A57970:993
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 GORDON Of Robertown. (186)
To WILLIAM GORDON Of Robertovvn. (186)
Dear Brother.
Grace, mercy & peace be to you: So often as I think on our case in our soldiers night-watch, & of our sighting life in the fields, while we are here: I am forced to say, prisoners in a dungeon condemned by a judge, to want the light of the sun and moon & candle, till their dying day, are no more, nay not so much to be pitied as we are; for they weary of their life, they hate their prison: But we fall to in our prison, where we see little, to drink our selves drunk with the night-pleasures of our weak dreams, & we long for no better life then this; but at the blast of the last trumpet, & the shout of the Archangel, when God shall take down the shepherd's tent of this fading world, we shall not have so much as a drink of water of all the dreams that we now build on. Alas that the sharp & bitter blasts on face & sides which meet us in this life, have not learned us mortification, & made us dead to this world! We buy our own sorrow, & we pay dear for it, when we spend out our love, our joy, our desires, our confidence upon an handful of snow & ice that time will melt away to nothing, & go thirsty out of the drunken Inns when all is done: Alas that we enquire not for the clear fountain; but are so foolish as to drink foul muddy & rotten waters even till our bed-time; & then in the resurrection when we shall be awakened, our yesternight's sour drink & swinish dregs shall rift up upon us, and sick, sick shall many a soul be then: I know no wholesome fountain but one: I know not a thing worth the buying but heaven: And my own mind is, if comparison were made betwixt Christ & heaven, I would sell heaven with my blessing & buy Christ. Oh if I could raise the market for Christ, & heighten the market a pound for a penny, & cry up Christ in mens estimation ten thousand talents more then