A Letter To A Brother In Christ – July 30th, 1867
My dear Friend, Mr. Surin,
I can only write you a few lines; but I know you will be glad to hear that I have thus far been brought through my London labors. I never before came to London so weak, both in body and in soul; but have found the Lord’s strength made perfect in my weakness. You know that I cannot take up with, and rest upon, such evidences and testimonies as many men seem satisfied with. I must have something special, or to me it is nothing. All the vain applause of mortals, and all that is called popularity, I think little of. It leaves an aching void, and often a guilty conscience. The blessing of the Lord makes rich, and all else is poverty, rags, and shame. I am thankful to be helped through, and to feel a little life and liberty in my soul. If the word be blessed to any, the Lord shall have all the praise.
I have been very comfortable here, although I much miss my dear old friend. The quietness of the house suits me well—no street noises as at _______; so that I get better nights. Mrs. C. is quite nicely, and most kind and attentive. Of course we often talk of her beloved husband, and it seems to soothe and relieve her.
The memoir of Tiptaft is selling well. I had 3,000 copies printed, and about 1,600 are already gone. The dead man’s letters speak for themselves, and remind many of his ministry. Beyond advertising it in the G. S., I have left it to sink or swim, as it best deserved, and have no wish either to puff or push it. Not he who commends himself is approved, but whom the Lord commends. And as with men, so with books. God’s smile, not man’s, is the only smile worth having.
I am not at all surprised about the Bedford services. If you were not to go there, it would soon drop to nothing. Mr. H. is a good man and a good preacher, but his ministry lacks that power and authority which are needful to bring together the Lord’s people, far and near. He has been spoken of as a pastor for Zoar; but I believe he would not keep a London congregation together for a permanency.
We are all fast fading away, and must soon lie among the clods of the valley. May our last days be our best days, and our death the death of the righteous.
Yours very affectionately,
J. C. P.