To Suppose That Whatever God Requireth Of

He Who Finds Not Opposition From Sin, And Who Sets Not Himself In Every Particular To Its Mortification, Is At Peace With It, Not Dying To It.

I Wish Thy Lot, Now Bad, Still Worse, My Friend, For When At Worst, They Say, Things Always Mend.

No Heart Can Conceive That Treasury Of Mercies Which Lies In This One Privilege, In Having Liberty And Ability To Approach Unto God At All Times, According To His Mind And Will.

Herein Would I Live; Herein Would I Die; Hereon Would I Dwell In My Thoughts And Affections; To The Withering And Consumption Of All The Painted Beauties Of This World, Unto The Crucifying All Things Here Below, Until They Become Unto Me A Dead And Deformed Thing, No Way Meet For Affectionate Embraces.

Do You Mortify; Do You Make It Your Daily Work; Be Always At It Whilst You Live; Cease Not A Day From This Work; Be Killing Sin Or It Will Be Killing You.