|
Letters and Papers
by the late
Theodosia A.
Viscountess Powerscourt.
edited by the Rev.
Robert Daly, A.M.
Rector of
Powerscourt, in the Diocese of Dublin
London: Hatchard
and Son, Piccadilly.
William Curry,
Jun. and Co. Dublin.
MDCCCXXXVIII.
Dublin: Printed by
John S. Folds, 5, Bachelor's Walk
Preface.
In offering the
following Volume to the public, it is, perhaps, necessary that I should prefix
a few words, to state what the reader is to expect, and what he is not to
expect, in these Letters and Papers. He is not to expect anything in the
character of religious gossip; any anecdotes of, or remarks concerning, living
persons, with whom the writer had intercourse. Those who had the privilege of
receiving Letters from the late Lady Powerscourt, know well that she delighted
to dwell on much higher subjects than the actions, or opinions, of her
fellowmen. If every thing she ever wrote was submitted to the public eye, it
would be, perhaps, a subject of surprise to some, how very little was said
about other persons in her extended correspondence. But, in the following
selections, I have studiously omitted every thing in the least degree
personal. Those, therefore, that shall take up this Volume with the hope of
reading Lady Powerscourt's opinions of this person or that person of this or
the other movement, in or out of the Church, will be disappointed. I trust
that these pages will furnish no food that would gratify such appetites. Had
the correspondence, from which it has been my part to make selections,
afforded such materials, I should never have been the instrument of making
them public. But that eminent disciple of our blessed Lord, whose Letters are
now printed, with a hope and prayer that they may tend to the edification of
the Church, lived in a higher atmosphere; inhaled herself, and breathed forth,
a purer air. She, of all the Christians I have been privileged to know, came
nearest to that which she has, in such strong uncommon terms, stated to be her
idea of a Christian: "Not
one who looks up from earth to heaven, but one who looks down from heaven on
earth".
She appears
to have ascended a high and holy eminence, and from thence to have looked down
upon those earthly scenes, with which too many are entirely engrossed, living
up to that high spiritual requirement of the Apostle, "Set your affections on
things above, and not on things on the earth, for ye are dead, and your life
is hid with Christ in God." Those who take up this Volume may expect to find
the language of a heart thus lifted up above the world, the free and
unrestrained breathing of a soul whose "conversation was in heaven;" who was
"raised up, and made to sit in heavenly places in Christ Jesus."
The only thing
which induces me to publish the following Letters and Papers, is the
conviction that they express the sentiments, and experience, and heaven taught
spirituality, of one who had made more rapid advances in the divine life, than
is ordinarily found in the Church below. I thought that this candle, which the
Lord had lighted, should not be hid under a bushel, but put on a candlestick,
that it might give light to all that are in the house. There will be found
original and strong thoughts, clothed in original and strong language: indeed
the strength of the language may sometimes startle some of those who read
these Letters, and may be such, that had the writer revised them for
publication, she might have, perhaps, somewhat softened her expressions; but,
as Editor, I did not think myself authorised, even if I had felt disposed, to
do so. In truth, (whether erroneously or not,) I like those strong
expressions: I would not wish to alter one of them: they bring back to my
recollection, the image of the strongest mind that I ever met in any woman:
they help to remind me of that which was her peculiar characteristic, uncommon
masculine strength, combined with the extremest feminine gentleness: they help
me to apprehend the power with which she realized those important subjects
about which she wrote; and I am not without hope that, through the blessing of
God, they may be made instrumental to convey the same reality to others.
Whilst I believe
that all intelligent readers may derive benefit and edification from these
pages, I conceive they may be especially profitable and comfortable to
mourners; to those "who are afflicted or distressed in mind, body, or estate."
Lady Powerscourt was one acquainted with grief. She had had severe and heavy
trials; and she was thus, in a peculiar way, fitted to sympathise with all
tried Christians. She was enabled "to comfort those who were in any trouble,
with the comforts wherewith she herself had been comforted of God." When she
knew of any of her friends being in trial, she seems to have felt herself
especially drawn to write to them a "word in season". Therefore many of the
Letters in the collection are addressed to mourners, and will, I trust, be
found comforting and strengthening to those who are in similar circumstances.
There is one
subject which occupied much of Lady Powerscourt's attention, which does not
appear in the following pages, as prominent as many of her religious friends
might have expected, and that is, the subject of prophecy. She was known to
have very deeply considered it, to have conversed with those persons who were
most remarkable for their study of it, and to have consulted the books which
have been written on it; and, above all, to have read the Scriptures with much
deep attention to the subject and yet, very little on prophecy appears in her
correspondence. Lest any persons should think that, in making the selection, I
have thrown aside Letters on the subject, I think it right to state that I
have been myself surprised to find how little, upon this interesting subject,
has been left among her papers. I had expected to have found much clear
statement of the result of her deep consideration of prophecy; and though she
should have stated that which did not agree with my views, I should have
published her's, and allowed those interested in the subject to exercise their
judgment thereon. I should certainly not do what some persons, whom I esteem,
have done, — publish the sentiments of another, though at the time considering
them erroneous, on the fundamental principles of the Gospel but I would
publish the sentiments of another on the future prospects of the Church,
though in those sentiments, I thought the writer was mistaken; because I
consider the first subject to be vital, and that error on it is essentially
dangerous. I do not so think of the other subject. I consider the whole Church
of Christ to be much in the dark with regard to prophecy, and more or less in
error concerning it; and that the best way to correct the error, and attain
more light, is to encourage free discussion upon it. In order to reach the
end, it is essential not to mistake as to the way. It is not equally essential
to form correct anticipations, as to what shall be found at the end. Those who
are on the way shall reach the end, and then all their mistakes concerning it
shall be corrected.
I feel myself
called upon to return my thanks to the correspondents of Lady Powerscourt, for
the kindness and confidence with which they have entrusted me with her
valuable Letters. They will see, I trust, that I have not violated their
confidence. I have selected according to my best judgment; I have altered
nothing, and corrected little, except when necessary to make the sense clear,
which will often be indispensable in publishing from an uncorrected
manuscript. I have been obliged to omit some very beautiful letters, on
account of the recurrence of the same sentiments and expressions in other
Letters. It appears to have been frequently the case, that some scriptural
subject, with a suitable train of thought, was very deeply impressed upon Lady
Powerscourt's mind; and she recurred to that subject and train of thought, in
writing to her different friends, at the same time, in different places. I
have generally omitted the Letters in which the sameness of thought was
observable; but I have sometimes admitted a repetition, where I must otherwise
have rejected a Letter, in other respects valuable, or have made omissions
which might have rendered the sense less clear. I hope her correspondents will
excuse me for the omissions, and the readers for the repetitions they may
observe.
As my object is
simply to present to the Church the sentiments of the writer, which appear to
me to be likely to promote edification, I have omitted even the names of the
persons to whom the Letters were addressed; and I have abstained from
prefixing to this Volume any thing in the way of a memorial of the departed
writer. It would be impossible to write any biographical sketch of her that is
gone, without stating particulars as to those that remain, which might give
them a publicity which would be distressing to their feelings. I send, then,
the Letters before the public, without any recommendation except their own
intrinsic worth. I publish them, not because they were written by my dear
departed friend, but because, in my judgment, (not unprejudiced, I admit,)
they appear to be in themselves such as ought to see the light.
I have added, at
the end, a few Papers, which seem to have been her private exercises on
scriptural subjects. They will show how deeply she considered, and how
powerfully she reasoned, upon the word of God. It may, indeed, be said of her,
that her "delight was in the law of the Lord, and in his law did she meditate
day and night."
It only remains
that I should commend this Volume to the blessing of Him, "without whom
nothing is strong — nothing is holy". He was pleased to make the writer of
these Letters a very signal monument of His grace. She bore witness to His
grace in her life, and by her life; and I pray, that He may vouchsafe to allow
her, "though dead, yet to speak," to the edification of His people, and to the
glory of His holy name.
Powerscourt Glebe,
April, 1838.
Letters.
Letter 1.
... 1821.
I am glad to hear
you have a good opinion of ... I almost envy any one a strong feeling of sin,
but I am sure our wise and tender Father knows best how to measure that out to
us, in proportion as He sees us able to bear it; though it seems sad not to
grieve at offending such a Lord. It gives me much pleasure to hope there are
... in this house seeking him, whom, I trust, I at least desire to be dearer
to me than all the world. It is cheering to see even a Christian's face. I do
not expect to go to ... either Wednesday or Thursday; but perhaps the less of
these enjoyments we have, the more shall we long for an eternity of them, when
all foolish worldly gossip, which weighs us down now, will be over for ever.
Yours, most
sincerely,
T. A. HOWARD.
Letter 2.
Dear Mr ..., I
return the sermon with many thanks; I am greatly obliged to you for it, and
particularly for your kindness in saying I am heartily welcome to it. I trust
the Lord may bring me, and all dear to me, to the blessed state which the
sermon describes that of a Christian to be. I must also thank you for your
little prayer at the end of your note, you have not one in your parish who
needs it more. You say you hope I sometimes offer one for you; it would be
strange if it was only sometimes, but if you knew what my prayers are, you
would beg to be left out. Indeed I am not satisfied on that head; for some
weeks I have not been able to pray at all, and seldom to read (I mean in
private), and it is more wretched than I can say. Perhaps if you are not
engaged, you will be kind enough to send me a few lines to say, if you ever
knew this to be the case with any of whom you had hopes, and what you think is
the cause of it, for I suppose it must be my own fault. I sometimes fear the
Lord's Spirit will not strive with me any longer. I hope you will excuse my
troubling you about myself; but there is no peace, while the Lord hides from
us the light of his countenance. It will be a happy time, when we shall have
done with this body of sin.
Yours, most
sincerely,
T . A. HOWARD.
Letter 3.
...I have just
been reading two such sweet verses, 12th and 13th of Col. 1, and almost
fearing such great things cannot be intended for such a log; however, the
thought of being a partaker of that inheritance is sometimes very sweet, and I
believe I may as well enjoy the thoughts of it here, even if I never do arrive
at it...
Letter 4.
London, April 9th,
1823.
My dear ..., I
hope you will not think my long silence a mark of ingratitude for your
goodness in writing to me so long and kind a letter, but between ... illness
and ... I have had but little time to myself, and that little I know you would
rather I should give to the Bible, than to you. Besides, I wished to be able
to tell you that ... was quite well, which I think I can say, thank God, now.
His illness has been a very trying one, and more tedious, from its having been
so much on his nerves. But the Lord has only brought us in view of great
misery, that we may feel more dependant on him, and the more watchful to be
ready for every thing. I wish I could say this was the effect it has had on
me, or that anything ever moved this cold stony heart. Indeed I have long been
in despair about that, and often wished to speak to you on the subject; so
much so, that I had resolved to visit you the morning before we left
Powerscourt, but thinking that perhaps you would consider me troublesome and
very full of self ..., and as you proposed writing, I determined I would
postpone asking your advice, till I had the pleasure of hearing from you, and
I think you deserve a scolding from me, for you must have remarked how much I
had fallen away from the Lord, for I did not try to hide it, and you know you
should have spoken to me about it. But it is only wonderful that I am not more
unhappy; for I do not think I have any feeling of any sort on the subject
remaining, or hardly any care whether I have part or lot in the matter. I have
not felt particular harm from moving about, for I could not be worse, than I
was before leaving Ireland. I had nothing to lose. I often fear my name has
been blotted out from the book of life, and that the Lord is weary of
entreating me to accept all the blessings of the Gospel. I know you will set
about comforting me, but it is not that I want; what I feel is an apathy, and
indifference, whether one of the promises belongs to me or not. Oh, If you
knew the difference of my feelings from this time last year, you would think
the same as I do ... I was so happy in him then, that I thought I could never
be moved — the Lord, of his goodness, had made my hill so strong. I remember
telling ... that, let events turn out as they might, my happiness was ensured;
even if shut up for life in a dungeon, I could be nothing but happy, with the
prospect of being one with my Saviour. But He hid his face from me, and I have
been troubled. I find I can do without anything but Him; but having once
tasted his love, everything else has lost its sweetness. I feel now that I
care for nothing: not for the things of another world, and I am sure, not for
the things of this. Instead of running to my Bible, as a hungry man to his
food, I read it as a task. Prayer is no more my sweetest pleasure, but a duty
which I feel glad to have over; and when I go to it, I have nothing to say to
my Lord. The contemplation of Heaven used to be so sweet, it made everything
earthly appear as nothing. Now I do not feel it would give me the least
pleasure, to hear that I was to be there tomorrow. Oh, if you knew how unmoved
my heart is at all the wonderful means of grace I enjoy, one beautiful sermon
after another. I feel none of the delight I once used at seeing a Christian
walk into the room. Instead of loving to hear them talk of the Saviour, I am
at a loss for something to say; indifferent, totally so, about the souls of
others ... I am in an awful state. I could tell you a great deal more, but it
would be only tormenting you. I tell you this much, not expecting you to
understand my case, for I do not suppose there ever was such another, but that
you may not think me interested in all those things, for which I feel 60
little. I know you can do nothing for me, but this I hope you will do — strive
hard for me, strive hard for me in your prayers: I owe you more than I can
say, humanly speaking, and I would not write to you this way did I not feel
you are the only person who feels for my soul, as I feel for it myself, for we
have both to give an account of it. This I can say, you are pure from my
blood. Oh! may I still be your joy and crown of rejoicing in the last day; and
may all your instructions not cast me deeper into hell. At other times I think
I used to look at religion too much as a pleasure, and that having lost her
with whom I used to enjoy this pleasure, it has lost much of its delight ...
How very full of self you will think me, but I want your advice, and your
constant earnest prayers, I was sorry to hear you had such a bad cold. I hope
you have recovered your voice for this week, and that you have not given up
your trip to London. We have been so much shut up by Lord P.'s illness, that I
have not been able to hear many good preachers on week days, but hear Mr ...
regularly on Sunday. Last Sunday I went to Mr. Howell's church, whom I liked
very much, though his style is rather odd. He says very strong things,
lowering the creature, and exalting the Saviour...
Forgive this long
letter, and believe me,
Very
affectionately and gratefully,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 5.
September, 1823.
Dear Mr ..., I
should have answered your kind letter before this, had I anything to tell you
that could have given you any gratification. But alas! I have been as desolate
within as without. My earthly husband hid from me, my heavenly one I cannot
find; and Satan hard at work tempting me to say what is this black thing I
have done, which makes my Father so angry with me. But oh my dear Lord, let
him not rule within: quench his fiery darts: show me that I deserve far worse,
even all the wrath of an offended God. But Jesus has "borne our griefs and
carried our sorrows." These trials are only blessings to fill up that which is
behind of his afflictions. I am also tempted to think, that I cannot be his,
for I feel none of that comfort his children always feel, and I used to find
in the hour of trial ... Jonah doest thou well to be angry? I will bear the
indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned grievously against him. Oh dear
Mr ..., you do not know, what it is to lose one so dear, so very dear; I can
only compare it to the tearing asunder all the strings of the heart. Then such
a gloomy prospect here the rest of one's life. After watching him day and
night with so much anxiety, anticipating the joy of being allowed again to be
with him; all at once so unexpectedly to have my hopes dashed from me, was
what I did not think for some days, I could have borne, because I forgot that
as my day so should my strength be. In any other loss I have had, I never
could pray for the bodily life of my friend, but in this to which no other
loss can be compared, night and day, I could not help entreating the Lord to
spare me the heavy blow. I really did think he meant to answer me, and hoped
against hope, till the last breath left that dear body ... But I know, O Lord,
that thy judgments are right, and that in very faithfulness thou hast
afflicted me — I must wait to know and see why it is, till I know as I am
known. That it is unspeakable love, I have no doubt, because he who has sent
it is no new friend, but a tried and precious one; and when it is good for me
He will allow me to see that this God
is Love.
But oh I tremble when I look at my rebellion, and ingratitude, throughout it
all. I have had much to show me myself this last year — to dig up the mud hid
under the smooth surface. How it will astonish you — astonish angels, when the
book of my sins is opened, except they are so blotted out with blood as to
make them illegible.
I do not suppose
there could be a stronger lesson of the vanity of every thing earthly than to
look at me last year and this. The prospects of happiness I seemed to set out
with! And now where are they? A living monument that man in his best estate is
altogether vanity — and see how my heart, without my knowing it, was on earth.
I could not have thought one who professes to believe in the joys of heaven,
and had tasted the realization of them by faith, could so mourn, as one
without hope, could so willingly call him back again. But I shall say no more,
for these complaints only grieve my God, and annoy you. But, indeed, I am at
times greatly oppressed, and feel this evening as if there were a parcel of
devils within tearing me different ways, and refusing me any rest. I beseech
you pray for me, and write to me,
Your unalterably
affectionate
And grateful
friend,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 6.
February 18, 1824.
... How I shall
long to join you all above. I fear I need patience, and find it hard to
reconcile my mind to the possibility of my living three times as long as I
have lived yet. When I look back upon a few months, and remember the happiness
I used to feel when I expected my dearest love and ..., to spend the evening
at ... and to have a little reading, I can hardly persuade myself that I am
the same person. Two now in possession of what they then, blessed be God,
enjoyed by faith, and I left alone. — But I forgot — r determined never to
murmur again. It needs a great stretch of faith sometimes, when the enemy
comes in like a flood, to believe that God is as much at peace with me through
Christ, as with those already above; that Abraham now in glory is not safer
than I am. Is that presumption, do you think? What a precious name, a strong
tower, into which if we run, we shall be safe. Were I left to myself I should
run
from it. I
would not trust myself to his word, but seek to save myself from danger. But
almighty love arrests me, pulls me in; and then rewards me for coming. How
much in those words, "are
safe,"
to think we
are safe from every thing! No evil shall ever touch us, evil at the end, or
evil on the way. All paved with love; "all things shall work together for
good." I have got the promise of all others I want — "let
thy widows trust in me."
I once
wished there was a richer, sweeter promise to widows, but I believe it
requires to be brought into different circumstances, in order to feel the
force of different promises. For the Lord knew that none so suited widows, as
these few words. In looking round the wide world, so filled with wickedness,
and seeing one has to pass through it alone, one would fear every step one
took so unprotected and forlorn, only for this promise. With this "when I am
weak, then I am strong." It is not like him to invite us to trust in him, and
then let any evil come nigh us. If his everlasting arms are underneath, I
"shall dwell in safety alone." Let there be rebellions, revolutions,
persecutions, earthquakes, anything, every thing, "let
thy widows trust in me,"
should be
enough. I know my tabernacle shall be in peace. Sweet to think that the eye of
the Lord is upon us, to deliver our soul from death. It seems to me, as a
nurse keeps her eye upon her child lest it should destroy itself, or as a
keeper keeps his eye upon his poor lunatic, "the Lord is thy keeper." Then
unbelief jumps up and says, how do you know all this is for you? Then I do not
know what to say, but "my Master told me so." His Spirit witnesses with my
spirit. He has given me the earnest of the spirit. To those who believe he is
precious, and I think he is precious to me — "a bundle of myrrh is my
well-beloved unto me." Oh that I could keep close to him; I want to be fixed
on the rock. My grief is, that the waves of sin and the-world give me so many
shoves off it. Will not you pray for me, for I greatly need it; and will you
not write to me, and exhort me with purpose of heart to cleave unto the Lord;
and tell me if you think me presumptuous, or going wrong in any way. That old
serpent is so cunning. Will you forgive me for speaking so much of myself, but
speaking of what He can do for me, magnifies the power of his grace, more than
if I was to speak of it with regard to any one else upon earth.
Yours with
Christian affection,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 7.
... All creation
seems to be travailing to bring forth some mighty event, and poor Ireland is
coming up in remembrance before God. Oh what are we, to be able to look any
thing, every thing in the face, and know assuredly without a peradventure,
that all is, shall, and must, work together, for our everlasting good; that
had we sense, it is just what we should order for ourselves, to have fresh
comfort in every fresh putting forth of his omnipotence, for this God is our
God. Though even the earth should be shook to its very centre, though we might
feel outwardly the curse of sin, yet no evil henceforth for ever can befall
us, we shall only behold, and see from out of the cleft of the immoveable
rock. From thence we may boldly challenge distress, persecution, etc. etc. our
dwelling is the Most High. We may be thrown like a shuttlecock, from self to
Satan, and back from Satan to self, till weary of both; but neither sin, self,
or Satan, shall or can ever reach our lives, for they are hid with Christ.
Because he lives we shall live also. What a happy confidence in such a world,
to be able to look up, and say, my Lord and my God, and to know also the
Captain of our salvation as our bosom friend. Whilst engaged in calling in his
people from North, South, East and West, he does not forget those already
within the fold, but comes and whispers them in the still small voice of his
word; tells me, I shall never be forgotten, let his works be ever so
stupendous; tells me, he cannot live in glory, and leave me behind; that the
angel can no more swear, that time shall be no more, till the last of his
elect shall be sealed on their foreheads, than his truth can fail. I think
there is a danger in these times of the feelings being so kept alive by
excitement, as to lead us to forget, that as we have received Christ, so we
ought to
walk in
him, built up as well as rooted; stablished in the faith ...; so eager for the
battle as to forget our armour. I trust you remember us, that you are often
present with us in spirit, and pray without ceasing that we may stand complete
in
all the
works of God, that he may set us as lights on a hill, by the splendour of our
walk, illuminating many from the kingdom of darkness unto the kingdom of God's
dear Son; that we may walk worthy of our high calling in all lowliness; that
we may see in a degree with the eye of God, that we may live but for one end,
that we may occupy till he come, reaching forward towards the prize, running
the race set before us, looking unto Jesus; that we may have nothing to do
with any pursuit or happiness ending in time; neither entangled with the
cares, nor intoxicated by the fascinations of the world; and that every action
of our lives may declare plainly, that our kingdom is not of this world. Pray
that for us, and I will pray, that the answer may rebound into your soul...
With sincere
Christian affection,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 8.
January, 1826;.
I have to thank
you for your other kind long letter. There is a certain drawing out of heart
towards those who care enough for us, as to point out in what way we may be
grieving our Lord. Your accusations, I fear, are quite just, and I hope I may
have your prayers, that I may be enabled to walk worthy of the Lord unto all
pleasing. I think it is in the Lord, we are told to rejoice, a joy which can
be felt while sorrowing, a good cheer in tribulation. I sometimes sit in
astonishment why my cup should run over with this blessing, and I have more
when the heart is brought low to receive it, than when it is (which is often
the case) intoxicated. own I feel sometimes cast down and desolate, but not
unhappy. I have had a deep, a very deep wound; the trial has been very severe;
but how should I have known him as a brother born for adversity, without it.
How should I prize him as my strength, if I am not sometimes left to feel my
perfect weakness. The heart is too selfish not to drop a tear sometimes, but I
hope no longer a rebellious one. The wound is closed, but very little bursts
it open. The marble must be allowed to melt a little, but only enough to send
to that good physician, who maketh sore, and bindeth up; he woundeth, and his
hands make whole. I understand these lines,
"Cry and groan
beneath afflictions,
Yet to dread the
thoughts of ease."
However, if it is
more to his glory, that I should take pleasure in the many blessings left in
this world, dreary as it may seem through the glass of affliction, "behold I
am here Lord," if to be kept low — even so. May I only be able to lay this
soul as helpless on the great "I AM." And I can assure you, however
appearances may contradict it, I have much joy and peace in believing, find
life a flux and reflux of love; Jesus is precious to me. I find his banner of
love extended over Edinburgh; his promises here also, are as honey dropping
from the comb. There is not one on earth I desire but him; he is all my hope
and all my salvation; and I can go on with confidence, knowing he can never
deny himself or say "I never knew you," for he testifies not only that he
knows me, but that he loves me, by enabling me to say, "thou knowest all
things, thou knowest that I love thee."
Sometimes we
appear such insignificant grasshoppers that it is hard to conceive that he can
think of us and our foolish concerns; at other times one feels of such immense
importance, that one wonders that Christians can live like other people, such
as when we read of the burst of joy from the heavenly host, and find this the
sign that their Lord whom they adore has become a despised babe, and all,
because peace is brought to earth, and good will to man. Peace seems just what
we want here, purchased by his blood, left as his legacy. What simplicity
there seemed to be in his words after his resurrection. He seemed to enjoy the
travail of his soul, when distributing his peace. May he impart largely of it
to your soul, and while recommending the inexpressible treasure of his word to
others, may you be enabled yourself to feed on it, by faith with thanksgiving.
May he empty of his fulness into all our bosoms, and enable us by using, to
show we value the privilege of drawing near to him, to tell him of fear the
world cannot allay, of wants the world cannot satisfy, of blessings the world
knows nothing of.
Your affectionate,
T.A. Powerscourt.
Letter 9.
... Is your happy
soul still lifted up? able in His light to walk through darkness? I know the
dreary waste that lies before you. How his dear, dear company is missed — how
tasteless and insipid every thing appears — how you want that affection which
entered into every trifle which concerned you — how you want an adviser, a
protector, such a companion — one to weep when you weep — to rejoice when you
rejoice. I know well what it is to lie down at night and say, where is he? —
to awake in the morning and find him gone — to hear the hour strike day after
day, at which you once expected his daily return home to his too happy
fire-side — and find nothing but a remembrance that embitters all the future
here. Oh my poor, poor ... if I cannot feel for you who can? — who so often
partook of your happiness? — sweet precious time I have been allowed to enjoy
with you both, but
past.
However, it is well that you have another to feel for you. If I know the
meaning of the word sorrow, I also know of a joy a stranger intermeddleth not
with. How tenderly our compassionate Lord speaks of the widow! as a parent who
feels the punishment more than the chastened child. He seems intent to fill up
every gap love has been forced to make; one of His errands from heaven was to
bind up the broken-hearted. He has an answer for every complaint you may ever
be tempted to make. Do you say you have none now to follow, to walk with, to
lean on? He will follow you and invite you to come up from the wilderness
leaning on him as your beloved. Is it that you want one to be interested in
all your concerns? Cast all your cares upon him, for he careth for you — a
protector? Let thy widows trust in me — an adviser? Wonderful Counsellor!
Companion? I will not leave you comfortless; I will come unto you; I will
never leave you, nor forsake you; I have not called you servants but friends;
behold I stand at the door and knock, if any man hear my voice and open the
door, I will come in unto him, and sup with him, and he with me. — One to weep
with you? In all their affliction he was afflicted; Jesus wept. When you lie
down — safe under the shadow of his wings, under the banner of His love. When
you awake — still about your path and about your bed. It is worth being
afflicted to become intimately acquainted, and to learn to make use of, the
Chief of ten thousand — the altogether lovely — the brother born for adversity
— the friend that sticketh closer than a brother — the friend of sinners.
Pray write often to your poor sister; tell me every thing that interests you;
do not let the children forget me...
Letter 10.
My dear Mr ...,
Though he was a shining light by whom God was glorified, yet, I think, in him
more than in others the power of God was manifested in the inner man; the mind
that was in Christ was stamped on him; every disposition led captive to Jesus.
But it required to live with him, and see him in every turn of life, to know
how beautifully the Spirit was moulding him into the image of his Master. It
appears to me, there were four graces peculiarly striking in his character,
some of which you have mentioned.
First, his entire
forgetfulness of self in every thing, (this was very remarkable), accompanied
with a watchful attention to the wishes of others, a tenderness to their
feelings, a fitting of himself into their prejudices, and, as far as he could,
entering into their pursuits, so as by any means to win some.
Second, most
striking trait, which I believe you have mentioned, but which those who knew
him but little did not perceive, was a loathing of himself, as if he really
felt sin a burden; but, at the same time, the most happy and simple confidence
of his safety in Christ. It often reminded me of Isaiah 59. 19. He seemed to
feel the evil heart as a flood which would overwhelm him, was not the soul
continually directed to Christ crucified as to its resting place.
Third, is what you
have already expressed much better than I can; such a thirst for truth upon
every subject as enabled him to lay aside prejudice, and every impediment in
the way, and made it visible that to reach and receive it was his object.
Fourth, we may
say, the cause of his being so unlike his natural man, was his mind being kept
in a continual turning to Christ, as the element in which he delighted. He was
alive to spiritual subjects, should they be brought forward at any moment.
Though zealously engaged in controversy with the enemies of truth; though
enjoying with gratitude his social happiness; though necessarily occupied in
much and different business, he was enabled to live alone, and seemed to have
learned the difficult lesson of using the world without abusing it; like the
needle, which may be turned from the pole by superior force, but when let
loose, returns to its proper position; so with him, when the pressure of
business was taken off his mind returned to his rest in God.
I fear, were I to
say all I thought of him, I should draw a perfect character, for love covered
all faults; and after all, the various graces of the Spirit were so blended,
it is difficult to say which was most predominant. It might truly be said of
him, that he adorned the doctrine of God his Saviour in all things. It is
difficult, when speaking of a character so beloved, to exalt the Saviour, not
the creature, to leave an impression that sin was all he could call his own;
all that was lovely, the comeliness which Christ put on him.
This is a long
note, but you know it is the property of women to multiply words, and express
little...
Yours truly,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 11.
... 1826.
... I think dear
... death was made a great blessing, which I fear has only taught me one
painful lesson, that a blessing does not necessarily follow an affliction. I
need not repeat, (for the Lord has already proclaimed it so loudly by sending
affliction line upon line, affliction precept upon precept,) that no one needs
trial more, no one needs so much of the Bible as I do, and on none do both
tell so little. It requires all the energy of God to bend my will to his; and
while it may be sometimes hard to be content with outward providences, it is
still more hard to feel resigned to be what one is, not to wish for another's
spirit, another's disposition; to be resigned to lie as a bit of clay in his
hands without dictating the best way of being formed into a vessel fit for the
master's use; satisfied with good as well as evil, knowing that what he has
undertaken he is able to perform; hard to feel resigned to dishonour him, whom
we adore, all our lives; to love His presence above every thing else put
together, and yet, continually, by our own folly and neglect, lose it for
trifles which we most despise;
very hard
to be resigned to
oneself; to
be ever worshipping, and placing, this Dagon in the temple of our beloved, and
to be haunted by it wherever we go. I do think one chief part of our happiness
hereafter will consist, in our having done with wretched self, God being all
in all...
...Altered as that
spot has been these last two years, I expect to find it still more so on our
return. I did value more than I can utter that dear dear saint's visits; the
prospect of them cheered the time of his absence; and even all unpleasantness
was removed from all secular affairs by the interest and part he always took
in my concerns. However, there is always
but to the
Christian.
But now I
hope to be cheered, in expecting the coming of the "altogether lovely," to be
upheld by the interest, and part, he takes in all that concerns me. And if I
know myself, my ambition is to live simply to His glory; to be a burning and a
shining light,
only that
the splendour of my walk may bring glory to
His name,
to glorify him in spirit as well as body, which are altogether His, paid for
by him. Soon we shall see him really ours; soon shall we join the company of
the just made perfect, know, and perhaps be able to tell them, how every rough
blast of human woe has hastened on our little bark to shore. In the mean time,
may our Lord's blessing and presence, so interwoven with our comforts, rest
upon you and ...
I am always a
great egotist in my letters to you, because I fancy you feel an interest, at
least, in the spiritual feelings of all your flock. Pray, write soon, and do
not think, while you are writing, that you are losing time. I hope your throat
is better. You have not the privilege of being afflicted for yourself alone,
but for our consolation and salvation. My love to all who care about me.
Believe me my dear
Mr ...
Yours, with true
affection,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 12.
Powerscourt, 1st
February, 1826.
My dearest ...,
So I must write and receive no answer; that is very hard indeed; if I
thought, or could think, it could possibly give one moment's comfort to an
afflicted saint, I should be more than resigned; how sweet it would be to be a
cup of consolation in the temple of our God. Well! if I have not that
privilege, I hope to be a vessel of mercy through eternity. Yes, the poor
sinner would not, if he could, be saved any way but as he is. Our proud nature
at first rebels against being objects of
pity, we
should prefer having salvation as those who had no need, rich and increased
with goods; but when forced to throw down our arms of rebellion, and come as
beggars, wretched, miserable, poor,
blind, and
naked, then we feel it is such a blessedness to be objects of
pity to a
God full of compassion, that we glory in our infirmities, because they bring
us in contact with Him for
every
thing, food, clothing, etc. The greater our necessities the more we have to do
with Him. How well you must know Him! How often he has strengthened you upon
the bed of languishing! How he has made all your bed in your sickness! How
often he has enabled you to carry your weak soul in the arms of faith, and lay
it down on this resting place; His precious word, a bed of consolation stuffed
with sweet and precious promises. I think the believer even while in the
furnace, at the moment of experiencing that his trials are not joyous but
grievous, feels so convinced He is doing all things well, that he would not
have it otherwise, had he his choice; and such a desire has the new man to be
made partaker of his holiness, to enjoy the peaceable fruits of righteousness,
which these exercises produce, that he turns, and kisses the rod, saying
Amen, deal
with me as with a child. The poor world may have a reprieve
here from
suffering, but the child of God may not, would not if he might. Happy
confidence, He will not lay on us one unneedful stroke, for as a father
pitieth his children, etc. Happy confidence, he will not keep back one needful
stroke, for he scourgeth them whom he loves, that he may receive them, even as
a father the son in whom he delighteth. Is it not strange that the moment he
is acting most the part of a parent, is just the moment we are most apt to
forget we are his children; he tells us, we forget the exhortation that speaks
to us as unto sons. It is pleasant, as he takes these precious relationships
on himself,
to take his at his word,
and plead them
before him; sweet to look up and say, Abba, Father; to leave all temporal
concerns in his hands, because "our heavenly father knows we have need of
them;" reminding him it is a father's part to provide for the want of his
little ones. When we come to make known our spiritual wants, to remind him it
is a father's feeling, to be willing to give all
within his means;
and, even, when we
sin against him, depart, backslide, return base ingratitude for love, out of
this depth, to whom shall we naturally look, but to our parent? As the
prodigal, when confessing he was not worthy to be called his child, begins his
sentence with "father." No, nothing can change this relationship. "Though
Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not, thou, O! Lord, art
our Father, our Redeemer; thy name is from everlasting." He will spare as a
man spares his own son that serveth him; even though forced to speak against
his dear son, his pleasant child, He earnestly remembered him still — his
bowels were troubled for him; he could not help having mercy; and he will lead
us also; cause us to walk by the rivers of waters in a straight way, wherein
we shall not stumble — for he is a father to
Israel; he
will put on us the best robe in his wardrobe — the righteousness of Christ; he
will give his greatest gift as a token of his love — his holy Spirit; he will
cause us to be shod with the gospel of peace; when tempted to doubt his
faithfulness, he points to David's feeling when crying out, O! Absalom my son,
my son, would to God I had died in thy place; and appeals to our hearts, if
David
could have
afflicted Absalom
willingly;
he points to what his servant Moses has left on record is to be expected from
that parent, (Num. 11. 12.) that he should carry his sucking child in his
bosom, and reminds us, by taking that relationship on him self, he has bound
himself thus to act, and he will carry us in his bosom to the land of promise,
and we shall not halt till He is wearied, nor fall till He stumbles; none
shall pluck us out of his hands, till the arm of Omnipotence fails from
weakness; no lion shall overtake, no enemy overcome, while the -everlasting
arms are underneath, and the banner or love above. This is your portion and
mine, dear fellow pilgrim. "Lord what is man that thou shouldst magnify him,
that thou shouldst set thine heart upon him — that thou shouldst visit him
every morning, and try him every moment;" and
this to such as we,
who require a
fresh exercise of mercy every moment to keep us out of hell; yet,
even here,
to know while feeling a weight of sin pointing to the very heavens, that there
is a heap of mercy reaching into the heavens, "built up for ever;" that
neither past sin shall condemn, for his mercy is
from
everlasting; neither shall future, because his mercy is
to
everlasting, they have all been laid on him — carried off into the land of
forgetfulness, never to be laid on us again, until east meets with west. Under
the old dispensation, remembrance was made of sin every year, because, and to
show, that the blood of bulls and of goats could never take away sin; but now,
the very declaration so often repeated, that sin shall be
remembered no
more, proves the
blood of Christ sufficient to cleanse from ALL sin. May we every day dive
deeper into this unfathomable love, every day increase in the knowledge of
this love that passeth knowledge, till filled with the fulness of God, moulded
into the mind that was in Christ Jesus; and when he shall open his casket and
display his treasures, may we, and all dear Christian friends, whom I long to
see again in the flesh, be found among those who spake often one to another of
his dear name, who
thought
upon it.
If such the views
which grace unfolds,
Weak as it is
below,
What rapture must
the Church above
In Jesus' presence
know!
when time shall be
no more — the bustle
past. By
the by,
what insignificant names our God uses when speaking of this life: — grass,
flower, dust, wind, shadow, a leaf going to and fro a weaver's shuttle;...
Scatter my good wishes around, particularly to ...
Believe me dear
...
Very
affectionately yours,
T. A. Powerscourt.
Letter 13.
12th May 1826,
Antrim Castle.
My dear friend — I
put off writing till I should arrive at Powerscourt, expecting then to get a
frank as my letters are not worth postage, but I can refrain no longer,
thanking you and your dear sisters for your very great kindness to my
children, etc. It was doubly gratifying, because any kindness shown to me,
must be for my Master's sake. How manifestly His only aim is our happiness —
witness, "this is my commandment, that ye love one another." We may well,
then, trust it in his hands, who spared not His own Son. May we not lie like
the helpless sheep on the shepherd's shoulder, content for him to carry
through prosperity as well as adversity; through life, as well as death? Not
only is our path already marked out by infinite wisdom and love, but has been
trodden by the man of sorrow; be it ever so rugged, we still have the sweet
comfort of tracing in it the footsteps of the Captain of our Salvation; every
need-be pang, then, is but an echo from the inner sanctuary — "If ye suffer
with Him ye shall be glorified together;" and as he entered the everlasting
gates, triumphantly crying, "He is near that justifieth me, who shall contend
with me?" So may his poor weak followers walk, saying, "who shall lay any
thing to the charge of God's elect?" No one I think, who reads the Bible, can
hesitate whether or not, it was written by one who knowing every distress,
into which every believer from the beginning to the end would ever be brought,
could provide a word in season for each, or whether or not, the fulness of the
Godhead dwelt in that man, who, inviting all who labour and are heavy laden to
come to him, could promise rest to their souls. And do we not need every
consolation laid up, word upon word, promise upon promise. In order that our
comfort may abound, He has so graciously left us dependant one upon another,
and provided so many relations calculated to support on our way to him, and,
yet, as if to show they all concentrated in one, he takes to himself the name
of each. I love to think of him as a Father, for it is written, "What son is
he whom the Father chasteneth not." And the heart feels assured that his
tenderness will neither spare too much, nor will our rebellion prompt him to
say, "Let it alone." While the compassion manifested in the very chastisement
proves, as words cannot, that he does not afflict willingly, but as a father
pitieth his children so he pities us; yet, to think with all this, that I
should ever murmur! I who may well say, his love to me is a wonder to myself;
and this too, while having tasted of his trial, I can, in a degree, sympathise
with him, for I do think, he is never more wounded in the house of his friends
than when they murmur. Nothing seems so to overcome his forbearance with the
Israelites. O! then, dear ... may we be able to say under every circumstance
to the full extent of the words, "The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want,"
resigned to live, or resigned to die, resigned to prosperity, or resigned to
adversity, only, "Father glorify thy name."
To live is Christ!
am I resigned to live
When Christ is
with me, holds me by the hand,
Follows my
footsteps, watches by my bed,
Bids the warm tear
of grateful exultation,
Washing the stain
the tear of sorrow leaves,
And makes some
evil seem so like to good
I scarce can call
it by another name.
I hope I am
resigned the harder task to bear-
The plague of a
rebellious heart,
To bear to wrong
the Being I adore,
To love Him and
yet forget Him, to desire
His Presence, more
than all the things of earth,
And yet neglect
and lose it for their sakes,
To seek for
holiness and find but sin,
To war against
myself and long to be-
Yet feel I am
not-what my Maker is.
To die is gain!
am I resigned to die?
IT IS NOT SO; that
cannot be the word,
That speaks the
Christian's feelings when she hears
The distant sound
of her Redeemer's foot
Hasting to fetch
her to her Father's throne;
When the first
beam from heaven's unclosing gate
Falls on her path,
to light her to her home,
And angel's voices
vibrate on her ear
Preparing songs to
greet her welcome there.
Could you see the
heart turned inside out as God sees, you would join in exclaiming
unworthy, unworthy;
may it be written
as of Ephraim of old, "his iniquity is bound up, his sin is hid." I trust my
visit to Edinburgh has given me a spur in hasting unto the coming of our Lord.
I do not feel friendship the same as I once did. I used to feel my pleasures
here were
increased. Now I feel
my
tale is told,
and ties of
friendship are drawing towards an hereafter, while we are only left in Satan's
kingdom, for the Lord to finish his work in us and by us. For this end it
seems to me, we should watch, the old serpent's aim to resist, and Christ's to
further; the aim of the former seems to he to drive closer and closer to self,
and even when his hopes are frustrated of getting the believer to fall down
and worship this idol, he strives with it to
muddle his
comfort. Does not the aim of our dear Lord seem to be to give strong
consolation to those who have fled for refuge to the hope set before them? Let
us then further this end, not only by opening our mouths wide for ourselves,
but by declaring on the house-top what is whispered in our ear in the closet,
and by testifying to our poor fellow pilgrims, that in our experience we have
found, "faithful is he that hath promised."
Some of my friends
accuse me of writing very uncomfortable letters; but I say, if you want to
hear of
me, you
will find my future life folded up in that verse, "all shall work together for
good," and only let me speak of my beloved. But this I must say, although I
have quarrelled with evidences, one is now staring me in the face, in the love
I feel towards you, dear ... it is such as a stranger intermeddleth not with.
Yours, dear
friend, with cordial affection,
T. A. P.
Letter 14.
Glenart, October
1827.
My very dear
sister in the Lord — Is it not true that we are very often a wonder to
ourselves, think of my having a friend in the world. that I believe would not
think a letter from me troublesome, yet that I can be one or two months, only
intending to write, even though by doing so I might hope for a letter in
return! I trust you open that door for many, into which if any enter, they
are saved.
I hope you are able to go in and out yourself, finding rich pasture. O! that
our hearts were always bubbling up, boiling with this matter, like wine which
hath no vent, ready to burst its bottles, constrained to speak about our King.
O! that He so dwelt in our hearts by faith, that out of their abundance, our
speech might be as spikenard sending forth its pleasant smell, ointment
pouring forth his name, that this good treasure, this mine of wealth might be
continually emptying itself in consolations into our own bosoms, and enriching
all around. But who is this King! that we should leave all other subjects to
speak of him? the Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in our battles, the
Lord of Hosts, the King of glory. — My Lord, who sits at the Lord's right
hand, till every evil in my heart shall become his footstool. — The King, who
in spite of the heathen raging, the kings of the earth standing up, the rulers
taking counsel against him, shall be set on the holy hill of Sion. — A King
who has come to his people in a chariot paved with love. — A King with many
crowns, the most radiant, the most becoming of which, is the one he received
in the day of his espousals, Cant. 3.2. — A King whose greatest glory is his
bride, that he has overcome and new created the
sinner,
betrothed and united himself to such for ever. — A king who in the day of the
gladness of his heart shall stretch forth his hand to
you and me,
and say in presence of men, angels and devils, "come ye blessed of my Father,"
etc. — A king who has himself prepared the kingdom, who by the love tokens he
distils on us day after day, viz. by his dispensations, and his consolations,
proves he has considered our frame, knows what will satisfy, even to enter
into the joy of our Lord, who having prepared a kingdom that
will satisfy!!! is
now preparing us
for it. — A king who has enriched his church by his poverty, nourished it by
his riches; in a word, Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews. Say, dear
friend, have we not volumes to unfold respecting this king; why then so often
do we spend our time, while in company with our fathers' children, talking on
subjects we despise and consider trifles; is it not because out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaks? Alas! how grievously have I to accuse
myself on this point; m nothing do I feel so dependant, and when I do speak,
how many double triple motives; how often seeking self instead of Jesus,
proved by silence before those who dislike it; how often ashamed of him, how
often irritated when opposed; how often playing with the subject; how little
feeling what I speak; how humbling; how astonished you would be, did you know
me; all the love of angels and saints put together, could not have patience
with me. . He alone could silent stand, and wait to show his love. Surely it
is no hard demand is required only to be loving subjects, and how gracious
where he demands this; He does not call on us to love an unknown friend, but
with his own pencil has drawn for us the object to be loved. Two questions are
natural when called to give our affections. 1st. What sort of person is he?
2nd. What is his mind towards me? Let us hear what answer God has given. What
sort of person? "chiefest among ten thousand," "fairer than the children of
men," "altogether lovely," "as the apple tree among the trees of the wood,"
not only "the first born of every creature" but "the image of the invisible
God, the brightness of his glory, the express image of his person," even God
himself, who made and upholds all things in heaven and earth. What does Peter
say, when he was the witness of his majesty? What does John, when he saw him
standing in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks? Every knee bows to his
name, every tongue shall confess him Lord, for He is holy, harmless,
undefiled, separate from sinners, this is our King. But what is his mind
towards us? "full of grace and truth;" out of his fulness ever emptying grace
upon grace. His words to us are powerful, to overcome by love, a sharp two
edged sword, yet as the sound of many waters, "most
sweet"
, as lilies
dropping sweet-smelling myrrh; "never man spake as he spake," gave his enemies
testimony; for they "wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his
mouth." This is your beloved, and friend, as well as king, who has grace
poured into his lips on purpose to speak a word in season to
the weary;
blessed weariness which brings a word from him; sweet to have our beloved, our
king; comfortable to be able to say, my Jesus reigns; with what confidence we
may lay ourselves back in his arms, and say "undertake for me;" blessed to be
one with him whom God has blessed for ever; blessed to have our salvation and
his glory bound up in the same bundle. Blessed to know he has gone through
every class in our wilderness-school. Are you satisfied with this King? for
he is your
King for ever and ever, may our repose in him answer the question. Are you
contented to have him, and leaving all others to cleave only to him? for this
beloved
is yours,
and
you are his;
may the
devotedness of our affections, lives, and words, answer, "Lord thou knowest
all things, thou knowest that I love thee." And O may we be kept from acting
as one who is ashamed of his choice.
"Rather may this
our glory be,
That Saviour not
ashamed of me."
My eyes are not at
all better, though at times more comfortable; the last fortnight I have
suffered much with them, and a lump has appeared upon the good eye, but I
trust it may go away again without making me quite blind; at all events I have
a light that shines in darkness, that nothing can take from me; in his light
shall I see light, even see him who is invisible.
Believe me, my
very dear friend, now and ever your warmly affectionate sister in everlasting
bonds,
T. A. P.
Letter 15.
Powerscourt, 26th
July, 1828.
My very dear
friend — I do not know where you are, but I think you must imagine, I have
bade an eternal farewell to everything below, so long have I been answering
your letters; but there is one you may write to, who will be sure to answer
immediately. Our life should be, I conceive, a continual interchange of care
for peace. I saw some of your friends in London; we hoped to see ... but it
seems to have been a false report that she was coming to London. Oh! reality,
reality, how immense all before us, yet how we shrink from apprehended evil,
though we know Him too well to take one single want out of his hand. His will,
nothing but his will... We have a wonderful advertisement of a physician, from
the Spirit of truth, "who
healeth all thy diseases;"
we who know
something of the plague of a human heart, can understand in a measure how
great the undertaking. He says himself "come unto me all ye that labour, and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." He must have foreseen every weight
his people ever should be burdened with, when he undertakes to give rest to
all, and
truly he does, for he himself carried all our sicknesses. Can he heal hearts
wounded with guilt and care? wounded with rebellious murmuring at his
dispensations, and coveting what he has withheld, delighting in broken
cisterns, as though they were the fountain of living waters? Can he heal
hearts of wandering and distracted maniacs; maniacs ever engaged in taking
poison? Can He heal the bruises of our falls, the dislocations of our
backslidings, wounds corrupt through foolishness?
It is written,
"who healeth all
thy diseases;" it made little difference in the days of his flesh, what the
disease was, that was brought to him, palsied, maimed, blind, deaf, possessed,
dying, dead. Then let us come in the simplicity of sickness, in the
helplessness of want; to trust is to be healed, to touch the hem of his
garment is to be whole; but let us
keep touching
him, for virtue is
ever coming from him; he waits to apply all the virtues of heaven's dispensary
to
our case whatever
it be;
he is master of that disease,
we have all his
promise, all his skill, all his power, all his love; his skill is infinite,
his compassion boundless; though ascended to heaven, he has left his heart on
earth; he gives US all his attention, as if there was none else to think of on
earth. He requires but one thing,
to take all he has prescribed,
BITTER as well as
SWEET. Dear ... let us put a blank into his hand for time, and for
every thing,
confident that
with him he has freely given us all things. Is there one thing we would keep
back? Let that be just the thing to commit with most anxiety; we need the
substance of things hoped for, to be put in the scale of judgment and
conscience, against the things of time; then as surely as substance outweighs
shadow, so surely must we judge of things accurately, till all our sorrows
shall be left behind; and from the Jerusalem above, we shall be able to trace
his hand leading us by ways we knew not, to the manifesting and magnifying of
his faithfulness and grace. Then shall we see how contemptible were all our
fears, when omniscience which foresaw, omnipresence that prevented, and
omnipotence that laughed them to scorn, were on our side. Let us get well
acquainted with our physician; let us take lodgings in his neighbourhood; let
us see him
every day;
let us hide nothing, but open to him our whole case, and say as David when
under his care, "let me hear what God the Lord will say to me;" and let us
venture on his testimony, who declares him to be our peace, for "he forgiveth
all our sins, and healeth all our diseases." Mr. Howels said one day, speaking
of this beloved physician, where was Jesus educated? where did he graduate? He
was educated in the Lazar-house of human suffering, and he took his degree in
the infirmary of the human heart — whenever he visits a patient He says, this
sickness is not unto death; He is not only the physician, but he is also the
medicine of the soul. History tells us of a queen who, when her husband was
wounded by a poisoned arrow, extracted the venom with her own lips, at the
risk of her life. Our physician has done more — He has extracted the poison of
sin, which the bite of the serpent infused into our constitution, at the
expense of his life. He has carried all his human sympathies into heaven, and
He never ceases to exercise them; we can sometimes look back upon a scene of
suffering, or of trial which was exquisitely painful at the time, but
there was no diminution of sympathy
in
the breast of our physician.
The trial was
appointed or permitted
in Love;
and we shall soon see that it formed part of a merciful design which was
superintended and tempered by the physician himself. Dear ... how well you
know him, since he is just suited to our need. Have we not cause to glory in
our need then? nor can I wish anything for you, but that you should be exactly
in the state this letter shall find you, for "he performeth that which
is appointed"
for you. He
who appointed life and glory to be the end, has also appointed this condition,
that affliction, for the way. He has predestinated us to be conformed to the
image of his Son, that He may have the pre-eminence in all things; therefore
"He makes all things work together for our good, for He is of one mind, and
who shall turn him? What his soul desires, that He does, therefore we know we
shall be like him when He shall appear. If you are in darkness, light is sown
for you; you are still on the way
to perfection,
learning not to
make idols of your feelings, treading in his steps, who was made perfect by
suffering, and who never travelled with such velocity to perfection, as when
He cried out "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me." I long to hear from
you again; tell me what you think of dear ...
Believe me, my
very dear friend,
Truly
affectionately yours,
T. A. P.
Letter 16.
Glenart, 1827.
My dear Mrs ...,
I have many apologies to make for having so long neglected answering your
inquiries, but thought should I defer it until my arrival here, I might be
able to have a comfortable few moments' intercourse with you on paper; not but
that I might at ... but those who are cumbered about much serving, or fancy
they have much to serve
in, are
especially cumbered when leaving home for a few days. Blessed to have our
thoughts and joys not only "packed up," but gone before. Well to have all our
riches in moveable goods, that like the
present
Jews,
we may be
ready to be off to Jerusalem at a moment's warning. I cannot answer your
question till I talk to you a little about our dear, dear, friend. Stop! are
we sure He is
our friend?
yes, for he is the friend of
sinners.
His name is the refuge of the oppressed — the helper of the needy, no
particular need specified, for
be it what it
may, He has a
help, even himself. In the world,
tribulation,
(oh how deep a
word,) in me, peace. No oppression too trifling, no need too great, He who is
our refuge, knows our frame; He knows the disorder of every little nerve, can
cause even a voice or a step to be an oppression — so foolish the oppression,
as hardly to allow it to ourselves, yet may we run from it, and hide ourselves
in him, a refuge even from ourselves. What can be our need when our help is
the God of Jacob, a covenant God, who keepeth truth for ever; when our hope is
in him who made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them? How
beautiful the 146th Psalm, where we see, His greatness consists in being just
fitted for the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoner, the blind, the bowed down,
the stranger, the fatherless, yes, and
the widow.
You ask me if I have read Romaine on Canticles? No, never! but the Spirit has,
I think, expounded to me some of the verses when doing his office as
Comforter, and I sometimes think none can so enter into the emphasis of
feeling expressed in that book, as the widow, for none so know the
preciousness of
any
blessing, as those who have lost it — how much more that blessing, without
which even paradise was not complete; and if when all was peace, and joy, and
love, man needed one to bear his part in bliss, Oh! how much more when care
and sorrow fill our hearts with anguish and our eyes with tears. Who can so
value that everlasting
is, and
am, as one
who is every turn forced to remember, my beloved was mine, and I was his; yet
happy helplessness, blessed difficulties, which bring to our assistance
such a
helper. There is hardly, I believe, a name implying poverty and want in the
creature, and strength for this poverty in himself, that he does not take —
father, brother, friend, prophet, priest, king, physician, help, health,
refiner, light, life, counsellor, guide, anchor, sanctuary, all in all, our
portion for ever — but the most wonderful endearing and sufficient, is this,
the husband of his church, or rather the bridegroom, (his name in this sacred
song) for the marriage supper of the Lamb is not yet come, the bride not being
yet ready. Speaking lately to ... of those verses you mention, this verse
seemed to me particularly sweet. "Who, is this that cometh up from the
wilderness leaning on her beloved?" True, the church is in the wilderness, but
it is only for an
appointed
time; her place has been prepared of her God; she is fed, she is not
forgotten, she is on her way up, and she has a strong support. (Rev. 12. 6.)
Her very situation makes her feel protection, support, and consolation
needful, but it is in order that she may trust for
all in her
beloved, and in doing so, find perfect peace; for "in the Lord Jehovah is
everlasting strength;" her very helplessness
forces her
to
prove his
faithfulness, power, and tender watchfulness. The stronger she leans, the more
she knows of Him in whom she has believed, and if her sense of infirmities had
not obliged her to have recourse to foreign strength, never could she have
learned to say, "most gladly will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the
power of Christ may rest upon me". "Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities,
in necessities, etc.,
for when I am weak, then am I strong."
But while
every thing around is saying, "arise, this is not thy rest," how marvellous
that we need afflictive line upon line, precept upon precept, to remind us we
are in the wilderness, so heavily we go to reach eternal joys. Oh, how dull we
are in learning difficult dependant lessons! how many rebukes, chastisements,
reproachful looks, we learn from our patient Master, before we can be
persuaded to accept of happiness in leaning on him! Surely, the malignity of
sin is no where so visible as in the bosom of the child of God.
Satan sins
not in spite of light, love, and knowledge — redeeming love. It is truly
humbling, that nothing less than God can make us understand what is plain,
desire what is good, avoid what is evil; how much more so is it, that at the
very moment our judgment tells us, there is but one path of pleasantness and
peace, at the moment conscience is convincing us how grievous and bitter a
thing it is to depart from our God, when past experience with an enlightened
understanding unite in exclaiming, "To whom shall we go, thou hast the words
of eternal life; even at that very moment, nothing less than an Almighty
spirit can make us
will, not
to forsake the fountain of living water which
we have tasted,
and to hew out
with labour, to our misery, cisterns, broken cisterns, that hold no water. Oh!
let us beware of our
first
neglect of our Lord. Our beloved can bear
any thing
better than
neglect.
Let us with John, lean
on the bosom
of Jesus; there
learn love, as he learned it. Thus shall the mind be in us that was in Christ;
for love is the fulfilling of the law. I did hear something lately unbecoming
a Christian, of ... and in dwelling on it, I hope to benefit myself; for it is
a point, alas, I particularly fail in, as, no doubt, you have observed. I
mean, speaking severely of God's children, forgetting that he that toucheth
them toucheth the apple of his eye; that words aimed at them, pierce
him; that
all is laid at the charge of that cause for which we profess to live, and to
be willing to die. I think we should be very sure of an action, before we
speak of it, which we do not consider commendable, and not then unless for
good...
Letter 17 |
