_To Mr. W――――y._
_Huthersfield, October 6, 1767._
_My dear Mr. W――――y_,
HOW is death scattering his arrows all around us! even into our
houses. Perhaps, ere now, your dear yoke-fellow, as well as dear Mr.
_Langworthy_, and Mr. _Wright_’s mother, are laid in the silent grave.
Surely, the call to us is loud, yea very loud. Its language is quite
articulate. “Watch and pray, for ye know not at what day or hour the
Son of man cometh.” What is this world? nothing, less than nothing.
What is the other world? An eternity; an eternity of endless misery or
endless bliss. LORD JESUS, quicken our, at least my tardy pace! I see
more and more, that we have no time to trifle, to be light, foolish, or
worldly minded. A fever, a burning fever may come with a commission to
burn up our bodies. It spares neither Duke nor Prince. Happy they, whom
it finds burned up with the fever of divine love. That living and dying,
this may be your happy lot and frame, is the hearty prayer of, dear Mr.
_W――――y_,
Your real friend and servant in the glorious JESUS,
_G. W._