To Robert Gordon of Knockbrex — Letter 87

Much honored sir.

Grace, mercy, and peace be to you. I received your letter, which refreshed me. Except from your son and my brother, I have seen few letters from my acquaintances in that country, which makes me heavy. But I have the company of a Lord who can teach us all to be kind, and has the right way of it. Though for the present I have seven ups and downs every day, yet I am abundantly comforted and feasted with my King and beloved daily. It pleases him to come and dine with a sad prisoner and a solitary stranger. His spikenard casts a fragrance, yet my sweet has some sour mixed with it, wherein I must acquiesce; for there is no reason that his comforts should be too cheap, seeing they are delicacies. Why should he not make them so to his own? But I truly think now, Christ has led me up to a notch in Christianity that I was never at before; I think all before was but childhood and child's play. Since I departed from you, I have been scalded while the smoke of hell's fire went in at my throat, and I would have bought peace with a thousand years of torment in hell. And I have been up also, after these deep down-castings and sorrows, before the Lamb's white throne in my Father's inner court, the great King's dining hall, and Christ cast a covering of love over me. He has cast a coal into my soul, and it is smoking among the straw and keeping the hearth warm. I look back to what I was before, and I laugh to see the sand castles I built when I was a child. At first, the remembrance of many fair feast-days with my Lord Jesus in public, which are now changed into silent Sabbaths, raised a great tempest and made the devil much business in my soul. The devil came in and would prompt me to make a quarrel with Christ and lay the blame on him as a hard master. But now these mists are blown away, and I am not only silenced as to all quarreling, but fully satisfied. Now I wonder that any man living can smile upon the world or give it a hearty good-day. The Lord Jesus has handled me so, that as I am now disposed, I think I shall never be in this world's common lodging again for a night's rest. Christ keeps me good company; he has eased me when I saw it not, lifting the cross off my shoulders, so that I think it but a feather, because underneath are everlasting arms. God forbid it should come to bartering or exchanging of crosses, for I think my cross so sweet that I know not where I would find the like of it. Christ's honeycomb drops so abundantly that it sweetens my bitterness. Nothing breaks my heart but that I cannot get the daughters of Jerusalem to tell them of my bridegroom's glory. I charge you in the name of Christ that you tell all you come to of it, and yet it is above telling and understanding. Oh, if all the kingdom were as I am, except my bonds! They know not the love-kisses that my only Lord Jesus lavishes on a cherished prisoner. On my salvation, this is the only way to the new city. I know Christ has no dumb seals; would he put his privy seal upon blank paper? He has sealed my sufferings with comforts. I write this to confirm you. I write now what I have seen as well as heard. Now and then my silence burns up my spirit. But Christ has said: 'Your wage is running up with interest in heaven, as if you were preaching.' And this from a king's mouth rejoices my heart. At other times, I am sad for dwelling in the tents of a strange land; there are none, that I yet know of, but two persons in this town of whom I dare give my word. And the Lord has removed my brethren and my acquaintances far from me. And it may be, I am forgotten in the place where the Lord made me the instrument to do some good. But I see this is vanity in me; let him make of me what he pleases, if he make salvation out of it to me. I am tempted and troubled that all the fourteen prelates should have been armed of God against me only, while the rest of my brethren are still preaching. But I dare not say one word but this: 'It is good, Lord Jesus, because you have done it.' Woe is me for the virgin daughter; woe is me for the desolation of the virgin daughter of Scotland! Oh if my eyes were a fountain of tears to weep day and night for that poor widow church, that poor miserable wanderer! Alas, that my Father has put to the door my poor wayward mother! Oh for that cloud of black wrath and fury of the indignation of the Lord, that is hanging over the land. Sir, write to me, I beseech you. I pray you also, be kind to my afflicted brother. Remember my love to your wife. And the prayers and the blessing of the prisoner of Christ be on you. Frequent your meetings for prayer and communion with God; they would be sweet meetings to me.

Aberdeen, February 16, 1637. Yours in his sweet Lord Jesus, S. R.