Go on, thou man of God; and may the Lord cause thy bow to abide in strength! Glad should I be to come and shoot
some gospel arrows in Devonshire; but the cloud seems now to point toward America. My dear family calls loudly for me. Our Lord has wonderfully of late interposed on their behalf. God willing, I intend shortly to send you an account of the Orphan-house, and my last volume of sermons, with some other things. Blessed be God for making any of my poor writings of use to your dear soul. Surely I had need proclaim free grace on the house-top; if I did not, the stones would cry out against me. O my dear brother, what a mystery of love is the mystery of godliness? Whilst I am writing the fire kindles. This fire has also of late kindled in many hearts. Our large society goes on well. We have many that walk in the comforts of the Holy Ghost. I hear of glorious things from various parts. I hope ere long we shall hear of persons going from post to post, and crying, "Babylon is fallen, Babylon is fallen." I trust you, my dear Sir, will be made a happy instrument in the Mediator's kingdom, of pulling down satan's strongholds. Pray write me word, how the war is going on between Michael and the dragon. For the present, adieu. My tender love to all the lovers of Jesus Christ. Accept the same from, my dear brother,
Yours most affectionately in Christ, G. W.
LETTER CCCCXCIX. To Mr. R, in Edinburgh.
Dear Mr. R, London, Dec. 24, 1742.
IT has given me some concern that I could not answer your kind and acceptable letter before. As our Saviour will give me freedom, I shall send you a few lines now. I think I may say to you, as Luther said to Melanchton, Nimis es nullus. You are kept in bondage by a false humility. It is good to see ourselves poor, and exceeding vile; but if that sight and feeling prevent our looking up to, and exerting ourselves for our dear Saviour, it becomes criminal, and robs the soul of much comfort. I can speak this by dear-bought experience. How often have I been kept from speaking and acting for God, by a sight of my own unworthiness; but now I see that the
