Wesley Corpus

Lie in the dust. Let your mouth be stopped; and let all your confidence be in the “blood of sprinkling;” all your hope in Jesus Christ “the righteous;” all your faith in “Him that justifieth the ungodly, through the redemption that is in Jesus.” O put away your idols out of your heart. “Love not the world, neither the things of the world.” “Having food to eat and raiment to put on, be content;” desire nothing more but God. To-day, hear his voice, who continually cries, “My son, give me thy heart.” Give yourself to Him who gave himself for you. May you love God, as he has loved us! Let him be your desire, your delight, your joy, your portion, in time and in eternity. And if you love God, you will love your brother also; you will be ready to lay down your life for his sake; so far from any desire to take away his life, or hurt a hair of his head. You will then leave his conscience uncontrolled; you will no more think of forcing him into your own opinions, as neither can he force you to judge by his conscience. But each shall “give an account of himself to God.” 14. It is true, if his conscience be misinformed, you should endeavour to inform him better. But whatever you do, let it be done in charity, in love and meekness of wisdom. Be zealous for God; but remember, that “the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God;” that angry zeal, though opposing sin, is the servant of sin; that true zeal is only the flame of love. Let this be your truly Protestant zeal: While you abhor every kind and degree of persecution, let your heart burn with love to all mankind, to friends and enemies, neighbours and strangers; to Christians, Heathens, Jews, Turks, Papists, heretics; to every soul which God hath made. “Let” this “your light shine before men, that they may glorify your Father which is in heaven.” * This was wrote during the late rebellion. 192 A WoRD TO A PROTESTANT. 1 WHERE have I been so long, Fast bound in sin and night, Mix'd with the blind self-righteous throng Who hate the sons of light 2 2 O how shall I presume, Jesus, to call on thee, Sunk in the lowest dregs of Rome, The worst idolatry !