_To the Reverend Mr. G――――._
_London, March 14, 1761_.
_My dear Sir_,
I HEAR that your little daughter is gone to heaven: a fine flower soon
cropped. I thought she was too fine to continue long in this bad soil.
She is now transplanted to an infinitely better. O that I may have
patience to wait till my wish’d-for change do come! Every day almost we
hear of persons dying in triumph. The awakening is rather greater than
ever. Satan’s artillery hath done but little execution.
Thoughts are vain against the LORD,
All subserves his standing word;
Wheels encircling wheels must run,
Each in course to bring it on.
Hallelujah!
I hope you prosper at _G――――_. My kindest respects await all your dear
reverend brethren that honour me with their countenance, your whole
self, and all who are so kind as to enquire after, my dear Sir,
Yours, &c. in our common LORD,
_G. W._
_P. S._ One Mr. _Berridge_, lately Moderator of _Cambridge_, hath been
preaching here with great flame.