_To Doctor W――――._
_London, Dec. 17, 1750._
_My dear Doctor_,
I Received your kind letter, and would have answered it much sooner,
had I not been prevented by sickness. For near a fortnight past, I
have been confined to my room; but through the divine blessing, am
now enabled to preached again. Praise the LORD, O my soul. My disorder
was a violent fever: JESUS hath rebuked it. I am raised up once more.
O may it be that I may minister unto him! For me to live is CHRIST. But
alas! how little do I live to his glory! Yesterday I entered upon my
seven-and-thirtieth year. I am ashamed to think I have lived so long,
and done so little, and yet every year, day, and hour of my life hath
been crowned with the divine goodness. O my dear friend, let this be
our motto, _Vivimus ut viviamus_. It is enough when we come to our last
moments, to have nothing to do, but to die. Blessed be GOD, that you
have courage given you to speak to the dying. A word spoken in such
a season how good is it? May the great physician take you under his
peculiar care, forgive you all your sins, and heal all your diseases!
I purpose writing to my friend _J―――― T――――_, and others, as I get
strength. At present, I must content myself with sending general, but
cordial salutations, and begging the continual interest of your prayers
in behalf of, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c.
_G. W._