FROM THE DIARY OF MARTHA WILTSHIRE OF STUDLEY

A little past four o’clock, just finished my sewing that I brought to bed with me, no sleep in my eyes, want what I cannot come at, fearing that I may be like Ignorance at last. What I was so powerfully struck with when I was a child, when Ignorance came up to heaven’s gates, he was asked for his certificate, he fumbled in his bosom and found none; it struck me directly what could that be. I felt directly there was something wanting that I had not got.

By what I can recollect, I was about ten years old and now I am seventy-seven and I cannot describe my feelings. About forty years ago, when under severe affliction, the thought struck me, “When shall I be ready?” and I am sure, according to my feelings at times now, I am as destitute of readiness in self as I was then. I am sure my readiness must be in Christ.

O my dear children, and you my very dear grandchildren, I cannot describe to you the great anxiety I feel for you this day, that if it is consistent with the Almighty Maker of heaven and earth, that He would be pleased to give to each of you that precious gift, the fear of the Lord, that fence against evil, world, flesh and the devil.

The Son’s glorious merit, the Father’s free grace,
The gifts of the Spirit to Adam’s lost race.

O how I would give Him glory if I could, but I am not worthy, but this I do believe, that which comes from the blessed Lord draws the soul to Him. O how I do love in the morning to have a token from some word of the blessed Spirit by the Word of God, or a hymn! When I can feel that the entrance of Thy Word giveth life and bringeth love, how good it is!

Sept., 1854, — Went to Calne to hear that dear man of God, Mr. Kershaw [John Kershaw of Rochdale], preach. His text was Psa. 86:17: “Show me a token for good.” O what a precious, soul-satisfying time I had in hearing him describe what the tokens were. If I am not awfully deceived I know I have experienced them by painful and precious experience.

O how very good this hymn of Watt’s was to me tonight at prayer meeting:

Blest are the humble souls that see
Their emptiness and poverty.

O how sure I am, by painful experience, I am the character.

O my dear children, as the blessed Lord has given me to experience the first two lines, surely the other part of the hymn is mine also. I felt it so while they were singing it:

Treasures of grace to them are given,
And crowns of joy laid up in heaven.

I know I do by night and by day mourn for sin with inward sorrow. I do believe there cannot be a living soul that hungers and longs for righteousness more than I do, seeing and feeling my own unrighteousness; even when upon my knees such crowds of vain thoughts that sometimes make me astonished. But, bless the dear Lord, at times I have that bread to eat that the world knows nothing of.

O what a chequered scene is my life! How happy did I feel last night! Yet when I awoke this morning my joy was all gone. I tried to bring the hymn of my mind that was sung last night, but could not bring one word of it to my mind.

O how I went groaning, not only because I had forgotten it and had lost the comfortable confidence that I should go to heaven, but because it came so fresh into my mind that this week I have been favored once more to hear Mr. Warburton, from Psalm 121 verse 8: “The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth and even for evermore.” O how sweetly did my soul feel under the sound, with a firm confidence that if that is the way to heaven, I am in the way and a very rough way it is, but what is mine to what my blessed Lord went through? “Did Christ my Lord suffer, and shall I repine?”

As I was on my knees this morning, my old enemy came again. What I am almost continually, what I am beset with is the rushing into my mind of vain thoughts and troublesome things that I ought to have done or what was to be done. Whether it is from the enemy of souls or my wicked heart I cannot tell, but this I know, it is what I groan under.

It struck my mind this morning, when on my knees, what glory was it to the Lord if I pray or read, how selfish I was. This came into my mind so fresh, if a beggar came to our door, the people in the house heard what the beggar had to say. These words followed on so sweetly:

A beggar poor, at mercy’s door.
Lies such a wretch as I.

My mind has been much tried this night and I lay a long time sleepless. I read the fifth chapter of Acts to the seventh chapter. Only see what the dear children of God had to go through. Here we are privileged with precious peace and liberty. What a mercy, but how little thought of!

“O my soul, what means this sadness?” I have had such sinkings in my soul this night, fearing whether it will be well at last.

After so much mercy past,
Will He let me sink at last?

This is the 2nd of April, 1857, on which our dear friend Mr. Warburton died. In 1813 he preached his first sermon at Studley; his text was “The great day of His wrath is come, and who shall be able to stand?” I believe there are many now living and many gone home to glory who heard him, who can say, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth glad tidings!” I little thought when I heard him last that it was to be the last time. I hope the Lord will send to Trowbridge a faithful trumpeter; for “if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare for the battle?”

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