loathsome hearts with that of the lovely Saviour! In Him, we see all that can charm an angel's heart: in ourselves, all that can gratify a devil's. And yet we may rest perfectly assured that these nests of iniquity shail ere long be transformed into the temples of God: and these sighs of sorrow be exchanged for songs of praise. "Last Lord's day I spent the most profitable Sabbath to myself that I ever remember since I have been in the ministry; and to this hour I feel the sweet solemnities of that day delightfully protracted. Ah, my brother, were it not for past experience I should say, My heart prefumes I cannot lose But now I rejoice with trembling; desiring to "hold fast what I have, that no man take my Yet fearing that I shall find, how crown." Ere one fleeting hour is paft, The flatt'ring world employs Yours in our dear Saviour, IN April, 1794, dropping a few lines to the compiler of these Memoirs, on a Lord's-day evening, he thus concludes: "We have had a good day. I find, as a dear friend once said, It is pleasant speaking for God when we walk with him. Oh for inuch of Enoch's spirit! The Head of the church grant it to my dear brother, and his affectionate friend, S. P." In another letter to Mr. Summers, dated June 24, 1794, he thus writes: "We, my friend, have entered on a correspondence of heart with heart, and must not lose sight of that avowed object. I thank you sincerely for continuing the remembrance of so unworthy a creature in your intercourse with Heaven; and I thank that sacred Spirit, whose quickening influences, you say, you enjoy in the exercise. Yes, my brother, I have reaped the fruits of your supplications. I have been indulged with some seasons of unusual joy, tranquil as solitude, and solid as the rock on which our hopes are built. In public exercises, peculiar assistance has been afforded; especially in these three things:-The exaltation of the Redeemer's glory; the detection of the crooked ways, false refuges, and self delusions of the human heart; and the stirring up of the saints to press onward, making God's cause their own, and considering themselves as living not for themselves, but for Him alone. "Nor hath the word been without its effect; above fifty have been added to our church this year, most of whom I rejoice in as the seals of my ministry in the Lord. Indeed I am surrounded with goodness; and scarce a day passes over my head, but I say, were it not for an ungrateful heart I should be the happiest man alive; and that excepted, I neither expect nor wish to be happier in this world. My wife, my children, and myself are uninterruptedly healthy; my friends kind; my soul at rest; my labours successful, &c. Who should be content and thankful, if I should not? Oh my brother, help me to praise ! S. P. In a letter to Mrs. Pearce, from Plymouth, dated Sept. 2, 1794, the dark side of the cloud seems towards him : "I have felt much barrenness, says he, as to spiritual things since I have been here, compared with my usual frame at home; and it is a poor exchange to enjoy the creature at the expence of the Creator's presence: A few seasons of spirituality I have enjoyed; but my heart, my inconstant heart is too prone to rove from its proper centre. Pray for me, my dear, my dearest friend! I do for you daily. Oh wrestle for me that I may have more of Enoch's spirit! I am fully persuaded that a Christian is no longer really happy, and inwardly satisfied, than whilst he walks with God; and I would this moment rejoice to abandon every pleasure here for a closer walk with him. I cannot, amidst all the round of social pleasure, amidst the most inviting scenes of nature, feel that peace with God, which passeth understanding. My thirst for preaching Christ I fear, abates, and a detestable vanity for the reputation of a "good preacher" (as the world terms it) has already cost me many conflicts. Daily I feel convinced of the propriety of a remark which my friend Summers made on his journey to Wales, that "It is easier for a Christian to walk habitually near to God, than be irregular in our walk with him." But I want resolution; I want a contempt for the world; I want more heavenly-mindedness; I want more humility; I want much, very much of that, which God alone can bestow. Lord, help the weakest lamb in all thy flock! "I preached this evening from Cant. ii. 3. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. But how little love for my Saviour did I feel! With what little affection and zeal did I speak! I am, by some praised. I am followed by many. I am respected by most of my acquaintance. But all this is nothing; yea, less than nothing, compared with possessing "this testimony, that I please GOD." Oh thou Friend of Sinners, humble me by repentance, and melt me down with love. "To-morrow morning I set off for Launceston. I write to night, lest my stay in Cornwall might make my delay appear tedious to the dear and deserving object of my most undissembled love. Oh my Sarah, had I as much proof that I love Jesus Christ, as I have of my love to you I should prize it more than rubies! As often as you can find an hour for correspondence, think of your more than ever affectionate S. P." 0000 0000000 IN another to Mr. Summers, dated Nov. 10, 1794, he says "I suppose I shall visit London in the Spring. Prepare my way by communion both with God and man. I hope your soul prospers. I have enjoyed more of God within this month than ever since the day of my espousals with him. Oh my brother, help me to praise ! I cannot say that I am quite so exalted in my frame to day; yet still I acknowledge what I have lived upon for weeks,-That were there no being or thing in the universe, beside God and me, I should be at no loss for happiness. Oh! " 'Tis heaven to reft in his embrace, And no where else but there,' S. P." HYMN By Mr. Pearce, soon after his Conversion. I. Oh how fweet it is to me, 'Fore my gracious Lord to fall, Talk with him continually, Make my Blessed Jefus all, II. Other pleasures I have fought, III. Never could my heart be blefs'd, I in him am free indeed. IV. Saviour, bind me to Thy crofs, V. In His blood fuch peace I find, |