XCIX.

1802.

I THANK my friend for her kind epistle of good tidings. It gave me great joy; and sure I am that God will ever own, honour, bless and revive his own work; for he knows his own abode, and the broken and contrite heart is his eternal residence, his own workmanship, and his own favourite sacrifice. His goodness to my soul, that he shews in the liberty which he gives me, in the power that he displays, and in the multitude who flock from all parts to hear me, has humbled me not a little. Bless God, O my soul! My success seems to be great. Here are some in this town now who have followed me upwards of seventy miles; and indeed all starving souls agree that the food God sends me to hold forth is a portion of meat in due season; and their language is, "Lord, evermore give us this bread." They much wish me to turn itinerant, and so never to continue in one place. This I do firmly believe, that if God should spare my life much longer - from Providence chapel the word of the Lord, and the true light, will go forth into all this land. I am surprised how my books gain ground. I cannot find a soul that has either light, truth, or hope, but what God has given them by my books. Once more, bless the Lord, O my soul!

The corn is very fine universally; but here is much rain, and I have my fears about the hay at Cricklewood, as it is spoiling in these parts. I am to preach ten days more before I return.

Farewell! excuse haste: my love to all in the vestry, and in the seats.

W. H. S. S.

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