Glimpses of Christian History Presents Pastwords #27: Letters on His African Hardships and His Conversion by John Newton ©2007

JOHN NEWTON (1725-1807), one of the leaders of the Evangelical revival and friend of the poet William Cowper (Q.V.), was born in London on July 24, 1725. He had little formal education and served from 1736 to 1742 on the ship in the Mediterranean trade of which his father was master. Early in 1744 he was impressed on board a man-of-war, the “Harwich,” where he was made midshipman. For an attempt to escape while his ship lay off Plymouth he was publicly flogged and degraded. After this experience he joined another vessel bound for Africa, where he took service under a slave dealer. Then in 1747 he returned to the sea, and for a time became captain of a slave ship. Newton, known previously for his unbelief and blasphemy, underwent conversion during a storm at sea in 1748. He finally gave up seafaring in 1755 and was appointed tide surveyor at Liverpool where he came to know George Whitefield and John Wesley. He now began to study Greek and Hebrew and in 1758 applied to the archbishop of York for ordination. This was refused him, but having been offered the curacy of Olney, Buckinghamshire, in April 1764 he was ordained by the bishop of Lincoln. In Oct. 1767 William Cowper settled in the parish. The two men became close friends and they published together the Olney Hymnal (1779). Newton's contribution included, among many other hymns, the well-known "How Sweet the Name of Jesus Sounds" and "Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken." The most important of his works was Cardiphonia, or the Utterance of the Heart (1781), a series of devotional letters. It was through his letter writing that Newton made his greatest contribution to the Evangelical movement. In 1779 he left Olney to become rector of St. Mary Woolnoth, London. There he exercised an important ministry, influencing many, among them William Wilberforce, the future leader in the campaign for the abolition of slavery. Like Cowper, Newton held Calvinistic views, although his evangelical fervor allied him closely with the sentiments of Wesley and the Methodists. He died in London on Dec. 21, 1807. [From the Encyclopedia Britannica]

 have seen frequent cause since to admire the mercy of the Lord, in banishing me to those distant parts, and almost excluding me from human society, at a time when I was big with mischief, and, like one infected with a pestilence, was capable of spreading a taint wherever I went. Had my affairs taken a different turn; had I succeeded in my designs, and remained in England, my sad story would probably have been worse. Worse in myself, indeed, I could have hardly been; but my wickedness would have had greater scope: I might have been very hurtful to others, and multiplied irreparable evils. But the Lord wisely placed me where I could do little harm. The few I had to converse with were too much like myself, and I was soon brought into such abject circumstances, that I was too low to have any influence. I was rather shunned and despised than imitated; there being few, even of the negroes themselves, (during the first year of my residence among them,) but though themselves too good to speak to me.

My new master had formerly resided near Cape Meunt, but now he settled at the Plantanes, upon the largest of the three islands. It is a low sandy island, about two miles in circumference, and almost covered with palm-trees. We immediately began to build a house, and to enter upon trade. I had now some desire to retrieve my lost time, and to exert diligence in what was before me; and he was a man with whom I might have lived tolerably well, if he had not been soon influenced against me: but he was much under the direction of a black woman, who lived with him as a wife. She was a person of some consequence in her own country, and he owed his first rise to her interest. This woman (I know not for what reason) was strangely prejudiced against me from the first; and what made it still worse for me, was a severe fit of illness, which attacked me very soon, before I had opportunity to shew what I could or would do in his service. I was sick when he sailed in a shallop to Rio Nuna, and he left me in her hands.

At first I was taken some care of; but as I did not recover very soon, she grew weary, and entirely neglected me. I had sometimes not a little difficulty to procure a drought of cold water when burning with a fever. My bed was a mat spread upon a board or chest, and a log of wood my pillow. When my fever left em, and my appetite returned, I would gladly have eaten, but there was no one gave unto me. She lived in plenty herself, but hardly allowed me sufficient to sustain life, except now and then, when in the highest good humor, she would send me victuals in her own plate after she had dined; and this (so greatly was my pride humbled) I received with thanks and eagerness, as the most eager beggar does an alms. Once I well remember, I was called to receive this bounty from her own hand; but being exceedingly weak and feeble, I dropped the plate. Those who live in plenty can hardly conceive how this loss touched me; but she had the cruelty to laugh at my disappointment: and though the table was covered with dishes, (for she lived much in the European manner,) she refused to give me any more. My distress has been at times so great, as to compel me to go by night, and pull up roots in the plantation, (though at the risk of being punished as a thief,) which I have eaten raw upon the spot, for fear of discovery. The roots I speak of are very wholesome food, when boiled or roasted; but as unfit to be eaten raw in any quantity as a potato. The consequence of this diet, which, after the first experiment, I always expected, and seldom missed, was the same as if I had taken tartar emetic; so that I have often returned as empty as I went; yet necessity urged me to repeat the trial several times. I have sometimes been relieved by strangers; nay, even by the slaves in the chain, who have secretly brought me victuals (for they durst not be seen to do it) from their own slender pittance. Next to pressing want, nothing fits harder upon the mind than scorn and contempt: and of this likewise I had an abundant measure.

When I was very slowly recovering, this woman would sometimes pay me a visit, not to pity or relieve, but to insult me. She would call me worthless and indolent, and compel me to walk; which when I could hardly do, she would set her attendants to mimic my motion, to clap their hands, laugh, throw limes at me; or, if they chose to throw stones, (as I think was the case once or twice,) they were not rebuked: but in general, though all who depended on her favor must join in her treatment, yet, when she was out of sight, I was rather pitied than scorned by the meanest of her slaves. At length my master returned from his voyage. I complained of ill usage; but he could not believe me: and as I did it in her hearing, I fared no better for it. But in his second voyage he took me with him. We did pretty well for a while, till a brother-trader he met in the river persuaded him that I was unfaithful, and stole his goods in the night, or when he was on shore. This was almost the only vice I could not be justly charged with: the only remains of a good education I could boast of, was what is commonly called honesty; and, as far as he had intrusted me, I had been always true; and though my great distress might, in some measure, have excused it, I never once thought of defrauding him in the smallest matter. However, the charge was believed, and I condemned without evidence. From that time he likewise used me very hardly: whenever he left the vessel, I was locked upon deck, with a pint of rice for my day's allowance; and, if he staid longer, I had no relief till his return. Indeed, I believe, I should have been nearly starved, but for an opportunity of catching fish sometimes. When fowls were killed for his own use, I seldom was allowed any part but the entrails to bait my hooks with; and at what we call slack water, that is, about the changing of the tides, when the current was still, I used generally to fish, (for at other times it was not practicable,) and I very often succeeded. If I saw a fish upon my hook, my joy was little less than any other person may have found in the accomplishment of the scheme he had most at heart. Such a fish, hastily broiled, or rather half burnt, without sauce, salt, or bread, has afforded me a delicious meal. If I caught none, I might (if I could) sleep away my hunger till the next return of slack water, and then try again. Nor did I suffer less from the inclemency of the weather, and the want of clothes. The rainy season was now advancing; my whole suit was a shirt, a pair of trowsers, a cotton handkerchief instead of a cap, and a cotton cloth, about two yards long, to supply the want of upper garments: and, thus accoutered, I have been exposed for twenty, thirty, perhaps near forty hours together, in incessant rains, accompanied with strong gales of wind, without the least shelter, when my master was on shore. I feel to this day some faint returns of the violent pains I then contracted. The excessive cold and wet I endured in that voyage, and so soon after I had recovered from a long sickness, quite broke my constitution, and my spirits. The latter were soon restored; but the effects of the former still remain with me, as a needful memento of the service and wages of sin.

In about two months we returned; and then the rest of the time I remained with him was chiefly spent at the Plantans, under the same regimen as I have already mentioned. My haughty heart was now brought down; not to a wholesome repentance, not to the language of the prodigal: this was far from me; but my spirits were sunk; I lost all resolution, and almost all reflection. I had lost the fierceness which fired me when on board the Harwick, and which made me capable of the most desperate attempts; but I was no further changed than a tyger tamed by hunger:--remove the occasion, and he will be as wild as ever.

I am, &c.
January 17, 1763

LETTER VI

But now the Lord's time was come, and the conviction I was found willing to receive was deeply impressed upon me, by an awful dispensation. I went to bed that night in my usual security and indifference, but was awaked from a sound sleep by the force of a violent sea, which broke on board us. So much of it came down below as filled the cabin I lay in with water. This alarm was followed by a cry from the deck, that the ship was going down, or sinking. As soon as I could recover myself, I essayed to go upon deck, but was met upon the ladder by the captain, who desired me to bring a knife with me. While I returned for the knife, another person went up in my room, who was instantly washed overboard. We had no leisure to lament him; nor did we expect to survive him long: for we soon found the ship was filling with water very fast. The sea had torn away the upper timbers on one side, and made the ship a mere wreck in a few minutes. I shall not affect to describe this disaster in the marine dialect, which would be understood by few; and therefore I can give you but a very inadequate idea of it. Taken in all circumstances, it was astonishing, and almost miraculous, that any of us survived to relate the story. We had immediate recourse to the pumps; but the water increased against all our efforts: some of us were set to bailing in another part of the vessel, that is, to lade it out with buckets and pails. We had but eleven or twelve people to sustain this service; and notwithstanding all we could do, she was full, or very near it; and then with a common cargo she must have sunk of course: but we had had a great quantity of beeswax and wood on board, which were specifically lighter than the water; and as it pleased God that we received this shock in the very crisis of the gale, towards morning we were enabled to employ some means for our safety, which succeeded beyond hope. In about an hour's time the day began to break, and the wind abated. We expended most of our clothes and bedding to stop the leaks (though the weather was exceeding cold, especially to us, who had so lately left a hot climate;) over these we nailed pieces of boards, and at last perceived the water abate. At the beginning of this hurry I was little affected. I pumped hard, and endeavored to animate myself and my companions. I told one of them, that in a few days this distress would serve us to talk of over a glass of wine: but he being a less hardened sinner than myself, replied with tears, “No, it is too late now.” About nine o'clock, being almost spent with hunger and labor, I went to speak with the captain, who was busied elsewhere; and just as I was returning from him, I said, almost without any meaning, “If this will not do, the Lord have mercy on us.” This (though spoken with little reflection) was the first desire I had breathed for mercy for the space of many years. I was instantly struck with my own words, as Jehu said once, What hast thou to do with peace? so it directly occurred, What mercy can there be for me? I was obliged to return to the pump, and there I continued till noon, almost every passing wave breaking over my head; but we made ourselves fast with ropes, that we might not be washed away. Indeed I expected, that every time the vessel descended in the sea, she would rise no more; and though I dreaded death now, and my heart foreboded the worst, if the scriptures, which I had long since opposed, were indeed true; yet still I was but half-convinced; and remained for a space of time in a sullen frame, a mixture of despair and impatience. I thought, if the Christian religion was true, I could not be forgiven; and was therefore expecting, and almost, at times, wishing to know the worst of it.

I am, &c
January 19, 1763

LETTER VIII

Dear Sir,
The 10th (that is in the present style the 21st) of March, is a day much to be remembered by me, and I have never suffered it to pass wholly unnoticed since the year 1748. On that day the Lord sent from on high, and delivered me out of deep waters.--I continued at the pump from three in the morning till near noon, and then I could do no more. I went and lay down upon by bed, uncertain, and almost indifferent whether I should rise again. In an hour's time I was called, and not being able to pump, I went to the helm, and steered the ship till midnight, excepting a small interval for refreshment. I had here leisure and convenient opportunity for reflection. I began to think of my former religious professions, the extraordinary turns in my life; the calls, warnings, and deliverances I had met with; the licentious course of my conversation, particularly my unparalleled effrontery in making the gospel-history (which I could not now be sure was false, though I was not as yet assured it was true) the constant subject of profane ridicule. I thought, allowing the scripture-promises, there never was, nor could be, such a sinner as myself; and then comparing the advantages I had broken through, I concluded at first that my sins were too great to be forgiven. The scriptures likewise seemed to say the same: for I had formerly been well acquainted with the Bible, and many passages upon this accession returned upon my memory, particularly those awful passages, Prov. i. 24-31, Heb. vi. 4, 6, and 2 Pet. ii. 20 which seemed so exactly to suit my case and character, as to bring with them a presumptive proof of a divine original. Thus, as I have said, I waited with fear and impatience to receive my inevitable doom. Yet though I had thoughts of this kind, they were exceeding faint and disproportionate; it was not till long after (perhaps several years) till I had gained some clear views of the infinite righteousness and grace of Christ Jesus my Lord, that I had a deep and strong apprehension of my state by nature and practice; and perhaps till then I could not have borne the fight. So wonderfully does the Lord proportion the discoveries of sin and grace; for he knows our frame, and that if he was to put forth the greatness of his power; a poor sinner would be instantly overwhelmed and crushed as a moth.--But to return: When I saw, beyond all probability, there was still hope of respite, and heard about six in the evening, that the ship was freed from water--there arose a gleam of hope. I though I saw the hand of God displayed in our favor: I began to pray.--I could not utter the prayer of faith; I could not draw near to a reconciled God, and call him Father. My prayer was like the cry of the ravens, which yet the Lord does not disdain to hear.

I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided: I recollected the particulars of his life, and of his death; a death for sins not his own, but as I remembered, fort the sake of those who in their distress should put their trust in him. And now I chiefly wanted evidence.----The comfortless principles of infidelity were deeply riveted, and I rather wished than believe these things were real facts. You will please to observe, Sir, that I collect the strain of the reasonings and exercises of my mind in one view; but I do not say, that all this passed at one time. The great question now was, how to obtain faith? I speak not of an appropriating faith, (of which I then knew neither the nature nor necessity,) but how I should gain an assurance that the scriptures were of divine inspiration, and a sufficient warrant for the exercise of trust and hope in God. One of the first helps I received (in consequence of a determination to examine the New Testament more carefully) was from Luke xi. 13. I had been sensible, that to profess faith in Jesus Christ, when in reality I did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery of the heart-searching God; but here I found a spirit spoken of, which was to be communicated to those who ask it. Upon this I reasoned thus.--If this book is true, the promise in this passage must be true likewise: I have need of that very Spirit by which the whole was wrote, in order to understand it aright. He has engaged here to give that Spirit to those who ask.-----I must therefore pray for it; and if it is of God, he will make good his own word. My purposes were strengthened by John vii. 17. I concluded from thence, that though I could not say from my heart that I believed the gospel, yet I would for the present take it for granted, and that by studying it in this light I should be more and more confirmed in it. If what I am writing could be perused by our modern infidels, they would say, (for I too well know their manner,) that I was very desirous to persuade myself into this opinion. I confess I was; and so would they be if the Lord should shew them, as he was pleased to shew me at that time, the absolute necessity of some expedient to interpose between a righteous God and a sinful soul. Upon the gospel-scheme I saw at least a peradventure of hope, but on every other side I was surrounded with black unfathomable despair.

Things continued thus for four or five days, or perhaps longer, till we were awakened one morning by the joyful shouts of the watch upon deck proclaiming the fight of land. We were all soon raised at the sound. The dawning was uncommonly beautiful, and the light (just strong enough to discover distant objects) presented us with a gladdening prospect: it seemed a mountainous coast, about twenty miles from us, terminating in a cape or point, and a little further two or three small islands, or hummucks, as just rising out of the water; the appearance and position seemed exactly answerable to our hopes, resembling the north-well extremity of Ireland, which we were steering for.

Provisions now began to grow very short; the half of a salted cod was a day's subsistence for twelve people. We had plenty of fresh water, but not a drop of strong liquor; no bread, hardly any cloaths, and very cold weather. We had incessant labor with the pumps, to keep the ship above water. Much labor and little food wasted us fast, and one man died under the hardship. Yet our sufferings were light in comparison of our just fears. We could not afford this bare allowance much longer, but had a terrible prospect of being either starved to death, or reduced to feed upon one another. Our expectations grew darker every day; and I had a further trouble peculiar to myself. The captain, whose temper was quite soured by distress, was hourly reproaching me (as I formerly observed) as the sole cause of the calamity: and was confident, that if I was thrown overboard, ( and not otherwise,) they should be preserved from death. He did not intend to make the experiment; but the continual repetition of this in my ears gave me much uneasiness, especially as my conscience seconded his words; I thought it very probable, that all that had befallen us was on my account. I was at last found out by the powerful hand of God, and condemned in my own breast. However, proceeding in the method I have described, I began to conceive hopes greater than all my fears; especially when at the time we were ready to give up all for lost, and despair was taking place in countenance, I saw the wind come about to the very point we wished it, so as best to suit that broken part of the ship which must be kept out of the water, and to blow so gentle as our few remaining sails could bear: and thus it continued without any observable alteration or increase, though at an unsettled time of the year, till we once more were called up to see the land, and were convinced that it was land indeed. We saw the island Tory, and the next day anchored in Lough Swilly in Ireland. This was the 8th day of April, just four weeks after the damage we sustained from the sea. When we came into this port, our very last victuals was boiling in the pot; and before we had been there two hours, the wind, which seemed to have been providentially restrained till we were in a place of safety, began to blow with great violence; so that, if we had continued at sea that night in our shattered enfeebled condition, we must, in all human appearance, have gone to the bottom. About this time I began to know, that there is a God that hears and answers prayer. How many times has he appeared for me since this great deliverance! Yet, alas! how distrustful and ungrateful is my heart unto this hour!

I am, &c
January 19, 1763.

LETTER IX.

Dear Sir,
I have brought my history down to the time of my arrival in Ireland, 1748; but before I proceed, I would look back a little, to give you some further account of the state of my mind, and how far I was helped against inward difficulties, which beset me at the time I had many outward hardships to struggle with. The straits of hunger, cold, weariness, and the fears of sinking, and starving, I shared in common with others; but, besides these, I felt a hear-bitterness, which was properly my own; no one on board but myself being impressed with any sense of the hand of God in our danger and deliverance, at least not awakened to any concern for their souls. No temporal dispensations can reach the heart, unless the Lord himself applies them. My companions in danger were either quite unaffected, or soon forgot it all: but it was not so with me: not that I was any wiser or better than they, but because the Lord was pleased to vouchsafe me peculiar mercy; otherwise I was the most unlikely person in the ship to receive an impression, having been often before quite stupid and hardened in the very face of great dangers, and always, till this time, had hardened my neck still more and more after every reproof.---I can see no reason why the Lord singled me out for mercy, but this, “that so it seemed good to him;” unless it was to shew, by one astonishing instance, that with him “nothing is impossible.”

The outward circumstances helped in this place to make me still more serious and earnest in crying to him who alone could relieve me: and sometimes I thought I could be content to die even for want of food, so I might but die a believer. Thus far I was answered, that before we arrived in Ireland I had a satisfactory evidence in my own mind of the truth of the gospel, as considered in itself, and its exact suitableness to answer all my needs. I saw, that, by the way there pointed out, God might declare, not his mercy only, but his justice also, in the pardon of sin, on the account of the obedience and sufferings of Jesus Christ. My judgment at that time embraced the sublime doctrine of “God manifest in the flesh, reconciling the world to himself.” I had no idea of those systems which allow the Savior no higher honor than that of an upper servant, or at the most a demi-god. I stood in need of an Almighty Savior, and such a one I found described in the New Testament. Thus far the Lord had wrought a marvelous thing; I was no longer an infidel; I heartily renounced my former profaneness; I had taken up some right notions, was seriously disposed, and sincerely touched with a sense of the undeserved mercy I had received, in being brought safe through so many dangers. I was sorry for my past misspent life, and purposed an immediate reformation: I was quite freed from the habit of swearing, which seemed to have been deeply rooted in me as a second nature. Thus, to all appearance I was a new man.

But though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God; yet still I was greatly deficient in many respects. I was in some degree affected with a sense of my more enormous sins; but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no apprehension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God; the hidden life of a Christian, as it consists in communion with God by Jesus Christ, and a continual dependence on him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery of which I had as yet no knowledge. I acknowledged the Lord's mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolution to do better for the time to come. I had no Christian friend or faithful minister to advise me that my strength was no more than my righteousness: and though I soon began to enquire for serious books, yet not having spiritual discernment, I frequently made a wrong choice; and I was not brought in the way of evangelical preaching or conversation (except a few times when I heard but understood not) for six years after this period. Those things the Lord was pleased to discover to me gradually. I learnt them here a little, and there a little, by my own painful experience, at a distance from the common means and ordinances, and in the midst of the same course of evil company, and bad examples, as I had been conversant with for some time. From this period I could no more make a mock at sin, or jest with holy things; I no more questioned the truth of scripture, or lost a sense of the rebukes of conscience. Therefore I consider this as the beginning of my return to God, or rather as his return to me; but I cannot consider myself to have been a believer (in the full sense of the word) till a considerable time afterwards.

At length the day came: I arose very early,---was very particular and earnest in my private devotion; and, with the greatest solemnity, engaged myself to be the Lord's for ever, and only his. This was not a formal but a sincere surrender, under a warm sense of mercies recently received; and yet, for want of a better knowledge of myself, and the subtlety of Satan's temptations, I was seduced to forget the vows of God that were upon me. Upon the whole, though my views of the gospel-salvation were very indistinct, I experienced a peace and satisfaction in the ordinance that day, to which I had been hitherto a perfect stranger.

LETTER X

Dear Sir,
My connections with sea-affairs have often led me to think, that the varieties observable in Christian experience may be properly illustrated from the circumstances of a voyage. Imagine to yourself a number of vessels, at different times, and from different places, bound to the same port; there are some things in which all these would agree,---the compass steered by, the port in view, the general rules of navigation, both as to the management of the vessel, and determining their astronomical observation, would be the same in all. In other respects they would differ: perhaps no two of them would meet with the same distribution of wind and weather. Some we see set out with a prosperous gale; and when they almost think their passage secured, they are checked by adverse blasts; and after enduring much hardship and danger; and frequent expectations of shipwreck, they just escape, and reach the desired haven. Others meet the greatest difficulties at first; they put forth in a storm, and are often beaten back; at length their voyage proves favorable, and they enter the port with a PLEROPHORIA, a rich and abundant entrance. Some are hard beset with cruisers and enemies, and obliged to fight their way through; others meet with little remarkable in their passage. Is it not thus in the spiritual life? All true believers walk by the same rule, and mind the same things: The word of God is their compass; Jesus is both their polar star and their sun of righteousness; their hearts and faces are all set Sion-ward. Thus far they are as one body, animated by one spirit, yet their experience, formed upon these common principles, is far from being uniform. The Lord, in his first call, and his following dispensations, has a regard to the situation, temper, talents of each, and to the particular services or trials he has appointed them for. Though all are exercised at times, yet some pass through the voyage of life much more smoothly than others. But he “who walketh upon the wings of the wind, and measures the waters in the hollow of his hand, will not suffer any of whom he has once taken charge, to perish in the storms, though for a season, perhaps, many of them are ready to give up all hopes.

We must not therefore make the experience of others, in all respects, a rule to ourselves, nor our own a rule to others; yet these are common mistakes, and productive of many more.

At length the Lord, whose mercies are infinite, interposed in my behalf. My business in this voyage while upon the coast, was to sail from place to place in the longboat to purchase slaves. The ship was at Sierra Leone, and I then at the Plantanes, the scene of my former captivity, where every thing I saw might seem to remind me of my ingratitude. I was in easy circumstances, courted by those who formerly despised me: the lime trees I had planted were growing tall, and promised fruit the following year, against which time I had expectations of returning with a ship of my own. But none of these things affected me, till, as I have said, the Lord again interposed to save me. He visited me with a violent fever, which broke the fatal chain, and once more brought me to myself. But, O what a prospect! I thought myself now summoned away.----My past dangers and deliverances, my earnest prayers in the time of trouble, my solemn vows before the Lord at his table, and my ungrateful returns for all his goodness, were all present to my mind at once.

Then I began to wish, that the Lord had suffered me to sink into the ocean when I first besought his mercy. For a little while I concluded the door of hope to be quite shut; but this continued not long. Weak, and almost delirious, I arose from my bed, and crept to a retired part of the island, and here I found a renewed liberty to pray. I durst make no more resolves, but cast myself before the Lord, to do with me as he should please. I do not remember that any particular text, or remarkable discovery, was presented to my mind; but in general I was enabled to hope and believe in a crucified Savior. The burden was removed from my conscience, and not only me peace, but my health was restored; I cannot say instantaneously; but I recovered from that hour; and so fast, that when I returned to the ship two days afterwards, I was perfectly well before I got on board. And from that time, I trust, I have been delivered from the power and dominion of sin, though as to the effects and conflicts of sin, dwelling in me, I still “groan, being burdened.” I now began again to wait upon the Lord; and though I have often grieved his Spirit, and foolishly wandered from him since, (when, alas! shall I be more wise?) yet his powerful grace has hitherto preserved me from such black declensions as this I have last recorded; and I humbly trust in his mercy and promises, that he will be my guide and guard to the end.