Rutherford Revised (255)

255.  To the Lady Carleton  From Aberdeen 1637

Mistress, - Grace, mercy and peace be to you. My soul longs once again to be among you, and to see the beauty of the Lord, that I would see in His house; but I do not know if He, in white hands are all our ways, sees it expedient for His glory. I know I owe my Lord submission of the spirit, suppose He would turn me into a stone, or a pillar of salt. Oh that I were he in whom my Lord could be glorified! Suppose my little heaven were forfieted, to buy glory for Him before men and angels; suppose my want of His presence and separation from Christ, were a pillar as high as ten heavens for Christ's glory to stand upon, above all the world. What am I to Him? How little I am (though me feathers stood out as broad as the morning light) to such a high, such a lofty, to such a never enough admired and glorious Lord! My trials are heavy because of my sad Sabbaths; but I know they are less that my high provocations. I seek no more than Christ may be the gainer, and I the loser.; that He may be raised and heightened, and I cried down, and my worth made dust before His glory. On that Scotland, all with one shout, would cry up Christ, and His name was high in the land! I find the utmost borders of Christ's excellency and deep sweetness, heaven and earth's wonder. On, what is He? If I could only win in to see His inner side! Oh, I am run dry of wondering, loving and adoring that greatest and most excellent One! Wo, wo is me that I do not have half love for Him! All, what can my drop do to His great sea? What gain is it to Christ, that I have thrown my little sparkle into His great fire! What can I give to Him? On that I had love to fill a thousand worlds, that I might empty my soul all upon Christ! I think I have just reason to quit my part of any hope or love that I have to this scum (and the refuse f the dross of God's workmanship) this vain earth. I owe to this stormy world (whose kindness and heart to me have been made of iron, or a piece of wild sea island that never a creature of God lived in) not a look: I owe it no love, no hop, therefore, oh if my love was dead to it, and my soul dead to it! What am I obliged to this house of my pilgrimage? A straw for all that God has made, to my soul's liking except God. and that lovely One Chris Jesus! Seeing I am not this world's debtor, I want to be stripped of all confidence in anything but my Lord, that He may be for me,  and I for my only, only, only Lord! That He may be the morning and evening tide, the top and the root of my joys, and the heart and flower and centre of my soul's delights!Oh, never let me lodge any creature in my heart and confidence! Let the house be for Him. I rejoice than sad days cut off a piece of the lease of my short life; and that my shadow, even while I suffer, wears long and my evening comes quickly. I have reason to love home with all my heart, and to take the opportunity of the day to speed to the end of my journey, before the night comes, in which a man cannot see to walk or work; that once, after my falls, I may at night fall in, weary and tired as I am, into Chris's bosom, and between His breasts. Our prison cannot be our best country. This world does not look like heaven and the happiness that our souls would have; and therefore, it would be good to look around for the wind and hoist up our sails towards the New Jerusalem, for that is our Christ. Rememnber a prisoner to Christ. Grace, grace be with you.   Yours, in His only Lord and Master,  S.R.