_To Mr. S―――― S――――._
_Bethesda, January 11, 1770._
_Dear Sir_,
CAN I forget my dear, very dear old steady friend? rather let my right
hand forget her cunning. How are you? Still afflicted? still in pain?
still made to possess wearisome nights, and wearisome days? Well, all
will be over soon; soon, yea very soon shall we sing,
All our sorrows left below,
And earth exchang’d for heav’n.
This prospect gives songs in the night; this makes _Georgia_ and
_Bethesda_ to more than smile: and indeed you and yours would smile too,
were you to see what a lasting foundation is laying for the support and
education of many yet unborn. All admire the work already done. In a
few months the top-stone, I trust, will be brought forth, with shouting,
Grace! grace! In the mean while I must range northward. I know who
will follow me with their prayers; even you and yours, whom I dearly
love, and whom I salute much in the LORD. GOD bless you all, for all
kindnesses conferred upon, my very dear friends,
Less than the least of all,
_G. W._
If I thought you did not, or would not use your globes, I would beg
them for our infant library. The increase of this colony is almost
incredible. Real good, I trust, is doing; and a blessed door is opening
for Mr. _W――――_’s usefulness. Blessed be GOD! Blessed be GOD!