Dear James, I do not forget you. I hope you never will forget the love of Christ, who died and hath given himself for you. Does not the very thought of this make you even to weep? Do you not want some private place where to vent your heart? Away then, I will detain you no longer. Retire into the woods. Go look to him whom you have pierced, and with a godly sorrow mourn for your sins, as a woman for her first-*born. At the same time, forget not to sigh out a prayer in behalf of, dear James,
Your affectionate friend and servant, G. W.
LETTER CCCXXIX. To Thomas Webb, an Orphan.
On board the Mary and Ann, July 27, 1741.
Dear Thomas,
HOW inconsistent is the devil! How artfully does he strive to keep poor souls from Christ! Sometimes he labours to drive poor souls into despair; sometimes to presumption. These are the two rocks, against which he would fain have poor souls to make shipwreck of faith and a good conscience. I pray God to enable you to steer a middle course.—May you see your misery, and at the same time see your remedy in the cross and wounds of Jesus Christ. He calls to all weary heavy laden souls; consequently he calls you. Your coming to him, will be a proof of your election. The devils know nothing of God's decrees. If ever he should tempt you so again, say, "If I do perish, I will perish at the feet of Christ." He is willing to save, to save to the uttermost. He sees, he feels your anguish. He longs to rejoice over you. Venture therefore upon him. Thomas, be not faithless, but believing. Christ shall yet shew you his hands and his feet. He is the same now, as he was yesterday, full of love and condescension to self-condemned sinners. That you may experience the full power and efficacy of the Redeemer's blood, is the ardent prayer of, dear Thomas,
Your sincere friend,
G. W.
