Grace, mercy & peace be to you: Your ease is unknown to me, whether ye be yet our Lord's prisoner at W•gton or not: However it be, I know our Lord Jesus hath been enquiring for you, & that he hath honoured you to bear his chains, which is the golden end of his cross, & so hath wailed out a chosen & honourable cross for you: I wish you much joy & comfort of it, for I have nothing to say of Christ's cross but much good, I hope my ill word shall never meet either Christ or his sweet & easy cross. I know he seeketh of us an out-cast with this house of clay, this mother-prison, this earth, that we love fall well: & verily, when Christ snuffeth my candle & causeth my light to shine upward, it is one of my greatest wonders that dirt & clay hath so much court with a soul not made of clay, & that our soul goeth out of kind so far; ⟨p. 328⟩as to make an idol of this earth, such a deformed harlot, as that it should wrong Christ of our love. How fast, how fast doeth our ship sail! And how fair a wind hath Time to blow us off these coasts & this land of dying & perishing things! And alas, our ship saileth one way & fleeth many miles in one hour to hasten us upon eternity, & our love & hearts are sailing close back over & swimming towards ease, lawless pleasure, vain honour, perishing riches, & to build a fool's nest I know not where, & to lay our eggs within the sea-mark, & fasten our bits of broken anchors upon the worst ground in the world, this fleeting & perishing life; & in the mean while, time & tide carry us upon another life, & there is daily less & less oil in our lamp, & less & less sand in our watch-glass. O what a wise course were it for us, to look away from the false beauty of our borrowed prison, & to mind & eye & lust for our country! Lord, Lord, take us home. And for my self, I think, if a poor, weak, dying sheep seek for an old dike & the lee-side of an hill in a storm, I have cause to long for a covert from this storm in heaven: I know none will take my room over my head there; But certainly sleepy bodies would be at rest & a well made bed, & an old crazed bark at a shore, & a wearied traveller at home & a breathless horse at the rink's end. I see nothing in this life but sin & the sour fruits of sin: And O what a burden is sin; & what a slavery & miserable bondage is it, to be at the nod & yea's & nay's of such a lord-master as a body of sin!
GRace, mercy & peace be to you: Your ease is unknown to me, whether ye be yet our Lord's prisoner at W•gton or not: However it be, I know our Lord Iesus hath been enquiring for you, & that he hath honoured you to bear his chains, which is the golden end of his cross, & so hath wailed out a chosen & honourable cross for you: I wish you much joy & comfort of it, for I have nothing to say of Christ's cross but much good, I hope my ill word shall never meet either Christ or his sweet & easie cross. I know he seeketh of us an out-cast with this house of clay, this mother-prison, this earth, that we love fall well: & verily, when Christ snuffeth my candle & causeth my light to shine upward, it is one of my greatest wonders that dirt & clay hath so much court with a soul not made of clay, & that our soul goeth out of kinde so far; ⟨p. 328⟩as to make an idol of this earth, such a deformed harlot, as that it should wrong Christ of our love. How fast, how fast doeth our ship sail! And how fair a wind hath Time to blow us off these coasts & this land of dying & perishing things! And alas, our ship saileth one way & fleeth many miles in one hour to hasten us upon eternity, & our love & hearts are sailing close back over & swimming towards ease, lawless pleasure, vain honour, perishing riches, & to build a fool's nest I know not where, & to lay our egges within the sea-mark, & fasten our bits of broken anchors upon the worst ground in the world, this fleetting & perishing life; & in the mean while, time & tide carry us upon another life, & there is daily less & less oile in our lamp, & less & less sand in our watch-glass. O what a wise course were it for us, to look away from the false beauty of our borrow•d prison, & to minde & eye & lust for our countrey! Lord, Lord, take us home. And for my self, I think, if a poor, weak, dying sheep seek for an old dike & the lee-side of an hill in a storm, I have cause to long for a covert from this storm in heaven: I know none will take my room over my head there; But certainly sleepy bodies would be at rest & a well made bed, & an old crazed bark at a shore, & a wearied traveller at home & a breathless horse at the rink's end. I see nothing in this life but sin & the sowre fruits of sin: And O what a burden is sin; & what a slavery & miserable bondage is it, to be at the nod & yea's & nay's of such a lord-master as a body of sin!