An Extract of Miss Mary Gilbert's Journal, Volume 1

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J. Harvie, 1768 - Death - 62 pages
Journal of daughter of Nathaniel Gilbert of Antigua during her 2nd visit to Britain, 1764-1768.

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Page 86 - This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that JESUS CHRIST came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.
Page 36 - Author of faith ! to Thee I lift' My weary, longing eyes : O let me now receive that gift, — My soul without it dies.
Page 85 - We foon fhall recover- our home ; The city of faints fhall appear, . , The day of eternity come : , From earth we fhall quickly remove, And mount to our native abode, The houfe of our Father above, The palace of angels and God. 2 Our mourning is all at an end, When rais'd by the life-giving Word...
Page 69 - Nothing less will I require ; Nothing more can I desire : None but Christ to me be given ; None but Christ in earth or heaven.
Page 46 - the children of this world are wifer in their generation than the ** children of light...
Page 40 - If all Thy promises are sure, Set up Thy kingdom in my heart, And make me rich, for I am poor : To me be all Thy treasures given, The kingdom of an inward heaven. 2 Thou hast pronounced the mourner blest, And, lo ! for Thee I ever mourn : I cannot, — no ! I will...
Page 51 - I have been nourished with the children's bread. Oh, to glorify God, in my body, and in my spirit, which are God's! 21. The day is past, which has given to this people another minister, to occupy the place of him who will ever live in my fond remembrance. I have not been in as prayerful a frame as I ought. My mind was too much occupied with personal feelings. And yet, I hope I felt that I had no interests...
Page 13 - He'll never quench the fmoking flax, But raife it to a flame : - ,: , The bruifed reed he never breaks, Nor fcorns the meaneft name.
Page 18 - Clent womb I lay, And hung upon the breaft. 3 To all my weak complaints and cries Thy mercy lent an ear, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd ." To form themfelves in prayer. 4 Unnumber'd comforts on my foul Thy tender...

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