A57970:900
Joshua Redivivus, or Mr. Rutherford's Letters
Joshua redivivus, or, Mr. Rutherford's letters divided into two parts, the first, containing these which were written from Aberdeen, where he was confined by a sentence of the high commission ... partly on account of his non-conformance : the second, containing some which were written from Anwoth ... / now published for the use of all the people of God ... by a well-wisher to the work & people of God.Joshua redivivus, or, Mr. Rutherfoord's letters divided into two parts, the first, containing these which were written from Aberdeen, where he was confined by a sentence of the high commission ... partly on account of his non-conformance : the second, containing some which were written from Anwoth ... / now published for the use of all the people of God ... by a wellwisher to the work & people of God.
Rotterdam? : s.n., 1664
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
To WILLIAM GLENDINNING. (167)
Dear Brother.
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!