*He was a man of tears, and sighs, and groans. He wanted not indeed the joy of a good conscience; and knowing continually in whom he believed, he enjoyed the benefits resulting therefrom, and yet this notwithstanding, the whole of his Christian pilgrimage, was interspersed with much weeping. He seldom had a dry handkerchief a whole day together; his eyes being for the most part, in private especially, as opened fountains; and which did not cease to flow in the night season. How often have I known him water his pillow with those briny rivers! Sometimes lamenting his two great estrangement from his beloved; sometimes mourning for the mourners; but oftener than all, he was sick of love! Love to the Crucified!
To some indeed, there seemed in him something, at least bordering upon, an unyielding austerity of spirit: and so much is true, that with regard to men, and evil angels, he was undaunted, and courageous, as a lion, in the cause of God, and of a good conscience: yet, in other respects, he was a man of the keenest sensibility, and tenderest affections. He was in the presence of his invisible observer, pliant as melted wax, and cloathed with dove-like meekness. He was often, as it were, deluged in tears, prostrate before the footstool of his Lord’s majesty, and overwhelmed with a sense of his glory.