Madam,—I should not forget you; but my deadness under a threatening stroke, both of a falling church (a broken covenant, a despised remnant) and a craziness of body, that I cannot get a piece sickly clay carried about from one house or town to another, lies most heavyily on me. The Lord has removed Scotland’s crown, for we did not own His crown. We fretted at His catholic government of the world, and fretted that He would not be ruled and led by us, in breaking our adversaries: and He make us to suffer and pine away in our sins, under the broken government of His house. It is likely, that it would be our snare to be tried with the honour of a peaceable Reformation: we might spoil the carved work of His house, worse than those against whom we cry out. It is as if He has told us lie on our left side three hundred and ninety days; and yet so astonishing is our stupidity, that we moan not our sore side. Our gold is become dim, the face of our Nazarites has become black, the sun is gone down on our prophets; the crown is fallen from our heads; we roar like bears. Lord save us from that, “He that made them will not have mercy on them” (Isa. 27:11). The heart of the scribe thinks terror. Oh, Madam, if the Lord would help us to more self-judging, and to make sure an interest in Christ! Ah, we forget eternity, and it approaches quickly. Grace be with you.
Your Ladyship’s, at all obedience, in the Lord, S. R.
Your Ladyship’s, at all obedience, in the Lord, S. R.
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