To the Truly Noble and Elect Lady, the Viscountess of Kenmure — Letter 4

Noble and elect Lady.

That honor that I have prayed for these sixteen years, with submission to my Lord's will, my kind Lord has now bestowed upon me — even to suffer for my royal and princely King Jesus and for his kingly crown, and the freedom of his kingdom, that his father has given him. The forbidden lords have sentenced me with deprivation and confinement within the town of Aberdeen. I am charged in the king's name to enter against the twentieth day of August next, and there to remain during the king's pleasure, as they have given it out. However Christ's green cross, newly laid upon me, be somewhat heavy, while I call to mind the many fair days, sweet and comfortable to my soul and to the souls of many others, and how young ones in Christ are plucked from the breast, and the inheritance of God laid waste — yet that sweet-smelled and perfumed cross of Christ is accompanied with sweet refreshments, with the kisses of a king, with the joy of the Holy Spirit, with faith that the Lord hears the sighing of a prisoner, with undoubted hope (as sure as my Lord lives) after this night to see daylight, and Christ's sky to clear up again upon me and his poor kirk. And that in a strange land among strange faces he will give favor in the eyes of men to his poor oppressed servant, who cannot but love that lovely one, that princely one, Jesus the comforter of his soul. All would be well if I were free of old challenges for guiltiness, and for neglect in my calling, and for speaking too little for my well-beloved's crown, honor, and kingdom. Oh for a day in the assembly of the saints to advocate for King Jesus! If my Lord goes on now to quarrel also, I die — I cannot endure it. But I look for peace from him, because he knows I do bear men's feud but I do not bear his feud. This is my only exercise: that I fear I have done little good in my ministry. But I dare not but say I loved the chambers of the wedding and prayed for and desired the thriving of the marriage and the coming of his kingdom. I apprehend no less than a judgment upon Galloway, and that the Lord shall visit this whole nation for the quarrel of the covenant. But what can be laid upon me, or any the like of me, is too light for Christ. Christ does bear more and would bear death and burning alive in his weak servants, even for this honorable cause that I now suffer for. Yet for all my complaints (and he knows that I dare not now dissemble) he was never sweeter and kinder than he is now; one kiss now is sweeter than ten long since. Sweet, sweet is his cross; light, light and easy is his yoke. O what a sweet step were it, up to my father's house through ten deaths, for the truth and cause of that unknown and so, not-half-well-loved plant of renown, the man called the Branch, the chief among ten thousands, the fairest among the sons of men! O what unseen joys, how many hidden heart-burnings of love, are in the remnants of the sufferings of Christ! My dear worthy Lady, I give it to your ladyship under my own hand (my heart-writing as well as my hand): welcome, welcome, sweet, sweet, and glorious cross of Christ; welcome sweet Jesus with your light cross — you have now gained and gotten all my love from me; keep what you have gotten. Only woe, woe is me, for my bereft flock, for the lambs of Jesus, that I fear shall be fed with dry breasts. But I spare now. Madam, I dare not promise to see your ladyship because of the little time I have allotted me, and I purpose to obey the king, who has power of my body, and rebellion to kings is unbecoming Christ's ministers. Be pleased to acquaint my Lady Mar with my case; I will look to your ladyship and that good lady will be mindful to God of the Lord's prisoner, not for my cause, but for the gospel's sake. Madam, bind me more (if more can be) to your ladyship, and write thanks to your brother my Lord of Lorne for what he has done for me, a poor unknown stranger to his lordship. I shall pray for him and his house while I live; it is his honor to open his mouth in the streets for his wronged and oppressed master Christ Jesus. Now Madam, commending your ladyship and the sweet child to the tender mercies of my own Lord Jesus, and his good will who dwelt in the bush, I rest.

Edinburgh, July 28, 1636. Yours in his own sweetest Lord Jesus, S. R.