Madeley, July 3, 1819.
My dear Armstrong,
AS to myself, I can say but little: I seem to be more of a loitering
formalist than anything else. Many things which I began when I first
entered upon my charge here have gradually dwindled into the merest
nothings, and these have at length been given up. And most of those
which are still continued seem to have lost that interest and power with
which they were once accompanied. As to my own feelings and conduct in
the midst of all, they are my shame and constant humiliation. I am so
accustomed to see this gradual deterioration in many instances, that I
almost invariably expect it in all others, and this makes me less earnest
in prayer and less zealous in action. In all the coldness of apathy, I
seem anticipating nothing but eventual failure in everything; and then,
when nothing further is to be done here, I as coldly anticipate a removal
to some other scene, where similar efforts will be productive of similar
results. These, my dear A., have been my general feelings for some
months past. I have often paused to analyze my spirit and my conduct:
sometimes I have been ready to imagine that my indifference argued a
deadness to popularity and applause, and that while I was so content that
others should see that I was nothing, I was gaining some increase of
humility, and, of course, was making some little advancement in the
Divine life. But within these few days, I have been awakened from my
sleep of carnal security, and have been deeply humbled before my God on
account of it. I see that, instead of stemming the torrent, I have too
criminally suffered it to spread, till it has threatened ruin to all the
plain below. Instead of propping I have rather undermined the tottering
fabric, and thus aided the natural decay from time and seasons. Had
spirituality been cherished in my own soul—had patient self-denying
labours been uniformly pursued—had ardent believing prayer been
constantly offered—who can tell how much this tendency to deteriorate
might have been counteracted? Who can tell, rather, what increase of
prosperity might have now called forth my grateful praise? My motto,
therefore, has now become that of the cheerful, believing and animated
Apostle St. Paul. It is said of him, “He thanked God and took courage.”
Instead of dejectedly witnessing this natural process, and as
despondingly anticipating still more and more, I feel, through the grace
of my Saviour, enabled thankfully to adore him for all the good which yet
remains; and, with a measure of cheerful courage, to devote myself to my
future work. And I cannot tell you the sweet peace which has been
imparted to my distrusting mind, and the animated glow which has been
diffused through my cold and apathetical heart; but to think that this
blessed peace and love should have so long been strangers within my
breast, is cause of my humiliation before my compassionate Redeemer. May
my endeared friend never have similar cause of complaint!