Joshua Redivivus, or Mr. Rutherford's Letters

Grace, mercy & peace be to you: I long to hear how your soul prospereth: I have that confidence that your soul mindeth Christ & salvation: I beseech you in the Lord give more pains & diligence to fetch heaven, then the country-sort of lazy professors; who think their own faith & their own godliness, because it is their own, best; & content themselves with a coldrife custom & course, with a resolution to summer & ⟨p. 257⟩winter in that sort of profession, that the multitude and the times favour most, and are still shaping and clipping and carving their faith, according as it may best stand with their summer-sun and a whole skin; and so breath out both hot and cold in God's matters, according to the course of the times: This is their compass they sail toward heaven by, in stead of a better. Worthy & dear Sir, separate your self from such, and bend your self to the utmost of your strength & breath, in running fast for salvation, and in taking Christ's Kingdom, use violence: It cost Christ and all his followers sharp showers and hot sweats ere they won to the top of the mountain: But still our soft nature would have heaven coming to our bed-side when we are sleeping, & lying down with us, that we might go to heaven in warm clothes; but all that came there •ound wet feet by the way, & sharp storms that did take the hide off their face, & •ound to's & fro's & up's & down's & many enemies by the way. It is impossible a man can take his lusts to heaven with him, such wares as these will not be welcome there. O how loath are we to forgo our packalds & burdens that hinder us to run our race with patience! It is no small work to displease & anger nature, that we may please God. O if it be hard to win one foot or half an inch out of our own will, out of our own wit, out of our own ease & worldly lusts, & so to deny our self, & to say, It is not I but Christ, not I but grace, not I but God's glory, not I but God's love constraining me, not I but the Lord's word, not I but Christ's commanding power as King in me! O what pains & what a death is it to nature, to turn me, my self, my lust, my ease, my credit, over in, my Lord, my Saviour, my King & my God, my Lord's will, my Lord's grace! But alas that idol, that whorish creature my self, is the master-idol we all bow to: What made Eve miscarry?

GRace, mercy & peace be to you: I long to hear how your soul prospereth: I have that confidence that your soul mindeth Christ & salvation: I beseech you in the Lord give more pains & diligence to fetch heaven, then the countrey-sort of lazie professors; who think their own faith & their own godliness, because it is their own, best; & content themselves with a coldrife custom & course, with a resolution to summer &