_To Mr. S――――._
_Gloucester, November 17, 1753._
_My very dear Sir_,
IT is now just a week since I left _London_. I must not, I cannot go
any further without writing to him, who doth so much to strengthen my
hands in the LORD. And what shall I say? Truly the glorious _Emmanuel_
still continues to smile upon my feeble labours. Although I am in my
native country, yet he hath not left himself without witness. Last
Lord’s day was a high day, and since that, we have had some more
beautiful seasons in the country. I write this from a nineteen years
friend’s house, an Alderman of the city, who with his wife, are my
spiritual children. LORD, what am I? To-morrow I am to move, and expect,
besides riding, to preach thrice for some days.
CHRIST’s presence will my pains beguile,
And make me, though fatigu’d, to smile.
After visiting _Bristol_ and _Plymouth_, I purpose hastening to my
winter quarters. Winter quarters!――The word _winter_ almost shocks me.
Alas, winter come already, and I, ungrateful, ill and hell-deserving
I, have done so little for my GOD in the summer? How can I lift up my
guilty head? I blush and am confounded before thee, O LORD. Behold,
I am vile; O dig and dung round me, that I may bring forth more fruit
to thee my GOD! Still, my dear Sir, I must beg your prayers, and those
of your dear yoke-fellow, whom I love and honour, and whom (with your
dear little daughter) I salute much in the LORD. A sense of my own
unfruitfulness, and of GOD’s amazing condescension in employing such a
wretch, at present so over-powers me, that I am obliged to retire, to
give vent to my heart, after having subscribed myself, my very dear Sir,
Yours under innumerable obligations, in the best of bonds,
_G. W._