_To the Reverend Mr. T――――._
_Edinburgh, July 4, 1768._
_My dear Friend_,
WHAT various interruptions do we meet with in this lower world! Sickness, preaching, and company, have prevented my answering your kind letter more speedily. I strive to stir and fly as formerly; but the earthly house of this tabernacle pulls me down.
Strange, that a harp of thousand strings, Should keep in tune so long!
However, this is my comfort, the Redeemer still vouchsafes to smile upon my feeble efforts. In _London_ the word runs and is glorified, and in _Edinburgh_, I trust, the prospect is promising. The fields are white ready unto harvest. Who knows but some wheat may be gathered into the heavenly garner? Many of my old friends are safely housed.
They are happy now, and we Soon their happiness shall see. Hallelujah!
Perhaps we may have one interview. I have thoughts of going to _M――――_. A week or a fortnight, at most, is the longest time I can stay here. I desire to move, till I can move no more. O to die in the field! I pray GOD to send Mrs. _T――――_ a safe delivery. My wife is as well as can be expected. Both descending in order to ascend
Where sin and pain and sorrow cease, And all is calm and joy and peace.
I add one more _hallelujah_; and must hasten to subscribe myself, my dear friend,
Less than the least of all,