To the Noble and Christian Lady, the Viscountess of Kenmure — Letter 8
Madam.
Grace, mercy, and peace be to you. I would not omit the occasion to write to your ladyship with the bearer. I am glad the child is well; God's favor even in the eyes of men be seen upon him. I hope your ladyship is thinking upon these sad and woeful days wherein we now live, when our Lord in his righteous judgment is sending the kirk the way she is going — to Rome's brothel house to seek a lover of her own, seeing she has given up with Christ her husband. O what sweet comfort, what rich salvation, is laid up for those who had rather wash and roll their garments in their own blood than break out from Christ by apostasy! Keep yourself in the love of Christ, and stand far back from the pollutions of the world. Side not with these times, and hold off from coming near the signs of a conspiracy with those that are now come out against Christ, that you may be kept for Christ only. I know your ladyship thinks upon this, and how you may be humbled for yourself and this backsliding land; for I aver that wrath from the Lord has gone out against Scotland. I think, ever the longer the better, of my royal and worthy master. He has become a new well-beloved to me now, in renewed consolations, by the presence of the Spirit of grace and glory. Christ's garments smell of the powder of the merchant when he comes out of his ivory chambers. O his perfumed face, his fair face, his lovely and kindly kisses, have made me a poor prisoner see that there is more to be had of Christ in this life than I believed. We think all is but a little earnest, a four hours' taste, a small tasting we have, or is to be had in this life (which is true compared with the inheritance), but yet I know it is more — it is the kingdom of God within us. Woe, woe is me, that I have not ten loves for that one Lord Jesus, and that love fails and dries up in loving him, and that I find no way to spend my love-desires and the yoke of my heart upon that fairest and dearest one. I am far behind with my narrow heart. O how shallow a soul have I to take in Christ's love! For let worlds be multiplied according to angels' understanding, in millions while they weary themselves — these worlds would not contain the thousandth part of his love. O if I could yoke in among the thick of angels and seraphim and now-glorified saints, and could raise a new love-song of Christ before all the world! I am pained with wondering at new-opened treasures in Christ. If every finger, member, bone, and joint were a torch burning in the hottest fire in hell, I would they could all send out love-praises, high songs of praise forevermore, to that plant of renown, to that royal and high Prince Jesus my Lord. But alas, his love swells in me and finds no vent. Alas, what can a dumb prisoner do or say for him. O for a pen to write a book of Christ and his love! In fact, I am left of him bound and chained with his love; I cannot find a loosed soul to lift up his praises and give them out to others. But oh, my daylight has thick clouds; I cannot shine in his praises. I am often like a ship plying about to seek the wind; I sail at great leisure and cannot be blown upon that loveliest Lord. O if I could turn my sails to Christ's right bearing, and that I had my heart's wishes of his love! But I only mar his praises. In fact, I know no comparison of what Christ is and what his worth is; all the angels and all the glorified praise him not so much as in halves. Who can advance him or utter all his praises? I want nothing; unknown faces favor me, enemies must speak good of the truth, my master's cause purchases commendation. The hopes of my release from appearances are cold; my faith has no bed to sleep upon but omnipotency. The goodwill of the Lord and his sweetest presence be with you and that child. Grace and peace be yours.
Aberdeen, 1637. Your ladyship's in all duty in his sweet Lord Jesus, S. R.
