LETTER DCCCCXXXVII.
To Mr. S.
My dear Friend, London, Nov. 11, 1752.
THROUGH the good providence of an ever-lovely, ever-loving Redeemer, I came safe hither last night. My Sunday's work, sickness, the change of weather, and affecting parting from friends, so enfeebled this tottering tabernacle, that I was in hopes on the road the imprisoned soul would have been set at liberty, and fled to those blissful regions,
Where pain, and sin, and sorrow cease,
And all is calm and joy and peace.
At Northampton I took coach, and am now, blessed be God, arrived at my Winter quarters. My poor wife I found an invalid. Our Lord can restore her, for he came to heal our sicknesses, and bear our infirmities. I hope this will meet my dear friend and his wife leaning on this all-sufficient, never-failing Emmanuel. I have remembered you ever since my departure, and now, with groanings that cannot be uttered, pray that your souls, and the souls of all the dear people around you, may prosper and increase with all the increase of God. O, my dear friend, what manner of love is this, that we should be called the sons of God! Excuse me. I must pause a while.—My eyes gush out with water. At present they are almost fountains of tears. But thanks be to God, they are tears of love. O what shall I do for Him who hath loved and given himself for ill and hell-deserving, ungrateful, unfruitful me! Add to my obligations by praying for me! My unfeigned love to Mr. L. If I can, he shall soon hear from me. With the box for Mr. G, I shall send a few pictures, which you may present to Mr. and Mrs. N, as you think best. O that the blessed and divine image of the adorable Jesus may be stamped in most lively colours on all our hearts! It will, it will. Jesus is the author, and he is also the finisher of our faith. Let us not be faithless but believing. Let us not trust in ourselves, but in him who hath promised never to leave nor forsake us. I can no more.
