Dear Sir, London, August 3, 1739.
I cannot leave London without answering your last letter. I am convinced that God calls me now to Georgia, and so are our friends. God's ways are like the great deep.—He will go a way by himself. Exitus acta probat. The prophecy you mention, I dare not apply to myself. What am I, that God should so delight to honour me? However, I believe the Lord will work a great work upon the earth. Whatever instruments he shall make use of in effecting it, I care not. If Christ be preached, if my dear Lord be glorified, I rejoice; yea, and will rejoice. I wish all the Lord's servants were prophets. Oh, dear Sir, my heart is now melted down with a sense of the divine love! Never was a greater instance of God's free grace in Christ. What am I, O Lord, that thou shouldest delight to honour me? Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy sight! Dear Sir, I could now write all day; but other business demands my attendance.—Yet a little while, and we shall sit down in the kingdom of God for ever. Dear Sir adieu. Oh give thanks, give thanks, and pray for
Your's most affectionately in Christ Jesus,
G. W.
LETTER LX.
Blendon, August 6, 1739.
AND would not dear Mr. stay for my last letter? What, is he retired into the country to learn how to forget his God? Is he got into favour with the polite world? Are not these sad symptoms, that my dearest Mr. is falling away a-pace? He runned into one extreme lately, and now satan is driving him into another. Did not I forwarn you of this? O my dear friend, my brother, return to your first love, otherwise you will find the spirit of God deserting you more and more every day. Nemo repente fuit turpissimus. But I can say no more.—Perhaps I am troublesome. However, give me leave to weep. Permit me to pray for you. Though you are now dead comparatively, yet, I trust, you will be
