May 8, 1807.

I DROP a few lines to inform my dear friend that next Sunday I shear my sheep, and the Sunday following is ordinance day with us. I generally leave the table about five o'clock, at which time I intend to set off from the chapel door in a post chaise; to sleep that night at Godstone, and to dine the next day at the vicarage: Poor James and old Peg accompany me; and I hope I shall come in the fullness of the blessings of the gospel of peace. I long much to see my old friends, as I now feel that I get old, feeble, and soon tired. But the anchor of hope within seems firm, and keeps me watching, waiting, expecting, and looking out for the promised reward of inheritance, though of all creatures the most unworthy of it. But the gifts and calls of God are without repentance. God. has repented that he made man, and often repents of the evils denounced against man; but he never repents of giving him life, nor of calling him either to grace or glory. He takes pleasure in all that fear him, and in all that hope in his mercy. I should wish this kept secret, that the vicarage be not crowded with boarders and lodgers when I come.

God bless my friend.


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