Page:The Works of the Reverend George Whitefield, M.A., late of Pembroke-College, Oxford, and Chaplain to the Rt. Hon. the Countess of Huntingdon (1771 Volume 2).djvu/463

 not for nothing. Our times are in our 's hands. We are immortal till our work is done. This, this shall be the cry of my soul:

, ''at thy command I'll go, And to the world will gladly tell, That they a risen may know, That they the love of may feel''.

Assured of such a bidding, we may say with Luther, "If there was as many devils lying in wait, as there are tiles on the houses, we need not fear." Who knows but in Spring we may have a fair field fight? We can do all things through strengthening us. Methinks I long to range in your parts, and come to Leeds again. The persons mentioned need not bid me to remember them. I cannot forget either them or you night or day. O that we may make some large advances in the divine life, before we see each other. When will that be? Perhaps in Spring; perhaps not till we meet in heaven.

There we shall see 's ''face, and never, never sin; There, from the riches of his grace, Drink endless pleasures in''.

Hasten,, that blessed time! Till then, grant us, we beseech thee, an heaven upon earth! Such we have at the Tabernacle indeed. Last Lord's-day we had, if possible, a more blessed sacrament than the former.

''How sweet, how awful was the place, With within the doors, When everlasting Love display'd, The choicest of his stores''!

I must break off this delightful subject. Farewel. Pray for us. Remember me in the kindest manner to all. My wife heartily joins with

Yours, &c. G. W.