadily fixed upon him. Oh for holiness of heart! Let us labour, my dear companion, for holiness, as a dying sinner labours for life.

I had yesterday a most delightful letter from Mr. ****. It sent me to my knees so convinced of my black ingratitude to my heavenly Father, that I could neither find words nor thoughts sufficient to express my unworthiness; yet at the same time my heart was full of thanksgiving, under a sense of his unbounded mercies. O help me, my dear friend, to be more and more thankful! Such advantages――dearest Jesus, how justly great must be my condemnation, if I do not make suitable improvements. Take the latter part of Mr. ****’s letter, apply it to yourself constantly, every minute if possible. “You have need therefore to watch and pray always, and then especially when you might seem to have least need. You have reason to fear always: for your enemies are always watching. But you have reason likewise to rejoice always, because he that keepeth you never sleeps.”

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_My dear Friend_,

I HAVE read your letter with tears, and earnest prayers to God for you, and for myself. We are both unworthy creatures; indeed, my love, we are _more_ unworthy than we can either express or conceive. O let us fly to the blood of sprinkling. There and there alone can we find help.

Thanks be to God, that you have a clear view of your own heart. This is a most profitable prospect, though a most dreadful one. Think me not cruel, when I wish that the holy Spirit may _deeply_ wound your soul with a sense of its corruptions. The deeper the conviction, the firmer the peace that follows.

*I hardly know how to believe you, when you tell me you are hurried away by desires after worldly happiness. Is it possible? Alas, my friend, pardon the harshness of the expression, if the love of the world is in your heart, you are only a _painted sepulchre_, beautiful indeed outwardly, but within――――. My dear creature, I cannot bear to think this――a Christian to be hurried away with desires and endeavours after worldly happiness! If St. _Paul_’s character of a Christian is right, how far are you from being a Christian? “Ye are dead,” says he, “and your life is hid with Christ in God.”

May not these violent ragings of pride, vanity, &c. you speak of, be some of the last struggles of a dying enemy? When the strong man armed keepeth his house, his goods are in peace. But when there is a stronger comes upon him to overcome him, and to take from him that armour in which he trusted, no wonder the house is in a tumult. And this I hope is your present case. But beware, my dear soul, of thinking, that you never should be otherwise. Limit not the grace of God. He has only to say, _Peace, be still_, and immediately the winds and seas obey him. “But how to obtain this peace?” Oh my dear friend, will you follow the advice of the meanest and most unworthy of the servants of Christ? Look upon yourself as being only _now_ fully convinced of your guilt and dreadful condition. Look upon yourself as a _poor, lost, helpless, miserable creature_. Set before your eyes your sins, with all their aggravations; and when your soul is weighed down to the dust under a sense of your own vileness, then throw yourself at the foot of the cross: there lie as a loathsome leper before the almighty healer: there let your parched soul _gasp_ (with the utmost stretch of all your faculties) after those life-giving streams which flowed from Christ’s hands, his feet, his pierced side; and there keep the eye of your mind fixed, until the still small voice be heard in your soul――“Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee.”

* * * * *

I WAS in hopes, my dear, that I had cause to think you had gained ground; but if I was mistaken, am very sorry. God forbid however that you should have gone back: I must not for my own ease believe that. *The reason for your not finding so much comfort as usual flowing from the cross, is because you lay yourself too much out upon _outward_ things. I doubt not but your own will is indeed very powerful, and it will ever be so, while you indulge yourself in castle-building. Let your schemes be ever so good, they are (unless God had given you the means and power to perform them) merely the creatures of your own will; and I don’t know any thing that self-will more delights in, than in these imaginary good projects. Believe me, my dear soul, I speak from experience. There is nothing more encourages self-will, pride, and every temper we ought to subdue, than these schemes. For God’s sake strive to get the better of this folly. I know your temper is naturally inclined to it, and therefore you ought to be more particularly watchful. Cannot you, my love, keep your thoughts fixed on the present moment, in a constant dependance on the leadings of the Spirit of God, and only wishing that every succeeding moment may bring a new accession of grace to your soul, without fixing on the particular means, by which you would have it come? When the will is in this total resignation to God, it brings a peace to the soul, which cannot be described.

I don’t like your going to _Vauxhall_, I think you ought to try every possible means, to get off. Suppose you were to be sincere, and own it was against your conscience. Pray God direct you what to do. If you are really _forced_ to go, God will preserve your heart from the pollutions of the place. If this is the case, I think you will be in less danger of being hurt there, than in your visit to Mrs. ****: for in this visit you will lie exposed to the worst enemy you have, that is, _yourself_. With those good people, whom you love and admire, and who love and admire you, you will without the most constant watchfulness, be continually falling into self-seeking and self-applause.

I fear, my love, you will soon think me too plain in my speaking; but I cannot answer it to my conscience, since what has past between us, not to warn you of every thing which seems to me to prevent your progress in grace. Don’t imagine though, that I wish you would not make this visit to Mrs. ****; quite the contrary; but I wish you to keep the most constant guard upon your own heart, that what should be for your health, be not unto you an occasion of falling.

_I am your ever sincere and affectionate_, &c.

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*I THANK God, that you now see the danger of wandring imaginations in a clearer light; but I cannot guess what schemes a heart like yours (which I should hope was desirous of nothing but what immediately tended to increase in it the love ♦of God) can pursue, which are not for what we call doing good. Depend upon it, my dear, if you can by an act of your will waste a thought on any future view of happiness, that regards only your situation in this world, you are yet far from the kingdom of God. To a soul, that has but the _lowest_ sense of the pardoning love of God, every thing that does not lead to a greater sense of this love is insipid. Outward things, according to the present circumstances we are in, ought to be attended to with prudence, though not with anxiousness; but that soul which runs out after them in _future_, ought to _tremble_. My dear creature, are we not every moment on the brink of eternity, and may plunge in the next, for ought we know? What then have we to do, but every moment to grasp after new degrees of grace, new power over sin, a still higher sense of the love of God shed abroad in our hearts? “Without holiness no man shall see the Lord”――Alas! what is a life of sixty or seventy years (supposing we could be certain of so many) to attain universal holiness? And shall we lose a moment? Outwardly we must a great many: but still our hearts may be gaining ground in the steady pursuit of that end, for which we were created, and to which we have such glorious encouragements. What! shall Christ cry out to us in vain, “Give me thy heart?” Or shall we dare to divide that heart, which cost him so dear? O my friend, be jealous for your redeeming God. Suffer not that soul, for which he shed his precious blood, to stray one moment from him.

♦ missing word “of” inserted

I am sorry you found pleasure at _Vauxhall_. I could not have believed it, had you not told me so yourself. I see, my love, I have thought far too highly of you. What a frightful distance is there still between you, and a Christian! Could any one who had the mind which was in Christ have felt pleasure, where they saw God dishonoured, and their fellow-creatures running headlong to destruction? You had reason indeed to be ashamed, and thank God that you was so. The curiosity in regard to the astronomical instruments might distract your mind for a longer time, but your taking delight in these did not shew such an excessive depravity of heart, as the other: for astronomy is only _accidentally_ made a means of dishonouring God, and hurting the souls of men; but _Vauxhall_ is _necessarily_ so.

_I am your ever affectionate_, &c.

* * * * *

*I WRITE, my love, to you to thank you for the pleasure you gave me last Thursday, and still to urge you more and more continually to press forwards. Young as you are, you may perhaps be very near the end of your course, and the time given you to work in _may_, for ought you know, be very nearly elapsed. That form of yours, which now delights the eyes of your friend, and seems to promise a long continuance of health and vigour, may soon perhaps become defaced and loathsome meat for crawlings worms, and that soul, that precious and immortal soul of yours, which is now far from loving its Creator as it ought to do, may soon stand naked in the sight of that God, to whom it has been ungrateful――its day of probation past――and its lot cast for a whole eternity. Oh my friend, my dearest companion in my pilgrimage, I conjure you by all your heart holds dear, that you lose not a moment! Oh may that God, who is love itself, so inflame your soul with a sense of his love, as may consume all its dross, and make it through Christ an acceptable sacrifice to himself! I think the last time I saw you I had the satisfaction of observing less of _self-seeking_ in you, than I ever did before. Sure God will give me greatly to rejoice in you. Farewel. Whenever, my love, I think too well of you, fail not to tell me, and take shame to yourself for deceiving me.

_I am your’s_, &c.

* * * * *

_My dear Friend_,

I THANK you for your letters, and rejoice at a great part of the account you give me. You have been very happy indeed; and it seems to me that God gave you this happiness as preparatory to the trials, which were to ensue. And if you should after this goodness of God towards you, grieve his holy Spirit, by suffering your heart to indulge any temper, which you know to be contrary to his will, what words would be strong enough to paint your black ingratitude? I will deal plainly with you. I think you are now in a most dangerous situation. Every thing around you will conspire to tempt you to the sin which most easily besets you, and therefore you must not be _one moment_ off your guard. You must pray without ceasing, even in the fullest sense of the words and constantly strive to have strongly painted in your imagination _Jesus Christ_, and him _crucified_. There is nothing I think more tends to humble us, than the consideration of the sufferings of Christ. When you find yourself going to say or do any thing with a view to praise, think, this temper, this vanity of mine added to the weight of my Saviour’s sufferings, and made more _bitter_ his cup of _bitterness_. Oh, if you had a soul capable of feeling, if you have one spark of gratitude, can you think this, and sin? Was you now standing on _Mount Calvary_ near the cross of the blessed Jesus (suppose the dreadful deed was but now performing) and you saw the Redeemer of the world just nailed to his cross, say, would you help to drive the nails still deeper? Would you press the thorns closer to his sacred temples? Would you help to increase that load, which made him cry out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Does not your soul shudder at the thought? O my friend would you not rather die, gladly die, for this your suffering Lord? Would you not gladly be cut in ten thousand pieces to save him one pang? I know you would. And will you not strive against that sin, which increased his sufferings? Will you not strive, my love?――Yes, sure you will. Is not every thing we can give up by far too small a return for what the Redeemer has done for us? And shall we not give this little? Above all shall we not give up what most of all separates us from him, our _self-love_, and _self-seeking_? Think my friend when any one is hinting to you, how extraordinary you are――“this person is ignorantly driving me from my Saviour.” And if you should, which God forbid, find yourself tempted to indulge a vain complacency in their applause, think immediately how their praise would be turned into contempt, did they know your heart as it really is, and blush for thus deceiving them. Recollect some of the mean motives which perhaps have been the springs of some of your most admired words and actions, and let your soul within you be humbled to the dust. And my dear, I beg you will be careful how you draw praise upon yourself by praising others. This is what I am very apt to fall into; and therefore I am the more sensible of its hurtfulness. And beware how you suffer yourself to attempt explaining nice points of doctrine, unless it is evident there will be good done by it, and then you may hope God will preserve you from the pride, which generally accompanies this display of the capacity. May you constantly walk in the light of God’s countenance, and go on conquering, and to conquer!

* * * * *

I AM glad, my dear friend, that your visit to **** has been of such benefit to you; and I pray God to continue it to your soul, and not to suffer these impressions to wear off. Temptations doubtless will attend every situation we are in; but the soul that rests secure in the love of God will easily conquer them. I wish you may find more and more benefit from the church prayers: they are for human compositions very excellent, and I belief the best form of prayers that ever was put together. I cannot reproach you for that which God has pardoned, but you certainly ought now to be more watchful, that you fall not again; for then great indeed would be your condemnation. The danger which may accrue to you by going to Miss **** will I find be known to you by experience only. She is certainly a good creature herself, and I love her, but there is a spirit ♦haunts her absolutely contrary to the spirit I am seeking after. She is not capable, my dear, of watching your words with any ill design. Her only view is to find out your errors. And if possible cure you of them. I doubt not but if you could converse with her alone, and keep clear of disputes, she might be of great use to you, and I hope God will bless this and every other means to the good of your soul. The most excellent people in the world will be of little avail, unless his Spirit assists, and with this there is nothing so weak or mean, but what may tend to increase his love in our hearts. *For my own part, silence and solitude seem at present best for me, and I am more hurt by some religious people, whom I converse with, than by the people of the world. Indeed there is scarce any, who does not in some measure hurt me, except Mr. ****. Numberless are the snares that lie in our way to the heavenly kingdom. ’Tis truly a warfare, and a very difficult one, but the crown that awaits us at the end, is well worth the striving for, even unto blood. Besides the encouragements and comforts we find in the way are glorious: sure I am that _Alexander_ never found such joy in all his conquests, as the soul that presses after the footsteps of Christ does in one conquest over self-will. There is more delight in suffering for God, than in reigning with the world. To clasp the cross of Christ close to the heart is more happiness than angels can give; and what inexpressible satisfaction is it to a soul, whose every faculty loves its Redeemer, to cry out,

Give me to feel thine agonies, One drop of thy sad cup afford; I fain with thee would sympathize, And share the sufferings of my Lord.

♦ “haunts” replaced with “haunts her” per Errata

*Oh God of unspeakable mercy, unbounded love, how little is all we can do or suffer for thee! Oh that we might not have a thought, nor even a pulse beat, but for our God! What is all that earth or heaven itself can give in comparison of thee? Oh uncreated beauty, how does every other excellence fade away at thy presence! How does a taste of thy love make every other love insipid! And a ray of thy light darken the brightest of created Beings! Oh when, when shall our souls be wholly swallowed up in thee! When shall we know thee even also as we are known! Thou knowest the desire of our hearts. Thou seest how our souls stretch, and pant after thee, even to fainting! Oh give us to drink of the waters of life, even in this our pilgrimage, until we come to drink freely of them from that river, which proceedeth out of the throne of God, and of the Lamb for ever and ever. _Amen_, Lord Jesus.

* * * * *

_My beloved friend_,

I HAVE been admiring the goodness of God to you, in ordering your being at _L****_ at a time, when it must, instead of being hurtful, be profitable to your soul. The attending the sick bed of a dear relation in danger of death, is a most glorious time for exercising a number of Christian graces. Such a scene as this keeps the mind in a most proper temper, humble, recollected, serious; and in your particular circumstances, this illness of **** has freed you from most of the snares you apprehended. How does every thing work together for good to those who love God! And how ungrateful is that heart, which does not strive more and more to love him in deed and in truth! What, my love, are the inward temptations you complain of, and what are those unaccountable scruples? The best thing you can do is not to argue about them in your own mind, but immediately fly to prayer; and if you cannot pray, only wish earnestly to pray. *’Tis right, that you should think yourself the vilest creature breathing, and I am every day more and more convinced, that every soul which really loves God must necessarily in its own particular think the same: and in whatever proportion the love of God increases in the soul, in the same proportion will the sense of its own vileness and helplessness increase, till at last it is in a manner annihilated before God. This is a point which the wisdom of the world cannot understand, and which no scheme of doctrine can teach the heart; but when we truly know Jesus Christ crucified, then we can truly cry out, What! _to me_ such love? to the vilest and most ungrateful of all creatures? O whence such love to me?