In Our Fluctuations Of Feelings,

I Perceive We Postpone All Our Joys Of Christ, Till He And We Be In Our Own House Above, Thinking That There Is Nothing Of It Here To Be Sought Or Found, But Only Hope And Fair Promises; And That Christ Will Give Us Nothing Here But Tears, Sadness, Crosses; And That We Shall Never Feel The Smell Of The Flowers Of That High Garden Of Paradise Above, Till We Come There. Nay, But I Find It Possible To Find Young Glory, And A Young Green Paradise Of Joy Even Here. We Dream Of Hunger In Christ's House, While We Are Here, Although He Alloweth Feasts To All The Bairns Within God's Household.

It Is No Small Comfort That God Hath Written Some Scriptures To You Which He Hath Not To Others. Read These, And Think God Is Like A Friend Who Sendeth A Letter To A Whole House And Family, But Who Speaketh In His Letter To Some By Name That Are Dearest To Him In The House.

Oh Thrice Fools Are We Who Like New-born Princes Weeping In The Cradle Know Not That There Is A Kingdom Before Them Then Let Our Lord's Sweet Hand Square Us And Hammer Us And Strike Off The Knots Of Pride Self-love And World-worship And Infidelity That He May Make Us Stones And Pillars In His Father's House.

The Bloom Fell Off My Branches And Joy Did Cast Off Its Flower

My Dear Friend, Venture To Take The Wind On Your Face For Christ.