by James Meikle, 1730-1799 1787 - 1799 June 22, 1788. God has been pleased this day to bring my wife in an easy manner through child-birth, and to bless my family with a living mother and a living child. With Jacob I would say, The God who fed me all my life long unto this day, the Angel who redeemed me from all evil—bless the lad, and let a better name than the name of my ancestors be named on him; and let him have a name among the living in the New-Jerusalem above; and as he is come into our world on the Sabbath, so, when taken out of it, may he enter on an eternal Sabbath of rest. May 5, 1789. So full is my dependence on divine Providence, so strong is my faith that God will give what is good, and do what is best for me—that my mind is serene and tranquil. July 30, 1789. Though far advanced in years, yet being properly called, and being willing to accept of the least office in the church of Christ—I have been admitted an elder. O to set the glory of God before me in all things—and may I be helped to walk according to my engagements. March 2, 1789. In some things, I see the deceit and partiality of men. But that they and their very actions are under the government of God, composes me. And what I look upon as a present disappointment, and a present loss, may turn out for my future advantage and gain—at least shall let me see the vanity of this world. Satan is the accuser of the brethren, and, when permitted, how black would he make even the saints, not only to one another, and to the church—but to the heavenly Father himself. But what a comfort that the divine Intercessor answers all his accusations, maintains their cause before the throne, and will at length bring forth their judgment like the noonday! From the history of the Jews in Esther, may I not learn, that Providence baffles all the wisdom and devices of men—that sinners often make their own snares, and fall into the pit which they have dug—that the wicked can be brought down from their highest station, and that suddenly; as it were in a moment—that the church and people of God can be suddenly brought out of distress—and that all this can be done by very unlikely means, that God the glorious worker may have all the praise. Now, why is such a history preserved in the sacred records—but that God may be glorified, and his people supported under all their pressures, since God changes not? March 24, 1790. Two days ago my wife safely delivered a fine boy, and both are doing well. Here I would desire to act faith on God in a double respect; as the God of nature, that my son shall not lack food and clothing; and as the God of grace, that he shall have an inheritance among those who are sanctified. Many a parent has lamented that ever such a son was born, and has had good cause to do so. The fear of this may keep me humble. But as race unto race shall praise him, and my child may be among the happy number, in hope of this I am thankful. January 1, 1791. When I consider the flight of time, I see that all created things must soon be concealed in impenetrable darkness, and then the worldling's heaven must dissolve in smoke. But as the rising sun gilds the tops of the mountains, so at this period the heavenly glory shall spread a beauty on all around; and then the heaven of the saints shall unfold with every felicity that finite souls can enjoy, or God can bestow. January 13, 1791. Business people balance their books at the end of the year, and compare their state with former years, and so know whether they make profit or loss; so should I, not only at the end of a year—but when the end of my life cannot be far away. Thirty years ago, my evidences for the heavenly glory seemed solid, clear, and comforting; and though my shortcomings and backslidings have been many, yet I rest in his love. "I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you." Isaiah 46:4 But when I look round the world, I find some who can talk of death and a future state with all the composure of a real Christian, and yet I have great concerns about the state of their soul. Now, there must be some dreadful mistake here, even in the great concerns of their immortal souls. And lest I fall into the same error, let me examine all again. As I may persuade myself, that I believe on Jesus, and therefore all is safe—let me see if my faith be a dead faith, being without works—or if it works by love. The tree is known by the fruit. Again, if the world has all my love, and if my supreme delight be in the creature, whatever I may pretend to, the love of the Father is not in me. If I can willingly defraud, though under the mask of fair dealing, that is, sell to an ignorant person, any commodity above its real value, and which I perfectly know to be so; or if I buy anything below its real value, taking advantage of the seller's ignorance or necessity; or, by any quirk of law, evade the paying of a just debt; or go to the rigor of the law to oppress a poor opponent, or to gratify private revenge; whatever I may pretend to, these are not the spots of God's children. If I can give up with family-worship for a while, because some are my guests that are not accustomed to call upon God; if I can mingle in carnal discourse, when in carnal company, though seemingly very circumspect when among the saints, whatever I may dream, my heart is not right with God. If I can keep company with the profane, associate with blasphemers of God's name, and pay friendly visits to the most impious wretches, without any necessity, with whatever calmness I may talk of death and the world to come, surely this is not the way to prepare for either. February 27, 1791. What a sudden and astonishing transition awaits me from time to eternity, from the material to the spiritual world! Today engaged in the affairs of life, and conversing with my friends, and tomorrow surrounded with millions of spirits, associated with angels, and employed in everlasting concerns! It will, therefore, be my wisdom daily to take farewell of the things of time, and get more and more acquainted with the eternal state. July 20, 1791. To live at a distance from God, and to have the world rolling in our minds, and created concerns engrossing our thoughts—is not fitting for an heir of God, an expectant of glory. Such a situation may make us long for the happy period of our departure, when we shall flee into the immediate enjoyment of God, and in our adorations rise to the ardor of angels, and the glow of seraphim. Had I any right apprehension of the eternal enjoyment of God, I would meditate more on it, and long more after it, and, in midst of all present disasters, rejoice in the prospect of it. September 1, 1791. While I might wish to change some things in my situation in life, I reflect that the wisdom of that gracious God who rule me is so perfect, that any other situation in life would not be good for me. Now, though I cannot see how such and such circumstances should hurt me more than others who are in these very circumstances, yet his wisdom is a thousand times better than mine; and if he sees fit—that should silence me. Moreover, I would adore his sovereignty, and submit to his disposal in all things—just because he disposes all things. October 20, 1791. In the midst of some kind and unexpected providences, for which my heart is filed with gratitude, I condemn myself, that for the best of all blessings, the greatest of all gifts, even Christ, the unspeakable gift of God, my soul is not always filled with glowing gratitude, and a lively sense of heavenly kindness. November 24, 1791. Some days ago my youngest son was very ill, so ill that I had great fears, and I condemn myself that I held the grip so fast, and I had great struggling between affection and resignation, between sense and faith. However, my kind heavenly Father has given him perfect recovery, for which I desire to bless his holy name. January 28, 1792. It is the duty of every living man, to acknowledge the goodness of God in continuing him in life, and crowning him with blessings. More so must the Christian to have his heart full of gratitude, if enabled to live a life or faith on the unseen Jesus, and to have his graces—like the fire on the altar—always burning heavenward. But, O! what glowing gratitude, joy, and rapture, will fill my whole soul in heaven, to find myself enjoying a life of communion with the three-one God, and that through all eternity! February 23, 1792. What continual cause of joy has the child of God, who can say in faith, amidst cares and crosses of every kind—You are the guard of my youth and riper years, the length of my days, the light of my eyes, the joy of my heart, the life of my soul, the rock of my salvation—and, in a word, my God, and my all! April 21, 1792. Though I am traveling through an enemy's county, beset with dangers, and surrounded with difficulties—yet owing to the wisdom of my heavenly guide, and the omnipotence of my divine guard—I am always safe, and shall finish my course with, joy. And when my race is ended, I shall obtain the crown. O how comforting is this! when I see many who started for the heavenly prize, stumble and fall in their race, have their bones bruised and broken—and question whether ever they shall rise again, and run any more. But, though now near the ocean of eternity, and the center of everlasting rest, alas—how slow is my motion heavenward, how torpid my love, and how languid my desires after the eternal enjoyment of God! But, O happy day! when in the blissful state I shall approach nearer and nearer to God, and the nearer I approach, my motion towards him shall be swifter and swifter; and the more I know and love him, my soul will be enlarged and captivated to know and love him still the more. July 3, 1792. I have been long your servant, and have found you the best of masters, though I have been an unprofitable servant. And after forty years service or more, O Lord, I humbly say, "I am your servant, the son of your hand-maid; you have loosed my bands." And as I can say, I love my master and his service, I love his family, my fellow-servants; so I would never change my service, nor lodge under another roof. I am willing to have my ears bored to his door post, and serve him forever. Yes, I can go a step higher than the Hebrew servant of old; for though neither in the year of release, nor in the jubilee, he did go out, yet at death he was forever free from his master. But at my death I shall only go home to serve him day and night in his temple. I also devote all my family to be his servants forever and ever. July 15, 1792. Attending a sacramental solemnity in the neighborhood, I was attacked with fits of rheumatism by intervals. When we were to go about family-worship, which was my turn, I had so much pain that I could not be composed. I earnestly entreated God to command relief; and he heard me, for immediately I was serene, and in perfect ease. O how good a Master do I serve! nor let this seem presumption that God heard me, for he has done infinitely more for me—even given me his Son. July 23, 1792. How uncertain my present life! How near to a future eternal state am I at all times! But how happy if the day of my death shall be the day of my glorification! Then, though the call may be sudden, my passage shall be safe, and my arrival shall be sweet, and I shall forget—not only my afflictions, but all present things, though crowns and kingdoms—as the sports of children, and the amusements of school-boys. Two days ago, my youngest child seemed to be dying. I resigned her to God, and he has gloriously recovered her. But henceforth I would wish to remember, that all my children are walking on the very brink of eternity, and may be called there in a moment. But O may it be to the eternal enjoyment of God! September 30, 1792. The children of Israel were typical of all the children of God. They were not only delivered from the iron-furnaces, the brick-kilns, and the cruel taskmasters—but they were brought into a land flowing with milk and honey, blessed with the liberty of a free people, allowed to sit every man under his vine and his fig-tree, and none to make them afraid. So the saints are not only preserved from going down to the pit, delivered from the lowest hell, forever set free from the anguish of damnation, and the agonies of consummate despair—but are planted in the heavenly Canaan, in the full possession of all good, and in the beatific vision and full enjoyment of God and the Lamb. Thus the poor sinner has one hell in the punishment of sense—while the billows of divine wrath roll over his soul forever; and another hell in the punishment of loss—on being banished forever from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power. But the Christian has one heaven in being rescued from such a hell; and another heaven in being raised to such a glory, and possessed of such inconceivable bliss! January 1, 1793. In the beginning of the year I acknowledge your kindness through all the years of my past life. I look back with wonder and gratitude, I look forward with hope and confidence. I plead for protection from fraud, and direction in all lawful affairs; and I wish to cast my eye a little further, beyond all created things, towards that invisible world which I must shortly enter. February 24, 1793. With what surprise will I lift up my eyes on the heavenly glories, and will gaze with wonder on the ravishing displays of infinite perfections! It is my shame and sin to know so little of that triumphant heavenly state which I am so soon to enter upon. And the reason is, the things of time so engross my meditations—that heavenly things are such strangers to me. O to be crucified to the world, and to get the world crucified to me! It will be sad, and unfitting an heir of heaven—to die with the world in my heart; and die I shortly must. I desire to have nothing to do with such a load of cares, since allowed, yes, called and invited—to cast them all on God. But may my whole soul open to the joys of heaven, and the eternal enjoyment of God! April 21, 1793. How comfortable does piety make old age! My strength may fail, my eyes wax dim—but to be but a few day's journey from my father's house, supports me under all the troubles of my journey. Alas! that I should be such a stranger to my father and my father's house! And how sad that so many should travel so far on the road of life together, and never converse one word about the country where they are going. But some professors, like children, find all their felicity in trivial games, which serious Christians will not join in. October 6, 1793. Sometimes have I promised myself, in such an ordinance, and at such a season, that I should enjoy communion with God. The season has come, and I have been disappointed. But I have one sweet prospect—that there is a period not far distant when I shall enjoy full, and free, and uninterrupted communion with God. In the heavenly state I shall not be vexed with one distracting thought, not a meditation shall be barren of God. January 2, 1794. While I am
in the body, it is no wonder that I begin the new year with lamentation,
mourning, and woe. But I will begin the eternal year with songs and
hallelujahs, in which all former cases of grief will be forgotten. When our
near connections are guilty of walking contrary to the divine law in any
point, I think this should be the rule of our conduct: I am taught some noble lessons: 1. To expect no solid or lasting happiness in anything but in God. January 18, 1794. What a noble prospect opens to the expectant of glory on the other side of death, when the soul shall rise unto the full enjoyment of God, and all troubles of time shall be forgotten forever! It would be a shame for an heir of heaven, walking on the brink of eternity, to be despoiled of his mental calm, his joy in God—for all the storms that earth and hell can raise against him. There has been a terrible storm, and a great fall of snow, so that the roads were almost impassible. I walked some miles with great difficulty, and coming home after it was dark I lost my way, though not more than a mile from home. I then tried to find the road, and walked backward and forth—but in vain. At last I lost all idea of direction, and, after wandering for hours, I made no progress, and had the melancholy prospect of passing the night in the open field. I made my request to him who in all respects leads the blind in the way they know not. But after walking about two miles in deep snow, I came upon a road, which, after walking two miles more, brought me safely home. I was full of gratitude, when I reflected that my strength might have failed me, as I wandered between three and four hours, often up to the knees in snow, or might have fallen into some pit or loch, and never be seen more. O how safe to dwell under the shadow of the Almighty! February 20, 1794. I have in my eye a great number of scripture examples, high in the favor of heaven, who had uncommon afflictions in their families. Adam loses a son by the bloody hands of a brother. Noah pours a severe prophetic malediction on one of his own posterity. Aaron loses two of his sons—consumed in the very commission of their crimes. The meek Moses has to sustain the wrongs of a brother and sister. The wicked advice of his wife would have ruffled the temper of any man but Job. Eli gets a doleful message of what God intends to bring on his house. But "it is the Lord" silences him. David, the man of God, has so many out-breakings in his family, that on his death-bed he complains that his house is so troubled. May 18, 1794. On my entrance into heaven, I shall find a sweet change, not only of my state—but of the frame of my soul. Every faculty shall be full of God, and every power of soul shall center in God. What a pleasant prospect this to the poor saint, who is daily harassed with worldly thoughts, and a wandering heart, and at his best times buffeted by the grand enemy! But rest on the back of such toil, and victory on the back of such a conflict—will be doubly sweet. And of such a rest, and such a victory, every saint may rest assured! October, 1794. That God lives, is the comfort of my soul. That he rules, composes me amidst all the crosses and losses that can befall me below. How often have I had communion with God, in his providences as well as in his ordinances, and beheld him doing wonders for me! When a cross of a singular nature or from a quarter not expected, is protracted, it is a proof that its language is not well understood, or its end not attained; for God does not afflict willingly, or grieve the children of men. O to hear the rod, and him who has appointed it! October 24, 1794. Though I should not wish for death out of a fit of discontent; or for heaven because greatly afflicted on earth—yet when surrounded with distressing spectacles of sin; when griefs, heart-piercing griefs, pour in on every hand; when people we love seem under the dominion of Satan; and afflictions, like waves of the sea, dash on us from every quarter—then faith in our eternal enjoyment of God will support the soul under all. November 18, 1794. To what purpose do I believe in a future state of bliss, if I neither improve for it, nor improve it to my present comfort? Though I am as much concerned in the world as ever, yet in a little time (how soon I cannot say) I shall be separated from all my concerns, bereft from all my friends, estranged from all my acquaintances, and dissolved from all connection with time. Even my dear wife and children, shall keep their place in my affections no longer than my present earthly life. Then, since they are so near and dear to me now, and since I am a daily suppliant at the throne of grace, let my heart's desire and prayer for them be, that they may be saved. But what must that future state be—which is so fast approaching? How will all the divine perfections blaze fully on the powers of my soul! Here they twinkle like stars in the night—there they will shine like the sun in brightness! Here in my views of divine things and future glories, I am like a prisoner, who can see no higher than the roof of his prison. But when brought from prison, my views shall be grand, noble, and extensive as the arch of heaven! January, 1795. O how am I reproved by the men of the world! They are so anxious to heap up riches--which can endure but for a day. Yet I am so careless about the riches which endure to eternity! It pains me to see some who pass for Christians—they have head, and heart, and hand, full of worldly schemes—not to support a needy family, but to aggrandize a family already in a state of opulence! They are so much occupied with their worldly affairs, that the morning family worship is wholly laid aside, and the evening worship is often interrupted or curtailed; which, I fear, might entail a curse on the wealth thus amassed. Perhaps all their accumulated wealth will be squandered away in dissipation and vice by their children, though the parent's eyes may be hid from the mournful scene. May 7, 1795. One noble end of affliction is to wean from all created things, and bring the Christian near to God. But, alas! how do I cleave to what I should let go! But grace can give the victory by degrees, and at death I shall go off in perfect triumph over every foe. One thing I have to lament, that go where I will in this present world, the discourse in conversation is trifling and insipid, nothing of true religion, nothing of God, nothing of Jesus, nothing of a world to come; and herein do I condemn myself as the chief transgressor. May 26, 1795. How proper would it be for one in the decline of life, often to set a little time apart to meditate on the heavenly state! And may not I be ashamed to hold the trifling affairs of life so unweariedly, and pass over eternal concerns as trifles of no account. July 25, 1795. What advantage has the expectant of heaven and glory above others—if the afflictions of this life crush his spirits? In hope of the eternal enjoyment of God, I triumph over all that can befall me in the world. The loss of earthy things is a trifle to me—who have my treasures laid up in heaven. And even the sins of others, which gave me daily sorrow, cannot pain me beyond the hour of death. But on the back of death, I shall enter into the joy of my Lord for all eternity. There my tears of sorrow shall be lost forever, in the rivers of pleasure which flow at his right hand! And my bitter, my heart-felt grief, shall be wholly swallowed up in that fullness of joy which is in his presence! November 17, 1795. How sad is the case of the child of God sometimes, when he goes mourning without the sun; when the Comforter who should relieve his soul is far away; when he moves heavily in the ways of piety; when he is barren and unfruitful in the work of the Lord; when he walks in darkness and has no light; and complains that God is to him, as failing springs of waters. But in this the saint may still comfort himself against grief on every side: That the covenant of grace can never be broken; that all the promises are faithful; and that God rests in his love, and will bless his people with peace forever more. January 5, 1796. Worldlings feast in the beginning of the year. I will feast also—but it shall be in the prospect of a happy eternity—when time and trouble are forever past. I will feast on the fullness of the covenant—on the offices of Christ—on the perfections of God. And here I may feast from the beginning to the end of the year, yes, through eternity itself! June 17, 1796. My wife delivered another child, and I this day devote my young family to God. O! let my daughter Jean be duly taken up with the concerns of the invisible world! Let my daughter Agnes early seek after God! May my son George know and fear the God of his father! May William serve God in the kingdom of grace, and enjoy him in the kingdom of glory! Make Elizabeth a child of God, and Margaret an heir of glory! June 23, 1796. Long have I had to lament a spiritual languor in my soul—a sighing, and standing still, if not going backward. But if I have a union to the Lord of life, he will recover me from all my decays, and will keep, though weak, still alive. 1797. For several weeks past, by a disorder on my lungs, I have been threatened with death. And though I can say, I know in whom I have believed, and to whom I have committed the keeping of my soul—yet strong were my desires to live a little longer. My reasons for imploring a little time were, several hymns I had in view to get printed, and one essay just going to the press; also my young family, and a worthy affectionate wife. But I condemned myself for putting anything in balance with the eternal enjoyment of God. Yet I thought my request was lawful—from the psalmist's prayer, "O spare me, that I may recover strength." and good Hezekiah's conduct, who wept sorely. What folly to defer preparation for death, until seized with sickness—when the body is sore broken—and the powers of mind are all languid and feeble—and arrested by death! However trivial it may seem to some, yet I had comfort in the psalm that fell to be sung in family-worship, which I was still able to perform, though wearisome nights were appointed to me, Psalm 101:1. "I will sing of mercy and judgment." Here I saw the song of the saint was a mixed song. But mercy was the first and chief part of the song; and the judgment inflicted did not hinder him to sing of the mercy bestowed. After the first comfortable night's rest I got, Psalm 103:4 was my theme, "Who redeemed your life from destruction!" O how sweet was that to my soul! February 7, 1797. After being home-bound for many weeks, I have been able to attend the sermon for the two past Sabbaths. O how shall I account for the many golden opportunities I have enjoyed! About this time, five of my children had the measles—and all recovered. O what mercies heap on me! I condemn myself that I am not more heavenly minded. O for rich supplies of grace! February 20, 1797. Our youngest child was in a critical state, through a severe infection. O how anxious were we for her recovery! Whence I condemn myself, that I am not more concerned for her salvation than for her physical health. I would wish to be resigned to holy Providence, who does all things well, and as it were, hang suspended between paternal affection and Christian resignation. O heavenly Father pity and spare! March 3, 1797. The dear child is still alive—but in great danger. O to be able to say amen to whatever my heavenly Father may do! March 12, 1797. Some days ago, my pleasant child, not nine months old—was taken from us by death, and set our hearts a-bleeding. But I find, that when strokes of this kind are repeated, there is not a better way to get peace of mind restored, and triumph over our sharpest trials, than by contemplating our eternal enjoyment of God. And in the very prospect of enjoying such an infinite good, I lose the sense of all present afflictions. Is it much to drop one tear, or heave one sigh—and have my eyes wiped for eternity, and my heart brimful of joy forevermore? The time of my sorrow is so short, that it expires amidst my grief—but my eternal enjoyment shall go on forever; and there shall I forget my afflictions forever! April 4, 1797. I have had some severe lapses in my health, and I am afraid that I have not learned the language of the rod. I need not say with Job, "Show me why you contend with me," but may say, 'You are righteous, though you should contend against me forever.' But I plead your fatherly compassion, and heavenly pity and desire to act faith on you at all times. June 4, 1797. For several weeks past, I have been getting better and better, and am now in a tolerable state of health, and desire to bless my kind deliverer, and to live to his glory. May 28, 1798. You preserve both man and beast; how precious is your grace! Thus, after severe falls, bruises, and broken bones, and other illnesses, I am still in a tolerable state of health. O that I could say that my soul also prospers! However little the world may think of it, I bless the Most High that in my long illness I have been able to go about family-worship morning and evening. I find it good to wait on God. July 19. It is my duty to be resigned, not only to the cross—but to the kind of the cross, and to its continuance. With what courage may I bear with every burden, with every aggravation, since I have the promise of present support, and in a little while—of eternal deliverance! |