LETTER MXLI.
To Mr. ——.
Lisbon, April 12, 1755.
My dear Friend,
AFTER the news already sent you, I thought our Lisbon correspondence would entirely have been put a stop to; for upon returning to my lodgings, (as weary I believe as others that had been running from church to church all day) word was sent me, that our ship would certainly sail the next morning. This news, I own, was not altogether agreeable to me, because I wanted to see the conclusion of the Lent solemnities. However, I made ready; and having dispatched my private affairs the over-night, was conducted very early in the morning, by my kind host, down to Bellem, where the ship lay. We parted. The wind promised to be fair; but dying away, I very eagerly went ashore once more. But how was the scene changed! Before, all used to be noise and hurry;—now, all was hushed and shut up in the most awful and profound silence. No clock or bell had been heard since yesterday noon, and scarce a person was to be seen in the street all the way to Lisbon. About two in the afternoon we got to the place, where (I had heard some days ago) an extraordinary scene was to be exhibited. Can you guess what it was?—Perhaps not. Why then I will tell you. “It was the crucifixion of the Son of God, represented partly by dumb images, and partly by living persons, in a large church belonging to the convent of St. De Beato.” Several thousands crouded into it; some of whom, as I was told, had been waiting there from even six in the morning.—Through the kind interposition and assistance of a protestant or two, I was not only admitted into the church, but was very commodiously situated to view the whole performance. We had not waited long before the curtain was drawn up. Immediately, upon a high scaffold hung in the front with black bays, and behind with silk purple damask laced with gold, was exhibited to our view an image of the Lord Jesus at full length, crowned with thorns, and nailed on a cross between two figures of like dimensions, representing the two thieves. At a little distance on the right hand, was placed an image of the virgin Mary, in plain long ruffles, and a kind of widow-weeds. Her veil was purple silk, and she had a wire glory round her head.—At the foot of the cross lay, in a mournful pensive posture, a living man, dressed in woman’s cloaths, who personated Mary Magdalen; and not far off stood a young man, in imitation of the beloved disciple.—He was dressed in a loose green silk vesture, and bob-wig.—His eyes were fixed on the cross, and his two hands a little extended. On each side, near the front of the stage, stood two centinels in buff, with formidable caps and long beards; and directly in the front stood another yet more formidable, with a large target in his hand. We may suppose him to be the Roman centurion. To compleat the scene, from behind the purple hangings came out about twenty little purple-vested winged boys, two by two, each bearing a lighted wax-taper in his hand, and a crimson and gold cap on his head.—At their entrance upon the stage, they gently bowed their heads to the spectators, then kneeled and made obeisance, first to the image on the cross, and then to that of the virgin Mary.—When risen, they bowed to each other, and then took their respective places over-against one another, on steps assigned for them at the front of the stage. Opposite to this, at a few yards distance, stood a black friar in a pulpit hung in mourning. For a while he paused, and then, breaking silence, gradually lifted up his voice ’till it was extended to a pretty high pitch, though I think scarce high enough for so large an auditory. After he had proceeded in his discourse about a quarter of an hour, a confused noise was heard near the front great door; upon turning my head, I saw four long-bearded men, two of which carried a ladder on their shoulders, and after them followed two more with large gilt dishes in their hands, full of linen, spices, &c. These (as I imagined) were the representatives of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. On a signal given from the pulpit, they advanced towards the steps of the scaffold. But upon their very first attempting to mount it, at the watchful centurion’s nod, the observant soldiers made a pass at them, and presented the points of their javelins directly to their breasts. They are repulsed. Upon this a letter from Pilate is produced. The centurion reads it, shakes his head, and with looks that bespoke a forced compliance, beckons to the centinels to withdraw their arms. Leave being thus obtained, they ascend; and having paid their homage, by kneeling first to the image on the cross, and then to the virgin Mary, they retired to the back of the stage. Still the preacher continued declaiming, or rather (as was said) explaining the mournful scene. Magdalen persists in wringing her hands, and variously expressing her personated sorrow; whilst John (seemingly regardless of all besides) stood gazing on the crucified figure. By this time it was near three o’clock, and therefore proper for the scene to begin to close. The ladders are ascended, the superscription and crown of thorns taken off, long white rollers put round the arms of the image, and then the nails knocked out which fastened the hands and feet. Here Mary Magdalen looks most languishing, and John, if possible, stands more thunder-struck than before.—The orator lifts up his voice, and almost all the hearers expressed concern by weeping, beating their breasts, and smiting their cheeks.—At length the body is gently let down. Magdalen eyes it, and, gradually rising, receives the feet into her wide-spread handkerchief; whilst John (who hitherto stood motionless like a statue) as the body came nearer the ground, with an eagerness that bespoke the intense affection of a sympathizing friend, runs towards the cross, seizes the upper part of it into his clasping arms, and, with his disguised fellow-mourner, helps to bear it away. And here the play should end, was I not afraid you would be angry with me, if I did not give you an account of the last act, by telling you what became of the corpse after it was taken down. Great preparations were made for its interment. It was wrapped in linen and spices, &c. and being laid upon a bier richly hung, was afterwards carried round the church-yard in grand procession. The image of the virgin Mary was chief mourner, and John and Magdalen, with a whole troop of friars with wax-tapers in their hands, followed after. Determined to see the whole, I waited its return, and in about a quarter of an hour the corps was brought in, and deposited in an open sepulchre prepared for the purpose; but not before a priest, accompanied by several of the same order in splendid vestments, had perfumed it with incense, sung to and kneeled before it. John and Magdalen attended the obsequies; but the image of the virgin Mary was carried away and placed upon the front of the stage, in order to be kissed, adored, and worshipped by the people.—This I saw them do with the utmost eagerness and reverence. And thus ended this Good Friday’s tragi-comical, superstitious, idolatrous farce. A farce, which whilst I saw, as well as now whilst I am describing it, excited in me an high indignation.—Surely, thought I, whilst attending on such a scene of mock devotion, if ever, now is the dear Lord Jesus crucified afresh; and I could then, and even now, think of no other plea for the poor beguiled devotees, than that which suffering innocence put up himself for his enemies, when actually hanging upon the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” There was but one thing wanting to raise one’s resentment to the highest pitch, and that was, for one of the soldiers to have pierced the side of the image upon the cross. This in all probability you have heard hath actually been done in other places, and with a little more art, might, I think, have been performed here. Doubtless it would have afforded the preacher as good, if not a better opportunity of working upon the passions of his auditory, than the taking down the superscription and crown of thorns, and wiping the head with a blooded cloth, and afterwards exposing it to the view of the people; all which I saw done before the body was let down.—But alas! my dear friend, how mean is that eloquence, and how entirely destitute of the demonstration of the spirit, and of a divine power, must that oratory necessarily be, that stands in need of such a train of superstitious pageantry to render it impressive!—Think you, my dear friend, that the apostle Paul used or needed any such artifices to excite the passions of the people of Galatia, amongst whom, as he himself informs us, “Jesus Christ was crucified, and evidently set forth?”—But thus it is, and thus it will be, when simplicity and spirituality are banished from our religious offices, and artifice and idolatry seated in their room.—I am well aware that the Romanists deny the charge of idolatry; but after having seen what I have seen this day, as well as at sundry other times since my arrival here, I cannot help thinking but a person must be capable of making more than metaphysical distinctions, and deal in very abstract ideas indeed, fairly to evade the charge.—If weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, I am positive the scale must turn on the protestant side.—But such a balance these poor people are not permitted to make use of! Doth not your heart bleed for them? Mine doth I am sure, and I believe would do so more and more, was I to stay longer, and see what they call their Hallelujah, and grand devotions on Easter-day.—But that scene is denied me.—The wind is fair, and I must away.—Follow me with your prayers, and believe me to be, my dear friend,
Yours most affectionately, in our common Redeemer,
G. W.
LETTER MXLII.
To Mrs. D——.
On board the Success, May 10, 1754.
My dear sister in Christ,
IT really hath given me much concern since I have been on the mighty waters, that it was not in my power to write to you more frequently when on shore. I therefore send you a few lines from the great deep, which I hope will find you magnifying the Lord, and rejoicing in God your Saviour. For his great name’s sake, I am once more going to Georgia, and after a short tour through some parts of America, I hope to see my native country, and begin to begin to ramble after poor sinners again. In our way we touched at Lisbon, which I hope hath been blessed to me, so far as to make me prize protestant liberty and simplicity more than ever. Fain would I be one of Christ’s bees, and learn to extract honey from every flower. But alas! I am a drone, and deserve to be stung out of God’s hive. But he is gracious and long suffering. O eternity! How do I long to praise my God there! We are within a few hundred miles of our earthly, but when I shall arrive at my heavenly port God only knows. Strange! that I should be kept out at sea so long. I am now near forty. Father, thy will be done! Only vouchsafe to employ me, and then——I can no more. The Redeemer is pleased to fill my soul. Help me to cry Grace! Grace! and believe me to be,
Your most assured friend, and ready servant, for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MXLIII.
To Mrs. S——.
On board the Success, May 12, 1754.
Dear Mrs. S——,
I FULLY purposed to have written to you from Lisbon, but was so taken up in seeing the ecclesiastical curiosities of the place, and was so suddenly called away, that rendered it impracticable.—However, that I may not be disappointed again, I sit down to write you a few lines, though about eight hundred miles off shore. May they find you as to spirituals, in the same situation as is our ship in a natural respect, gently, sweetly gliding towards your heavenly harbour, under a pleasant gale of divine influence. Or,
If rough and stormy be your way,
Fear not——Only to Jesus cry, and say,
Be strength proportion’d to my day.
You will find him a kind and faithful Saviour. Whom he loves, he loves to the end. He hath already delivered you out of the paw of the bear and of the lion, and he will also deliver out of the hand of every remaining Goliah. Courage, then, my dear Mrs. S——, courage. The crown is before you, and ere long Jesus will put it on your head. I hope all your houshold, as well as yourself, have this in full view. It glitters, though at this distance. O how bright and radiant! Purchased at how dear a rate! It is worth striving for. The Lord help you all to strive so as to obtain. So wishes and prays, dear Mrs. S——,
Your assured friend and servant, for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MXLIV.
To Mr. H——.
On board the Success, May 25, 1754.
My dear Mr. H——,
JUST now, through the tender mercies of a never-failing God, we saw the American shore, and are within a few miles of our desired port. The wind being contrary, we cannot enter it; I will therefore employ a few minutes in answering your last kind letter. It was full of christian love, and bespoke a heart deeply engaged for the success of the gospel in Gloucestershire. I hope it runs and is glorified, and trust ere now you find that the blessed Redeemer stands in no need of such a wretch as I am. Fear not, our Lord will never want instruments to carry on his work.—A heavenly fire is lighted in England, which men and devils shall never be able to extinguish. I pray for its spreading night and day; receive this as a token that none of you are forgotten by me before the Lord. I believe we have fared the better for your prayers. Our passage hath been pleasant, and assure yourselves, I shall make all possible dispatch in order to return unto you. O that it may be in the fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ. Pray remember me to Mr. R—— C——, to your wife, and all those dear souls, amongst whom, when last in Gloucestershire, God gave us a heaven upon earth. O for a heaven in heaven! Blessed be God, that port is in view. From thence we shall never put to sea any more. Adieu. I cannot enlarge. Continue to pray for me, as a poor travelling pilgrim, but, for Christ’s sake,
Yours most affectionately,
G. W.
LETTER MXLV.
To Mr. S——.
Beaufort, Port-Royal Island, South-Carolina, May 26, 1754.
My dear Friend,
THROUGH the divine goodness, we are just now sailing into our harbour, after having been six weeks from Lisbon.—Providentially a ship goes out to-morrow for Cowes; I cannot omit the opportunity of sending you a few friendly lines. They come from a friend, and leave him leaning on Him who hath promised never to forsake those that put their trust in him. Our passage hath been very easy, only our entrance into the harbour (like our last struggle before we enter heaven) hath been somewhat troublesome. May the Lord of all Lords give you, and yours, and all my never to be forgotten Yorkshire friends, an abundant entrance there! I must not think of you too much; parting seasons would come too fresh in my mind.—O blessed season, when we shall part no more! Adieu, adieu. I hope to write soon again. My orphan-charge are all quite well, and I hope in a few days to see them safe at Georgia. I know whose company would be acceptable to all there; but,—Father thy will be done! I can no more. Accept this as a token of love unfeigned, from, my dear friend,
Yours for ever and ever, in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MXLVI.
Charles-Town, July 10, 1754.
Dear Mrs. C——,
SINCE I left Bethesda, I have been out two nights by land, and one by water, and though wearied, am preserved in as good health as can in any wise be expected. To-morrow or Monday, I expect to embark again for New-York. The prospect of being ere long at the new Jerusalem, makes all things easy. I thank you for your kind letter, and for regarding my tears. They speak better than words. Jesus knows they were shed for him, and for the welfare of that institution which has lain so many years upon my poor heart. Have a little patience, and you will find more and more, that your coming over the water was of God. I wish it was in my power to make every thing more than agreeable; our common Lord I trust will do it himself. This is my heart’s desire, and shall be my constant prayer night and day. You will see what I have sent by this opportunity. Whatever of the linen or woollen stuff you would have made up for the children, may be sent by those who bring this; and what you want done in this way, only let Mrs. B—— have a line, and orders will be readily executed. Thus God raises up friends. The Lord be with you all. Help me to praise him, and continue to pray for, dear Mrs. C——,
Your unworthy friend, and ready servant, for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MXLVII.
To Mr. H——.
Charles-Town, July 12, 1754.
Very dear Sir,
THOUGH I hear that Captain Thompson does not sail, these three weeks, yet as I am bound for the northward, I cannot help leaving a few grateful lines behind me. May they find you leaning on the ever-loving, ever-lovely Jesus, and determined through his strength steadily to pursue that one thing needful, which shall never be taken from you! My prayers are continually ascending in your behalf;—they are your due; I owe you, and shall owe you much love as long as I live. By this I send you most grateful acknowledgments for all favours,—they are many, but all noted in my Master’s book. How are my obligations to love and serve him increased! He gave us a pleasant passage, and I trust hath blessed my ministry to some souls since my arrival, and also hath given me to leave my orphan-charge in comfortable circumstances; the family now consists of above an hundred. He that fed the multitude in the wilderness, can and will feed the orphans in Georgia. Your letters I delivered, and I suppose you will receive proper answers.—But I find Mr. H—— doth not trade at Lisbon, and Mr. H——m is about to leave off business and retire. Happy they who can do this, and at the same time that they retire from the world, retire into God. His presence is all in all. That you may be blessed with a plentiful portion of it here, and be admitted to an infinitely greater participation of it hereafter, is the earnest prayer of, very dear Sir,
Your most obliged friend, and ready servant, for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MXLVIII.
To Mr. C—— W——.
On board the Deborah, July 20, 1754.
My dear Friend,
I DO not forget my promise, though hurrying from place to place, and settling my orphan-charge, hath almost put it out of my power to perform it: however, I am now once more on the great deep in my way to New-York; accept a few lines as a token that you are not forgotten by me. I wrote to you from Lisbon. From thence we had a pleasant passage to Carolina, and since that I found and left my orphan family comfortably settled at Georgia. The colony, as well as Bethesda, is now in a thriving situation. Black and white persons I have now a hundred and six to provide for. The God whom I desire to serve, will enable me to do it for his great name’s sake. At Charles-Town, and in other parts of Carolina, my poor labours have met with the usual acceptance, and I have reason to hope a clergyman hath been brought under very serious impressions. Not unto me, O Lord, not unto me, but unto thy free grace be all the glory! What will befal me at the northward, I know not; this I know, that Jesus Christ will suffer nothing to pluck me out of his hands. My health is wonderfully preserved.—My wonted vomitings have left me, and though I ride whole nights, and have been frequently exposed to great thunders, violent lightnings, and heavy rains, yet I am rather better than usual, and as far as I can judge, am not yet to die. O that I may at length learn to begin to live. I am ashamed of my sloth and lukewarmness, and long to be on the stretch for God. I hope this will find you thus employed. My cordial love awaits your whole self, your brother, Mr. B——, and in short all the followers of the blessed Lamb of God. Though unworthy of their notice, I earnestly intreat a continued interest in their prayers, as being, my very dear Sir,
Their and your affectionate friend, and ready servant in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MXLIX.
To Mr. D——.
On board the Deborah, July 20, 1754.
My very dear Mr. D——,
THIS leaves me on my way towards New-York. Accept this as a token, that change of climate doth not cause a change of affection. No, you and my other dear Edinburgh friends are still upon my heart, and I trust will remain fixed there, till we meet to join the singing choir that is about the throne. I hope you have an earnest and anticipation of this, every Monday evening. I hope you enjoy a feeling possession of your God, every day and every hour. This will make the most barren wilderness to smile, and support you under the most distressing circumstances. It is this that supports me by land and by water. Without it, what could such a poor, weak, faint-hearted pilgrim do? Verily I should faint.—But as yet I cannot die. In spite of thunder, lightning, rain, and heat, God is pleased to hold my soul in life, and to let me see his glorious work prosper in my unworthy hands. Georgia and Bethesda I found in a thriving way. My family consists of a hundred and six, and will prove I trust of more extensive use every day. About six weeks I staid at Carolina and Georgia. One is likely to be settled as minister in Charles-Town. There my poor labours have met with usual acceptance, and I live in hopes of some gracious gales to the northward. Perhaps about Christmas, or early in the spring, I may see my native country again.—O may I return grown in grace, and in the knowledge of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ! But I am a dwarf. Pray, pray for me. Accept unfeigned thanks for all favours, remember me in the kindest manner to all inquiring friends, and believe me to be, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c. in our glorious Head,
G. W.
LETTER ML.
To Mr. S——.
New-York, July 27, 1754.
My very dear and steady Friend,
HERE will I set up my Ebenezer—for hitherto the Lord hath helped me. Through his divine goodness, I left Georgia and Bethesda in growing circumstances, and am come once more to pay a short visit to the northward. O that the Redeemer may make it a sweet one! Some time next month, perhaps I may have the pleasure of seeing you and yours, and my other dear Boston friends. As I am entirely unprovided with travelling furniture, I have thoughts of coming as far as Rhode-island by water. God willing, you shall have timely notice, or it may be, I may come upon you unawares. Strange! that I should be in this dying world till now. What changes have I seen! What changes must I expect to see before my final departure, if the Redeemer is pleased to lengthen out this span of life. Welcome, welcome, my Lord and my God, whatever cup thou shalt see meet to put into my hands! Only sweeten it with thy love, and then, though bitter in itself, it cannot but be salutary. Alas! how little do we know of ourselves, till we are tried, and how hard doth the old man die! Well! blessed be God, die he shall. Jesus hath given him his deadly blow, and at the best he only lives a dying life. Thanks be to God for such a Saviour! O for a thousand tongues to shew forth his praise! Lord Jesus, cloath me with humility, that I may every day know more and more the honour conferred upon me in being made a poor pilgrim for thee! Keep me travelling, keep me working, or at least beginning to begin to work for thee till I die! But whither am I going? Excuse me, my dear Sir.—I am writing to a beloved Gaius. God bless you and yours.—My most cordial respects await all enquiring friends.—Methinks they are dearer than ever to, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c. in our glorious Head,
G. W.
LETTER MLI.
To Mr. P——.
New-York, July 28, 1754.
Reverend and very dear Sir,
ONCE more, the ever-loving, ever-lovely Jesus hath brought me hither, and last night gave me an opportunity of recommending his dying love. When I ascended the pulpit, and found your place empty, I was somewhat affected; but I have met with so many changes in the church as well as the world, that it is time for me to begin to learn to be surprized at nothing. Some time next month, I hope to come as far as Boston. I know, my dear Sir, that you will pray, it may be in the fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ. What is to befall me I know not; Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit! Fain would I be as clay in thy hands. Lord Jesus, when shall it once be? But I am a stubborn, ill and hell-deserving creature. Less than the least of all, shall be my motto still. Amazing,—that the Redeemer should suffer such a wretch to speak or travel for him. Surely his name and nature is Love. O that I could but begin to begin to love him! My obligations increase daily. In England the word of the Lord runs and is glorified indeed. Georgia and Bethesda I left in growing circumstances. The orphan-family now consists of one hundred and six, black and white. A young man that hath been a student there, succeeds Mr. S—— of Charles-Town. O that the Redeemer may provide for the dear New-York people! The residue of the spirit is in his hands. Lord Jesus, make their extremity thy opportunity to help and relieve them! But I shall weary you, and detain you too long from more important work. May the great head of divine influence bless you and yours, and all your present flock! Some of them I know. If you should see dear Mr. P—— or F——, be so good as to remember me to them, in the most respectful manner.—I intreat their prayers for a poor but willing pilgrim, and am, reverend and very dear Sir,
Your most affectionate, obliged, though unworthy brother and servant in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MLII.
To Mr. S.——.
New-York, July 28, 1754.
My very dear Sir,
HERE our Lord brought me two days ago, and last night I had an opportunity of preaching on his dying, living, ascending, and interceding love, to a large and attentive auditory. Next week I purpose going to Philadelphia, and then shall come back again here in my way to Boston. Whether I shall then return to Bethesda, or embark for England, is uncertain.—I fear matters will not be settled at the orphan-house, unless I go once more; I have put some upon their trial, and shall want to see how they behave. During my passage from Charles-Town, I left a few lines for you; I thought to have written an account of Bethesda for the press, but could by no means get freedom. God’s time is the best. I owe for three of the negroes who were lately bought, but hope to be enabled to pay for them at my return from the northward. My God can, and will supply all my wants, according to his riches in Jesus. Glory be to his great name, he hath now taught me a little to be alone. His presence keeps me company, and I find it sweet to run about for him. I find the door all along the continent is as open as ever, and the way seems clearing up for the neighbouring islands. What a pity is it, that we can only be at one place at once, for the ever-loving, ever-lovely Jesus. Had I a good private hand, I could send you the account of my family, &c. but perhaps I may deliver it to you myself. Lord Jesus, direct my goings in thy way! I owe you much, yea very much love; but a pepper-corn of acknowledgment, and my poor prayers, is all the payment that I fear will be made by, my very dear Sir,
Your worthless, though most obliged, affectionate, and ready servant for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MLIII.
To Mr. G——.
New-York, July 30, 1754.
My very dear Friend,
SHALL we once more see each other in the flesh? I hope so.—To-morrow, God willing, I preach at Newark; on Wednesday, two in the afternoon, at New-Brunswick; and hope to reach Trent-Town that night. Could you not meet me there quietly, that we might spend one evening together? You must bring a chair;—I have no horse, and will then once more venture your throwing me down. Mr. V—— passes me from hence to Brunswick, and Mr. S—— to Trent-Town. If you cannot come, I will get Mr. S—— to carry me on till we meet you. O that the Lord Jesus may smile on my feeble labours. Here I trust he hath given us a blessing. Yesterday I preached thrice: this morning I feel it. Welcome weariness for Jesus! O how little can I do for him! I blush and am confounded. Pray heartily for me; and if business will permit, come away to, my very dear friend,
Yours most affectionately in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MLIV.
To Mr. R——.
Philadelphia, August 7, 1754.
My dear Mr. R——,
I ONCE thought to write you a long letter, but it pleased God to cut off my strength in my journey. Yesterday I was taken with a violent cholera morbus, and hoped ere now to have been where the inhabitants shall no more say, “I am sick.” But I am brought back again. May it be in order to bring some more precious souls to the ever-blessed Jesus! This is all my desire. O that God should ever make use of such a worthless creature as I am! But his grace is free, he yet blesses me, and rather more than ever. My poor labours, seem to be owned here, as well as at New-York. I received the sacrament at church on Sunday, and have preached in the academy; but I find Mr. Tennent’s house abundantly more commodious. I fear it will be impossible for me to come your way. This is the believer’s comfort, all God’s people shall meet in heaven. There I hope to see you and yours. Accept hearty love, and fail not to pray for, my dear Mr. R——,
Yours most affectionately,
G. W.
LETTER MLV.
To Mr. V——.
Philadelphia, August 15, 1754.
My very dear Mr. V——,
ONCE more, after having my cables out ready (as I thought) to cast anchor within the port, I am constrained to put out to sea again. My late sickness, though violent, hath not been unto death. O that it may be to the glory of God! With some difficulty I can preach once a-day. Congregations rather increase than decrease; and many, O strange! are desirous of my making a longer stay. But the time is fixed for next Tuesday, and all the following days till Sunday, are to be employed between this and New-Brunswick. There I am informed some execution was done. Whilst I live, Lord Jesus, grant I may not live in vain. I could enlarge, but really am so faint, that I have been obliged to stop, and can now with difficulty subscribe myself, my very dear friend,
Yours most affectionately in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MLVI.
To Mr. E——.
Philadelphia, August 17, 1754.
My dear Mr. E——,
I HOPE this will find you fairly thrust out into the highways and hedges, and under a divine commission to compel many poor sinners to come in. Fear not. Jesus will take care of body and soul.
Fix on his work thy stedfast eye,
So shall thy work be done.
Was you on this side the water, you would find work enough. Here’s a glorious range in the American woods. It is pleasant hunting for sinners. Thousands flock daily to hear the word preached. Let us pray for each other. When we meet, we may talk more together. In the mean while, I recommend you to the unerring guidance and protection of the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, as being, for his great name’s sake, my dear friend,
Yours affectionately in our common Lord,
G. W.
LETTER MLVII.
To Mrs. S——.
New-York, Sept. 2, 1754.
Dear Mrs. S——,
I AM much, yea very much indebted to you for your works of faith, and the labours which, I believe, have proceeded from unfeigned love to the ever-loving and ever-lovely Jesus. Put all to his account. You shall be rewarded at the resurrection of the just: then shall the righteous shine forth like the sun, O happy, happy time! Lord Jesus, hasten it! May the blessed Spirit prepare us to meet him! Methinks I hear you say, “I will not lose a moment.” The Lord strengthen you in this and every holy resolution! You must pray that I may not flag in the latter stages of my road. Blessed be God, we had good seasons between Philadelphia and New-York. In the New-Jerusalem more glorious seasons await us yet. At present I can no more. Be pleased to remember me in the kindest manner to all, and believe me to be, dear Mr. S——,
Your assured friend, and ready servant for Christ’s sake,
G. W.
LETTER MLVIII.
New-York, September 2, 1754.
My dear Doctor,
MAY this find you rejoicing in the holy comforts of that infinitely great and gracious physician, to whose all-powerful blood and righteousness, you and I are so much beholden! Surely he hath been loving unto us. O that we may recover our first love, and return and do our first work! Jesus is able and willing to do this for us. The return of backsliders, and forgiving those who cannot forgive themselves, is his heart’s delight. He spares when we deserve punishment, and in his wrath thinketh upon mercy. Fly then, my dear friend, to his loving arms and heart; he waits to be gracious. Let us wait on him in the way of duty, and we shall find that his arm is not shortened, but that he is still able and willing to save to the uttermost all that come to the Father through him. Lord Jesus, who can tell how far thy uttermost extendeth! None but thy own eternal Self: surely it must extend to the vilest of sinners, or it never could have reached ill and hell-deserving me! Help me, my dear Sir, to cry Grace! grace! We had pleasant seasons in our way hither, and here people attend gladly. Some time this week I expect to sail for Rhode-Island. Remember a poor but willing pilgrim, and accept this as a token, that neither you nor yours are forgotten by, my dear friend,
Yours, &c.
G. W.