(_SUBMISSION TO GOD'S WILL--WONDERS IN THE LOVE OF CHRIST--NO DEBT TO
THE WORLD._)
MISTRESS,--Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.--My soul longeth once
again to be amongst you, and to behold that beauty of the Lord, that I
would see in His house; but I know not if He, in whose hands are all
our ways, seeth it expedient for His glory. I owe my Lord, I know,
submission of the spirit, suppose He would turn me into a stone, or
pillar of salt. Oh that I were he in whom my Lord could be glorified!
suppose my little heaven were forfeited, to buy glory to Him before
men and angels; suppose my want of His presence, and separation from
Christ, were a pillar as high as ten heavens for Christ's glory to
stand upon, above all the world. What am I to Him? How little am I
(though my feathers stood out as broad as the morning light) to such a
high, to such a lofty, to such a never-enough-admired and glorious
Lord! My trials are heavy, because of my sad Sabbaths; but I know that
they are less than my high provocations. I seek no more than that
Christ may be the gainer, and I the loser; that He may be raised and
heightened, and I cried down, and my worth made dust before His glory.
Oh that Scotland, all with one shout, would cry up Christ, and that
His name were high in the land! I find the very utmost borders of
Christ's high excellency and deep sweetness, heaven and earth's
wonder. Oh, what is He? If I could but win in to see His inner side!
Oh, I am run dry of loving, and wondering, and adoring of that
greatest and most admirable One! Wo, wo is me, I have not half love
for Him! Alas, what can my drop do to His great sea! What gain is it
to Christ, that I have casten my little sparkle into His great fire!
What can I give to Him? Oh that I had love to fill a thousand worlds,
that I might empty my soul of it all upon Christ! I think I have just
reason to quit my part of any hope or love that I have to this scum
(and the refuse of the dross of God's workmanship), this vain earth. I
owe to this stormy world (whose kindness and heart to me have been
made of iron, or a piece of wild sea-island that never a creature of
God lodged in) not a look: I owe it no love, no hope; and, therefore,
oh, if my love were dead to it, and my soul dead to it! What am I
obliged to this house of my pilgrimage? A straw for all that God hath
made, to my soul's liking, except God, and that lovely One, Jesus
Christ! Seeing I am not this world's debtor, I desire that I may be
stripped of all confidence in anything but my Lord, that He may be for
me, and I for my only, only, only Lord! that He may be the morning and
evening tide, the top and the root of my joys, and the heart and
flower and yolk of all my soul's delights! Oh, let me never lodge any
creature in my heart and confidence! Let the house be for Him. I
rejoice, that sad days cut off a piece of the lease of my short life;
and that my shadow, even while I suffer, weareth long, and my evening
hasteneth on. I have cause to love home with all my heart, and to take
the opportunity of the day to hasten to the end of my journey, before
the night come on, wherein a man cannot see to walk or work; that
once, after my falls, I may at night fall in, weary and tired as I am,
into Christ's bosom, and betwixt His breasts. Our prison cannot be our
best country. This world looketh not like heaven and the happiness
that our tired souls would be at; and, therefore, it were good to seek
about for the wind, and hoist up our sails towards our New Jerusalem,
for that is our Christ. Remember a prisoner to Christ. Grace, grace be
with you.
Yours, in his only Lord and Master,