G—, Aug. 2nd, 1861.
My Dearest—,
I am now in receipt of your last two notes. I can say, that I understand, in measure at least, every line of them, having tasted the bitter cup myself. Yet not the most bitter, dearest—, that has been drank, and drank for those who were, meanwhile, not seeking to sweeten its bitterness with the sympathies and consolations of love, but who were adding the poison of ingratitude and insult to God’s heavy wrath against sin. Nevertheless, He drained it to its dregs. Not even the odor of wrath remained. The flame of love in the heart of Jesus was stronger far than the lurid glare of divine wrath, and, for the believer, extinguished it forever. The intense flame, becoming yet more intensified amidst the breakings and meltings of that mysterious heart which could only love, rose far, and forever, above all that bore down upon it. The righteous wrath—the holy justice of heaven—the concentrated hostility, envy, and wanton cruelty of earth, and the malignant, combined malice and hate of hell, only proved the depth of the springs, and the power of that love, which rose as far above them all, as heaven is higher than earth.
Fire purifies gold by separating it from its alloy; but those holy and searching fires, penetrating as they were, could detect no alloy in the holy humanity of Jesus. They only proved what was always there. They brought out, what only the forsaken place could fully bring out; even His perfect, absolute, unchangeable confidingness of heart in God—His pure and heavenly worship of God His Father, in the very regions where nothing but blasphemy was ever before heard. “My God, my God,” and, “But thou art holy,” must ever stand as the only accents of worship that were ever rendered to God in those regions of utter distance—outer darkness. His were the only lips that ever-breathed adoration to the Holy One of Israel there. All others in that place have only blasphemed and gnashed their teeth against the God of holiness.
But that heart of unselfish love had also other objects to think of, and other interests to care for, though His Father’s glory was ever the first. He died for sinners to save them from hell’s burning flame. He died for the nation of Israel that the children might inherit the promises made to the fathers. He loved the Church and gave Himself for it, that in the day of His appearing she might be displayed with Himself, in all His bridal glories. The groaning earth, too, was remembered by the dying Jesus, and full provision made for its final deliverance and millennial blessedness, in the blood of that unfathomable cross. And, oh! sweet thought—soul-sustaining thought, amidst the darkness of sore afflictions, the desolations of bereavement, the bitterness of disappointed hopes, the breaking of hearts, and when, in very deed, “love lies bleeding,” my Jesus—my Lord, loves me the same today as He did the day He died for me on Calvary. Oh! my Jesus, my Jesus, my Lord, my God, my Saviour, my Bridegroom—affianced to Thee! affianced to that heart, affianced until the day of Thy nuptial glory; and then, oh! then, to be in the place—the permanent place of wife forever.
Can it be, then, my dearest—, that the heart of Jesus has ceased to love? Why these deep waters? Why these howling winds? the poor heart may be ready to say at such a time. Oh, no! no! He may seem for a moment to be unconcerned—to be asleep in the vessel that is tossed from wave to wave—but no sooner has the distressed heart turned to Him, than the troubled waters are calmed, and the stormy elements are hushed. He is only training, in the wisdom of love, His new and much-loved disciples to walk by faith on the tempestuous sea of life. Like the eagle, which stirreth up her nest, carrieth forth the young eaglet, and leaves it in mid-air to try its own infant wings. But has she ceased to care for it? Is her piercing eye turned away from it? Is she careless whether it flies or falls?
Oh, no; she keeps near to the timid one, and eagerly watches, with native instinct, its first feeble flight; and, as it grows weary, she sweeps down, places herself under it, and again, on her own powerful wing, bears it safely to the home-nest on high. So the blessed Lord leads out and disciplines the children of His grace, until, borne on the mighty wing of His love, we reach and rest in the fruitful boughs of the tree of life in the paradise above.
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Excuse me saying more at present. I am thankful to have been left alone so long. I need not say how much I should be gratified to sit down and weep with you. Sorrow would only and ever feed on sorrow. But this we cannot have at present. Nevertheless, I can say, though at a distance, rest assured of love and of sympathy unfeigned; interest in all you are passing through unabated; and my recollections and thoughts of the dear, dear departed one, and my feelings about him and you all, I cannot speak of at present. But all is past with the loved one now, as to this weary land. He has reached his home and rest in early days. He was early called—early ripened—early removed. He has gone to shine in sunnier regions, where no blight shall wither the blossoms of spring, and to wait with patience, in fellowship with Jesus, the day of His coming glory. Hasten it, Ο Lord, in Thy time. Come, Lord Jesus—come quickly!
Ever, most affectionately, your own
P.S. It is said of the apple tree, that its own leaves, buried at its roots, form the best nourishment for its future growth and fruitfulness. Oh, what a picture! it is almost too severe to contemplate. The roots of the parent tree nourished by its own offspring, and its branches strengthened for fruit-bearing. Oh! that the roots of our faith may be nourished by every trial, and the boughs of hope and charity become more richly laden with riper and mellower fruit.