Letter from John Berridge to Lady Huntingdon at the death of her daughter

Letter from John Berridge to Lady Huntingdon at the death of her daughter

Lady I received your letter from Brighthelmstone, and hope you will soon learn to bless your Redeemer for snatching away your daughter so speedily.

Methinks I see great mercy in the suddenness of her removal, and when your bowels have done yearning for her you will see it too.

O! what is she snatched from? Why, truly, from the plague of an evil heart, a wicked world, and a crafty devil—snatched from all such bitter grief as now overwhelms you from everything that might wound her ear, afflict her eye, or pain her heart.

And what is she snatched to? To a land of everlasting peace, where the voice of the turtle is ever heard, where every inhabitant can say, ‘I am no more sick!’ no more whim in the head, no more plague in the heart, but all full of love and full of praise; ever seeing with enraptured eyes, ever blessing with adoring hearts, that dear Lamb who has washed them in his blood, and has now made them kings and priests unto God for ever and ever. Amen.

Oh, madam! What would you have? Is it not better singing in heaven, ‘Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.’ than crying at Oathall, ‘O wretched woman that I am?’

Is it not better for her to go before, than to stay after you? and then to be lamenting,’ Ah my mother! ‘as you now lament,’ Ah my daughter!’

If she was a silver idol before, might she not prove a golden one afterwards?

Is it not better to have your Selina taken to heaven, than to have your heart divided between Christ and Selina?

She is gone to pay a most blessed visit, and will see you again by and by, never to part more.

Had she crossed the sea and gone to Ireland, you could have born it; but now she is gone to heaven ‘tis almost intolerable. Wonderful strange love this. Such behavior in others would not surprise me, but I could almost beat you for it; and I am sure Selina would beat you too, if she was called back but one moment from heaven to gratify your fond desires.

I cannot soothe you, and I must not flatter you. I am glad the dear creature is gone to heaven before you.

Lament, if you please; but glory, glory, glory be to God, says JOHN BERRIDGE.”

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