An Extract from Rutherford.
Surely running-over love—that vast, large, boundless love of Christ- -is the only thing that I most fain would be in bonds with. He knoweth that I have but little but the love of that love; and thus I shall be happy, suppose I never get another heaven, but only an eternal feasting of that love. But suppose my wishes were poor: He is not poor: Christ, all the seasons of the year, is dropping sweetness. If I had vessels, I might fill them, but my old, riven, and running-out dish, even when I am at the well, can bring little away. Nothing but glory will make tight and fast our leaking and rifty vessels. Alas! I have spilled more of Christ's love, grace, faith, humility, and godly sorrow than I have brought with me. How little of a sea can a child carry in his hand! As little am I able to take away of my great sea-my boundless and running-over Christ Jesus.