- tered upon my seven-and-thirtieth year. I am ashamed to
think I have lived so long, and done so little, and yet every year, day, and hour of my life hath been crowned with the divine goodness. O my dear friend, let this be our motto,
Vivimus ut viviamus. It is enough when we come to our last moments, to have nothing to do, but to die. Blessed be God, that you have courage given you to speak to the dying. A word spoken in such a season how good is it? May the great physician take you under his peculiar care, forgive you all your sins, and heal all your diseases! I purpose writing to my friend J T, and others, as I get strength. At present, I must content myself with sending general, but cordial salutations, and begging the continual interest of your prayers in behalf of, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c. G. W.
LETTER DCCCLXXIII. To Mr. T.
London, Dec. 21, 1750.
I Have been lately near the gates of death, which has hindered my answering your kind letter as soon as I proposed. Accept a few, though loving lines now. I hope they will find you entered upon your trials, and longing to preach the gospel, which you have felt to be the power of God to the salvation of your soul. Every line of your letter seemed to have this call in it, "Rise, Tr, rise,—the harvest is great; the labourers are few: pray the Lord of the harvest to send thee, and many more like-minded, into the harvest." I cannot write much at present. Inclosed you have a few extracts. That from Lady Hn, came last week when she was dangerously ill. May the Lord continue her useful life! I am now entering upon my seven-and-thirtieth year. O that I may begin to live to him, who hath lived and died for me! I shall be glad to know your friend's answer about Georgia. If the Lord raises up a solid, heavenly-minded, learned young man for a tutor, I shall be glad. Nothing, I believe, but sickness or death, will prevent my going over next year. Methinks the winter is long; I want to take the field
