Page:Works of Thomas Carlyle - Volume 06.djvu/395

 why. In these blank spaces the conjectural sense, which I distinguish here as usual by commas, is occasionally somewhat questionable.

1em ''My Lord,—You know how untoward I am at this business of writing; yet a word. I beseech the Lord make us sensible of this great mercy here, which surely was much more than “the sense of it” the House expresseth. I trust “to have, through” the goodness of our God, time and opportunity to speak of it to you face to face. When we think of our God, what are we’ Oh, His mercy to the whole society of saints,—despised, jeered saints! Let them mock on. Would we were all saints! The best of us are, God knows, poor weak saints;—yet saints; if not sheep, yet lambs; and must be fed. We have daily bread, and shall have it, in despite of all enemies. There’s enough in our Father’s house, and He dispenseth it. I think, through these outward mercies, as we call them, Faith, Patience, Love, Hope are exercised and perfected,—yea Christ med, and grows to a perfect man within us. I know not well how to distinguish: the difference is only in the subject, “not in the object”; to a worldly man they are outward, to a saint Christian;—but I dispute not.''

''My Lord, I rejoice in your particular mercy. I hope that it is so to you. If so, it shall not hurt you; not make you plot or shift for the young Baron to make him great. You''