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George-Whitefield-Field-Preacher

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CAMBUSLANG REVIVAL 191<br />

Such a day might well have been followed by quietness and<br />

repose, but his was no heart to cry for leisure, whatever his<br />

body might do. The following Monday was sure to be just<br />

such a day as he could most thoroughly enjoy, for the day<br />

after communion Sunday has had among Presbyterians almost<br />

more sanctity than the Sunday itself. <strong>Preacher</strong>s have preached<br />

their most effective sermons on that day, and it was a memor-<br />

able time at Cambuslang. 'The motion,' <strong>Whitefield</strong> says,<br />

'fled as swift as lightning from one end of the auditory to<br />

another. You might have seen thousands bathed in tears.<br />

Some at the same time wringing their hands, others almost<br />

swooning, and others crying out and mourning over a pierced<br />

Saviour. It was like the Passover in Josiah's time.'<br />

The sermon preached by him on the Sunday night was upon<br />

Isa. liv. 5— ' For thy Maker is thy husband '—and was a sermon<br />

more frequently referred to by his converts than any other ;<br />

yet we look in vain for a single passage of interest or power in<br />

it. The thought is meagre and the language tame ; there is<br />

a total absence of the dramatic element which abounds in all<br />

his treatment of narrative and parable. But, remembering<br />

how perfectly his heart realised the idea of union with God,<br />

and how intense was his personal devotion to the will of God,<br />

it becomes easier to understand the unfailing unction with<br />

which his common thoughts were clothed. He could hardly<br />

fail to have power, when entreating sinners to yield to God and<br />

be joined to the Lord Jesus, who could say, without affectation<br />

or boast, ' The hopes of bringing more souls to Jesus Christ<br />

is the only consideration that can reconcile me to life. For<br />

this cause I can willingly stay long from my wished-for home,<br />

my wished-for Jesus. But whither am I going ? I forget my-<br />

self when writing of Jesus. His love fills my soul.'<br />

His qualities of meekness and self-restraint were as hardly<br />

tested by the meddlesomeness of would-be advisers as by the

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