Letter XXXI. TO RICHARD REYNOLDS. Manchester, 2nd Mo. 2, 1798. My dear Friend, Though I have not written to thee for a long time, it would be great injustice to suppose I had forgotten thee. I do not even suspect thee on the same account, and I am not willing to be suspected. I remember thee often, my dear friend, I believe in the manner thou wouldst wish me, according to the ability and strength afforded; and I have the comfort also to believe, thou art graciously remembered of God, and that thy prayers and thine alms are gone up for a memorial before Him. Yet, like a wise and tender father, He knoweth how to preserve His people humble, and in a state of deep abasement before Him: because He knoweth, who knoweth all things, that this is the best and safest for us. I have, indeed, often observed, with humble admiration, the unfailing wisdom of His discipline in this respect, always increasing, with all His gifts and favours, our humble abasement before Him; and seeing, in the Light, the necessity of this, I have often fervently petitioned for it. Though painful apprehensions, and many fears, do generally attend a state of spiritual desertion, as if it were some way or other our own fault, and the consequence of some impropriety of conduct; yet, as the eye is kept single to Him in submission, and the "hunger and thirst after His righteousness" maintained, such, at seasons, when it pleaseth Him, and most certainly, when their days of mourning and conflict here are over, shall, with this righteousness, be forever filled and clothed. So that I believe the Lord would have us to be encouraged to press forward, keeping the mark in view: "Let us not be weary in welldoing; for in due season we shall reap if we faint not;" nothing hath happened to us but such things as are common to our fellowpilgrims; though I know the enemy tells quite a contrary story, and would have us to believe, that our case and lot is harder and worse than hath fallen to the share of any other. But no credit must be given to him, who N was a liar from the beginning," and who always seeks to cast down those whom he cannot exalt above measure; but thou "art not ignorant of satan's devices." The good soldier thou knowest, must endure hardness; and let us always remember Him, of whom the prophet spake, that He was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" and can we expect to get to heaven without passing through a similar process? Thou and I have now long been engaged in the Christian warfare; I hope and trust not altogether unsuccessfully. We can be at no great distance from the end of the Christian race; the crown is at the end of it, laid up for, and shall be given to those, who love the appearing of the Lord, the righteous Judge, which I have no doubt is thy case; I pray that it may evermore be mine. Martha Routh and myself have just gone through a religious visit to the families of our friends in this place. Merciful help hath been afforded, and I hope the labour will not be in vain; there are about sixty families in membership, and many individuals, and a considerable number not in society, who generally attend our meetings. Give my love to thy wife, who, I believe, hath made great progress in that way that will end in peace. Oh! how I wish, how I long to encourage all my fellow-pilgrims to persevere in the high way to the Kingdom, and in an especial manner such as have been long on their journey, and are at no great distance from the heavenly country, that the strength of all such may be so renewed, that they may "run and not be weary," that they may "walk and not faint." Please remember my love to P. H. Gurney; she has been out a long time. Well! there is but one best way, and that, I believe, is to do what we are bid, and no more. I would have my dear love remembered to Ann Summerland; dear woman, her warfare is nearly accomplished, and a heavenly mansion, I have no doubt, is richly prepared for her. In dear love to thyself, in which my wife unites, I am thy affectionate friend, JOHN THORp. Letter XXXII. TO RICHARD REYNOLDS. Manchester, 10th Mo. 28, 1799. My dear Friend, Many a time of late I have thought I would write to thee, and I certainly should before now, if I had not felt myself almost constantly unfit for any sort of communication, through somewhat of an uncommon degree of what we call spiritual poverty. I do not say this in a way of complaint; I have no doubt it is all in wisdom. I do not even wish the dispensation to be changed before the time; I have no cause to believe that I am alone in this condition, though, as to the degree, I am sometimes ready to think So. I do not only feel so destitute of spiritual enjoyments, but of ability to do any thing to help myself, that, although I have been endeavouring after spiritual attainments now for more than forty years, yet, when I sit down in meetings, in a stripped state even to a degree of nakedness, I know no more how to help myself than when I was a little child. Some |
