(_SWEETNESS OF TRIAL--SWIFTNESS OF TIME--PREVALENCE OF SIN._)
DEAR BROTHER,--Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.--Your case is
unknown to me, whether ye be yet our Lord's prisoner at Wigtown, or
not. However it be, I know that our Lord Jesus hath been inquiring for
you; and that He hath honoured you to bear His chains, which is the
golden end of His cross; and so hath waled out a chosen and honourable
cross for you. I wish you much joy and comfort of it; for I have
nothing to say of Christ's cross but much good. I hope that my ill
word shall never meet either Christ or His sweet and easy cross. I
know that He seeketh of us an outcast with this house of clay, this
mother prison, this earth, that we love full well. And verily, when
Christ snuffeth my candle, and causeth my light to shine upward, it is
one of my greatest wonders, that dirt and clay hath so much court with
a soul not made of clay; and that our soul goeth out of kind so far as
to make an idol of this earth, such a deformed harlot, as that it
should wrong Christ of our love. How fast, how fast doth our ship
sail! and how fair a wind hath time, to blow us off these coasts and
this land of dying and perishing things! Alas! our ship saileth one
way, and fleeth many miles in one hour, to hasten us upon eternity,
and our love and hearts are sailing close backover and swimming
towards ease, lawless pleasure, vain honour, perishing riches; and to
build a fool's nest I know not where, and to lay our eggs within the
sea-mark, and fasten our bits of broken anchors upon the worst ground
in the world, this fleeting and perishing life! And in the meanwhile,
time and tide carry us upon another life, and there is daily less and
less oil in our lamps, and less and less sand in our watch-glass. Oh
what a wise course were it for us to look away from the false beauty
of our borrowed prison, and to mind, and eye, and lust for our
country! Lord, Lord, take us home!
And for myself: I think, if a poor, weak, dying sheep seek for an old
dyke, and the lee-side of an hill, in a storm, I have cause to long
for a covert from this storm, in heaven. I know none will take my room
over my head there. But, certainly sleepy bodies would be at rest and
a well-made bed, and an old crazed bark at a shore, and a wearied
traveller at home, and a breathless horse at the rink's end. I see
nothing in this life but sin, and the sour fruits of sin: and, oh,
what a burden is sin! And what a slavery and miserable bondage is it,
to be at the nod, and yeas and nays, of such a lord-master as a body
of sin! Truly, when I think of it, it is a wonder that Christ maketh
not fire and ashes of such a dry branch as I am. I would often lie
down under Christ's feet, and bid Him trample upon me, when I consider
my guiltiness. But seeing He hath sworn that sin shall not loose His
unchangeable covenant, I keep house-room amongst the rest of the
ill-learned bairns, and must cumber the Lord of the house with the
rest, till my Lord take the fetters off legs and arms, and destroy
this body of sin, and make a hole or breach in this cage of earth,
that the bird may fly out, and the imprisoned soul be at liberty. In
the meantime, the least intimation of Christ's love is sweet, and the
hope of marriage with the Bridegroom holdeth me in some joyful
on-waiting, that, when Christ's summer-birds shall sing upon the
branches of the Tree of Life, I shall be tuned by God Himself to help
them to sing the home-coming of our Well-beloved and His bride to
their house together. When I think of this, I think winters and
summers, and years and days, and time, do me a pleasure that they
shorten this untwisted and weak thread of my life, and that they put
sin and miseries by-hand, and that they shall carry me to my
Bridegroom in a clap.
Dear brother, pray for me, that it would please the Lord of the
vineyard to give me room to preach His righteousness again to the
great congregation.
Grace, grace be with you. Remember me to your wife.
Yours, in his sweet Lord Jesus,