(A letter from Andrew Wellwood to a friend.)
THOUGH I be stepping into eternity, and was thought to have been just entering into it about half-an-hour ago, I could not but remember you and dictate a little of my mind to you; not that I intended to write any instructions unto you but only to show that God is good to them that seek Him; and that in His providence His promises are all accomplished to the full to me. I cannot tell what He has done for my soul; but I think He has brought me to the end of my days, to the end of my race, by such a wonderful chain of divine providence, that I would not for ten thousand worlds desire that He had brought me by any other way. He lives long enough who lives till he gets to Heaven; all other things are but appendages. He lives a short while who is unprepared for it, of whatever age He may be. Therefore my death need not offend any man; from what can I get more than the kingdom immovable, “undefiled, and that fadeth not away”? (I. Pet. i. 4).
I desired to live for no other end than to preach my Lord in the great congregation; and think you not that He will accept the will for the deed? I dedicated my life to His service, and I hope He will graciously take it off my hand, as if I had done Him many years’ service. And, I must tell you, He has many wonderful ways of bringing His children unto glory: I could tell you of it by sweet experience, if my weakness and breath would permit. I would not, for all the glory, riches and pleasures of a vain world, that my lot had been another than my Lord has appointed it: yea, my last half-year’s providence has been a golden chain, which neither I, men nor angels, can sufficiently value. Would you know that I think now of Heaven? Though I were out of this state of mortality, I could never think of it enough. Oh! oh! oh! the joy of being with Jehovah and the Lamb. Oh! “the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus,” even on this side of time! But to see Him as He is—oh! who can tell what a sight it is! Even those who see Him face to face, see, as it were, but the skirts of His beauty and excellence; and let them dive still deeper and deeper, till eternity, they shall still be but beginning and yet never well begun.
To show my great love and respect I ever had to you both formerly and now, I write unto you, even when the death-rattle is in my throat; and though I be in a great agony, I find the only way to Heaven, that “new and and Eving way” only by the blood of the Son of God; there is no other way but to believe in Christ and be saved. But it is a lively, purifying, loving and believing way. I cannot say much: I am in death’s pangs. But, “O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” (I. Cor. xv. 55).
I am like to have a sharp combat, but I hope Christ will not be an indifferent spectator. The end crowns the work. And, if once I were within Immanuel’s surpassing sweet land of conquest, then should I trample death and hell under foot, and triumph over all the miseries and afflictions which seemed to triumph over me. O, Death, what art thou in mine eyes? My Lord hath swallowed thee up in victory; and can a free-born son and conqueror, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, be afraid of a conquered slave? (Rev. xiv. 13). Hell, sin, devil and death are conquered slaves.—I am, dear Sir, Yours, —.